Agora

By Tawny Mae Harris

Agora has mind blowing poetry and artwork about God, Jesus and the beautiful people who have passed onto heaven. Where lies the soul of Adam Lot? Agora in Medical terminology means fear of market place, crowds. God exalted the meek. Humbled the proud. Agora is a must-read soul-searching book of Shop-A-Lot.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491797280

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Copyright © 2016 Tawny Mae Harris.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-9727-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-9728-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016907972

iUniverse rev. date:    06/02/2016

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Dedicate

d to

Ezekiel

Malachi

Jeremiah

SHOP-A-LOT #1

THE PROPHECY

O’ Glorious Enchanting Kingdom come. O’ can I blindly see? The dazzling stars, the somber blue jean moon, bloody red, sparkling fireworks, sex advantage, advances ..don’t you know Blessed freedom is not free. I AM in God’s army, General Patton, don’t curse, cuss at feeble, humble, meek, refrained, weak, tired infantry. Death to life—the electric seen, unseen spiritual lightning dark wars passing by, through. Do you know what evil satan, beast, liar, diablo implanted, made me think today, attack, enter my open, vulnerable mind? O’ _____ing Jesus, I love you! Stay calm at all treacherous costs, divine forgiveness He bestows, defines, instills. Oh, God, Jehovah, Yaweh, Holy One, Please tell, answer, reason to us. What in the hell, hades, fiery sword throne do we do? Renounce satan, repent and be cool, chics and dudes. Fear not! Gross black, charcoal, bituminous, anthorcite diamond pressed gravel concrete nasty, filthy demonic creatures, repulsive, trashy golems are taking over the poor, sinful nature world, weary, sad Earth. Frets of evil, dangers averted, resolve Shop-A-Lot trials and abused tribulations, tests sown, tarnished copperhead deadly viper, silver, brass Garden of Eden, summer sandels of love path trod. Please carry me, aftermath destruction. Come, come on sweet Lord Jesus, I AM pleading sorcery Simon key candlelight flickering evil witchcraft poison Romeo and Juliet apothocary I have powerfully none. I AM sorry for your betrayed, fateful Calvary cause, reunite your beloved body of Christ, your crumbled, genetic flowing on eternity Hebrew Tabernacle, Forever Lavender, Pentecostal, Mormon, Latter Day Saints Bible belt Church one for all and all for one! I AM a slut, bitch, and whore—a royal dickhead, asshole, high white class disgrace. The fiery hell fires will not hurt you, the smouldering sweet lips we Christians will not freezingly, fridgingly taste. Heaven will open up, the genetic stars and moon will forever shine smilingly upon us—nobody’s life totally is a waste, soulfully, eternfully on graced—euphoria come on stride peacefully in haste. Psychedelic studded, embroidered jeans chased. All our white paste sins have been erased. Whores make the best wives aloof—free spirited, kind Jayden. Please don’t anybody, no one take your precious life. Guns, knives, razors are no good! Now, put that in your pipe and smoke it==it’s God’s life not yours to take. We, Shop-A-Lot fans will cut thru all this red tape strife. Jesus is forever on our case to live life safe. Blessed got fired for secretly stealing comfortable, comforting punch clock time. A second chance was not given, initiated naturally, anyway. Her pudgy body, jean bra strap revealing modesty none. Sacred Mother Mary was temptation, disgracefully stabbed in the back, forwarded by the devil for the misfortune, diagnostic crime. Why have You forsaken me, please? You, mother_______ demons, where are you?

Flowing white beard, loving, calling on merciful Angelic grace. Jesus forgives us for every little thing—Chariot of fire. We need You to come down here right now! We want to physically touch Your kind face.

Thanks, I appreciate, admire your honesty, endeavour, I LOVE YOU ALL VERY MUCH! Please, O’ merciful Father, let freedom from strife, endangered species, Jesus freaks, religious farts sing praises to Your Holy Name, ring aloud. We know You and Your white Angels are sitting up there on a fluffy pure white charmin cloud. O’ satan, you will never again call us a cunt. Anthony Hopkins, sucking dracula twilight, deranged insane asylum, Silence of the Lambs. God _____ red pitchfork spear. You will pay the price, deadly pit viper, loyal to God, damnation marked beast hunt. God is everywhere, everything always, all at the same time—different life styles, foreign languages—no occult. Kept promises every answer given you, you spunky, obnoxious, rude, back talking little runt. God Bless You! Thank You for treating me the way that You do. I want You, God, to never change Your caring, prolific, eternal living on attitude. We are doomed without You Lord Jesus Christ superstar. All I know, the world is coming to a Revelations, slaughtered, brutal end. Forever mine, forever Jesus, forever on whispering bright sunny weather Heavenly wind. On a clear day, we will soon see those six white horses round again the snow-capped mountains to rescue His children’s outreached hands of genetic kin. Graceful, abrupt, ashamed, and freely spoken—He, God, takes lovingly all our crass crap. In the wispy, airy breeze, the Holy Bible tells of His blood-stained, risen double-edged word sword coming PROPHECY.

God is the merciful, loving husband of Ms. God, Editor of this book. Renounce satan, repent now, born again rebirth. Word endures forever spoken, I AM right by your side on this planet euphorium, earth. Crackheads beware! before it is futively, fatally, fugively too late. God means business this elite end day of times. We do not know His, Jesus’s, ETA returning arrival date. Snicker, Snack, through and through. Conglomerate, work, unite in Shop-A-Lot strengthful pairs doomed, condemned hell hole He saved us. When two or three are gathered, martyred, thorn crowned, crucified Jesus, King of the Jews is in their midst, ALWAYS there. Please heal our self-inflicting failures, human, mortal frailities, sickness, ills, diseases, unconscious infirmities. God is my mysterious, protective coal comet gun powder. All I know, anyway, great, hellacious saving God, Jehovah, we are pulling out our coveted, stressful, counted hairs. I would not even want Your career, job—all the punishable, drastic sins vain son-of a bitch, conniving black satan does to us men, women, and innocent children. No, You are not a green-eyed envied giant. We all know You warily, lovingly care. I pray Your breath of woe wins all the galaxie’s hearts and souls; so, we can all peaceably abide in Heaven’s glorious share. JEANS/genes==we the forceful remnant left behind rapture, have to go on fighting, saving each pitted lost soul sold. Please honk your horn reverently softly if you love Jesus until the victorious Armageddon battle is won, scriptures engraved in gold ink told. Well done. oh great humble servant. (coffee, tea or me). Jesus You’ve got to set Your bondage cult Shoppe of Love brainwashed slaves eternally free. Shop-A-Lot #666 is trying to overtake, rule the fantasy island retail commercial world. They’re treating us like silenced abused mute greyhound dogs in a dream-like false advertising, mesmorized, hypnotized, franchising fateful state flee. We all know Who is the #1 smiling hello-fellow Boss, it is our wonderful God, it is Thee. Hope flourishes, doubt flees. I AM tired of all you fucked-up crazy people lying your beheaded precious lifes for Me in an unnecessary hanging rope or suicidal executioner’s guillotine. Sor right, so be it. I want to. My hard headed fried gray matter brain cells will ALWAYS preach, evangelize, spread the word of Your moving, uplifting, sacred PROPHECY. Oh, gracious, grace filled One, You’d do it for me. Sweet, Savior, Lord Jesus come down off that wine sap lifesaving resurrection ascending red dogwood tree. Get thee behind me satan; but our precious Lord Jesus Christ you are in cruel agony.

Day is done

gone the sun

from the lakes

from the hills

from the skies

All is well

Safely rest

God is nigh

When God curses us, He Blesses us because He is everlasting love. Those voices are calling from far away; especially, Jayden’s—my immortal Jesus. Where has he gone? Will I ever see him again? The night stands still. The wild lucky crickets chirp. The full werewolf silver bullet moon wanes. Wrangler sleeps in peace. I AM all alone in solitude. The autumn lightning bugs flicker in the dusk. Easter tomb or resurrection, Mary Magdeline, reincarnated, dead or alive?

Pisces sister, Gift/Gifted had to suddenly depart.

When will the lily asiatic sunshine?

Joy finally cometh in the blue jean/gene sky morning.

Shop-a-Lot dawneth where rats, rodents dine.

My heart has been brutally broken.

Who is #9?

Come on back, Tawny. (I wish the adorable nurse, Amariah and my strict nurse practitioner psychiatric health management advisor, Hope, would call me by my middle name, Mae—split personality as Tawny chatters to Mae and Mae proceeds individually to relate to Tawny sometimes admiring, differentiating each other’s personalities).

Let’s get your weight.

Stepping up on the old fashion sliding bar doctor’s scale, I weigh-in at 145 lbs.

I want to lose 10 more pounds. Get rid of this belly. Have you cut, done something with your hair, Amariah? It looks good.

Her cute southern drawl, accent, I have it colard to cova the gray. She’s ready fa ya, Tawny.

Hope runs to get the morning coffee pot brewing in the back room of the immaculately clean Behavioral Health office building. Hope’s shoulder length bleached perfected blonde hair is pulled back behind her ears, ready for business. Guess what, Hope. I get 5 free swims at the Caravan Inn. It’s a smaller pool. I want to swim a hundred laps back and forth, back and forth. I know I AM not supposed to be out in the sun because of my medicine; but, I don’t care

The owner of the Caravan Inn came thru my line at Shop-a-Lot and I told him my Aunt Wisdom and Uncle Humor ran the motel some 30 years ago."

You identify pictia of previous managers, I give you free room.

I really don’t need a free room, but, I would like to swim.

Aaah, you identify pictia. I give you 5 free swims.

I couldn’t identify picture, Hope, but, he gave me 5 free swims, anyway, saving me $25.00.

Ms. Mae, put 40 or 50 sunscreen on, see I have skin cancer where I sunburned my lips bad before. It started out with a brown spot. This brown hole, puncture is from the biopsy. Pre-cancer cells speckled everywhere. This ointment is $50 a tube with insurance and burns leaving the top part of my lips grotesquely red. You don’t want that. It came back twice; next is the purple light procedure making your face look ugly grotesque. (I couldn’t imagine her pretty face being messed-up with skin cancer.)

I was a tow head when I was little, freckled, with blue-green eyes—perfect candidate.

I try to console her, You can’t tell it, Hope."

(I AM in shock, devastated, my mouth opened and dropped—makes you think twice. Nothing could happen to Hope. I would be lost.)

Micah, my beloved brother, and I went to see Johnny Depp, Johnny Dillanger, Public Enemies—ooh, blood squirting out everywhere. I AM a big Johnny Depp fan.

You are one sick individual.

It was sad.

"I don’t like sad movies. I saw you walking down Main Street the other day, Hope remarks.

"Yeah, I was paying my house and car insurance. Did I look like a slut?

Bye, bye blackbird.

I can eat your pussy and make you cum 5 or 6 times like I know I can, Leo, Free Will sexually harasses me thru the cell phone. His mother, Godspell says he is just kidding about him socking it to me in bed. He’s a sweet boy! she proclaims sitting in the den garden chair musely watching me paint the downstairs bathroom heavenly blue. Ecclesiastes was having a bad day—could hardly walk; so, I painted the bathroom walls and trim myself. I don’t think Godspell knows what Free Will is secretly thinking. What a jerk! I AM scared of men. I don’t want him coming between his beautiful Capricorn mother’s and mine relationship. Free Will’s silver Taurus in their next door driveway paranoidly haunts me. He has heart problems and is do shoulder surgery. How does he expect to have decent good sex in that shape or form, fashion. I AM not interested or AM I?

Joy, my best girlfriend, can be such a B sometimes, her curt, snippy voice, Is this a pity party for one?, you can’t dwell on the past, what do you need?! Don’t call me, I’ll call you. God, I love her! Other times, she’s just as sweet, kind hearted as syrupy, chocolate merange pie. What a strong, boisterous, fiery, stress-out Scorpio temper. Joy loves sunflowers, butterflies, hummingbirds, fawns, does. She waited on me hand and foot during the tragic ice storm saving my life from hypothermia. It was time to get the hell out of dodge when Baptist, her generator expert electrician husband, Methodist, her loving Leo son, and Joy got into a unglued, royal bitching conference fight. You know I can’t get into the middle of this, Methodist. Electricity was finally on". Come to find out, social services had been called in and false allocations were provoked by a 18 year old girlfriend—knife cuts in leg and pouring salt in the open wounds. Joy and Baptist could have gone to jail, prison for those alleged accusations and Methodist could have been placed in reform school. Methodist is 15 and his wealthy coal miner, auto part salesman occupational parents have bought their only son a used white Lumina. Methodist, a prodigal genius has everything a kid could ask for, want: talking lap top computer, sterile house, tropical fish tank aquarium, delicious home cooked meals every day. Too rich for my blood. The potential Air Force Academy candidate is planned for the spoiled boy, and, hopefully, sex, pregnancy, marriage will not prevent, knock him out of the prestigious honor. Please use a condom.

THE ROSE

Agora fear of Shop-A-Lot #666 #999 (69) market place, crowds worldwide EBT, WIC humanity fed. Full Godspeed ahead— follow the dreaded ROSEY Micaw green parrot complete course signs of the times Nostradamas life 12-21-2012 where they lead—precious Jesus tears shed. Will the beautiful creation Earth come to an end? We’ll just have to wait and see. What plane are we on? You’ve made your death, grim reaper bed, now lay in it. Be thankful, grateful you’ve got a sh#tty job—it pays Blue Cross/Blue Shield insurance for $200 a month Geodon, Lamictal, Zyprexa meds. Spiritual war! Kill or be killed white against dark Angels—lucky duck fried scrambled yellow yoke chicken egg unemployment line not blank shotgun wed. Use your ROSE thorn sword and cut off the sucker demonic satan’s ugly nappy head. Save all the people, mortals you possibly can first—we are all genetically inbred. Blue jean eyes—green olive sharp tongue, pink red heart, flower power Daisy Mae, Lil’ Abner, Hatfield McCoy mountain family feud. I AM insanely crazy about You Lord Jesus Christ. We cannot do without You! Let us confess our sins to the Almighty God. Satan is a prick and I AM sure he has a pus-filled gonorrhea hard dick. He’ll attack your mind, stab you in the back. Repent now or forever hold your peace quick.

White glorious winged Holy Angels sing hymns, praises up above watching continuously over us all night and day. All I know, God is bonded love. A loyal servant, fan of His I will always be, I AM outta here, farewell, so long from the Shop-A-Lot horrible hell hole pits Jesus’s good ROSE tidings saved me. Like a flash of lightning spaceships, MACBETH, we people of God are going back in predicted, historic time, New Jerusalem, big ding dong righteous brass, gold rose bells; this time we’ll do it right O’ town of Caleb, meaning dog—hindsight is better than foresight—Heavenly gleaming sunlight through the cloudy moisture fog. Love one another—even your enemies—all you have to do is just be believe. (that is virtually impossible). Ignore, shun the ROSE bud hypocrisy. How’d we do, make it before? Total peaceful domain—politician, religious sinful, paralyzing, catonic Viet Nam, Desert Storm war no more. Faith without good works is dead. Love, hope, charity. The greatest of these three is LOVE. Please, O’ Heavenly Father, Yahweh, hurry with that olive branch and save us drowning victims, dear peaceful white dove. No, You are never the evil one, blamed, accused great cyclops of the skies—struck down, afflicted enmity, frail human hatred from mortal men. I don’t care if the moon turns bloody orange red—I know where I AM going—fight for You—proclaim Your Holy Name till the dark ages times end. All I know, sweet Jesus is coming on this Earth; maybe, we would be better off dead. Fear of the Lord God up in the Heavens—these chosen comrads, amigos, people had better make their decision, choice whether they want to go to Heaven or go to hell. Follow the great loving Jehovah Shepherd—scared, frightened, overwhelmed, Red Sea inbred genetic Israelites, Egyptians men, women, and children Moses led.

The birthstone, garnet lake of fire won’t hurt, burn you=you will fare miraculously freed, unscathed—terror tactic lesson moral learned. Praises, thankful life to the Holy Father is the leased, captived Lucifer’s Damien death knell. I pray we all be living, saved, heads, knees bowed reverently—generations passed down scripture stories overcomed to tell. THE ROSE dew beads of dying sweat, burning, cremated thorn bush and living hell. Solitude, sacred ground mountain top—10 rigorous, righteous commandments cracked, heart-broken in half, in two, Aaron, Jacob, Isaac shot. Who, where the hell lies, resides the soul, reknown ghost of Adam Lot? Burning the midnight fragrant turquoise, blue jean oil—smell the roses along the way. Obey, do everything God boisterously commands, says. If this drastic, desperate world ever futively, forlornly blows-up ever ends, beautiful nature, His exquisite creation will not be forgotten—my open broken, disarrayed, confused, lonely, perplexed soul, my house, TARA, belong to the lovable, down to Earth Benjamin. The love scent of THE ROSE bud, faded forgiveness of sins will always linger on my open, vulnerable mind. Grapes of wrath—you are never alone—it’s only a limited precious, aerial space amount of time. Light a candle, mosaic stone stained Shop-A-Lot #666 forbidden glass. Smell THE ROSE fragrant petals along the briary, thorny way. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy; of course, anyway. Precious summer will end, winter creeps on to the final wicked slain judgement day. THE ROSE bud will prosper again in the spring and we will all be saved. My slate is clear standing shamefully, shakingly, self-consciously naked on that pedestal in front of the Almighty ever living on God. I have cryingly repented, confessed all my nasty, ugly sins. You all know the Lord God is Blessed, Jesus looks like a hippy, his glowing, flowing robe, raments are really very understandingly mod. I can’t stand me, my human frailities have gotten the best of me. Even though with bloody, sore, calloused feet we will search, we will heavenly trod. I AM not the leader of the pack, follow that named brotherly Micah easterly star afar until face to face we meet our everloving, Maker, the great universal Jehovah, God. When will Jesus return, I do not know, your guess is as good as mine, at the white gloved hand, God will raise His reverent, approvingly bowed head and nod. I would sell my soul to get satanists saved, let the reborn again Nosterdomas Christian multitudes enter into the gates of Heaven if God would let me. St. Peter, the apostle, disciple is the one that holds that golden everlasting key. Onward Christian soldiers, our quest of imprisoned, persecuted, prisoners of war, tortured martyrs cannot fail to watch damned, condemned satan and band of devils from the GREAT HOLY WIZARD God’s merciful hand scarcely, sparsely flee. You’ve got to be saved, reborn again, all you have to do is in Jesus’s Name believe. THE ROSE, fateful melancholy will blossom wonderfully, miraculously again the upcoming no suicide Easter spring whispering, flowing, flowery, feathery breeze. These strange, stray voices in my head have got to go. They will be the forensic, autopsy, telepathic, six sense of me. Only the true, very God is allowed to speak, advise, suffice, converse His Holy voice in thought, word, and needy deed & creed.

I can’t wait to fly like compassionate, white, dove glorious Angels and guard liken to St. Christopher o’er the sweet, innocent children on the meek, brown Earth—to hell with computer electronic technology. Yes, Jesus paid, laid His life down that gloomy, horrifying DAY ON Calvary. Why He had to be mocked, stabbed in the side, jailed, served vinegar instead of water, spit on, crucified so brutally is way beyond the conception idea of boggling, empathetic, sympathetic me. How a Father could do that to His only Son to save the world is very cruel and mean in my opinion don’t you see. THE ROSE withered and died, pruned for the better saving lost souls, drowning wicked, sinful, sacrilegious, atheists, satan worshippers like you and me in a ravaging, violent crashing waves jean blue ocean sea. Blessed prostitute, Mary Magdeline, virgin Mary bitter with grief, amidst all the confusion of the parable story Bible, Revelations end of days have all been paid by our wonderful, pure magnificent GODHEAD, Savior, Diety, Father, Son, and Holy ghost/spirit, trilogy, trinity. King of the Jews, do what You want with barefooted, sinful me, only true Prophet, O’ loving Shepherd—manna flowing down from Heaven—You are the branches, we are the vines. Please tell us where Jesus has been laid, in what Holy tomb—one day He will be yours and mine. We are running out of supposedly, predicted 2012 sacred time. RED petal ROSES mean LIFE; WHITE ROSES mean DEATH; YELLOW ROSES mean FRIENDSHIP, PINK ROSES mean PURITY; CORAL ROSES mean UNITY; BLACK ROSES mean HATRED; DEAD ROSES mean PROPHECY. Jesus’s sticky, sharp thorns crowned around His head will prolifically, physically, mentally, spiritually, eternally, everliving on set our minds bodies, thoughts, and tasks in life forgivingly free. SHOP-A-LOT ROSES are soulfully, nervewrackingly, crucifying, destroying me.

Goodlooking, black haired, rich, wealthy Free Will’s silver Taurus in the next door concrete blacktopped drive way paranoidly haunts me each time I peer, look-out the kitchen window—white panels, cherry embroidered blossoms, and, blue stained glass Angel. Jayden, previous asst. manager at Shop-A-Lot drives a silver car, too, and I AM falling in and out of love with the single, beautiful eye candy, non-speaking, stuck-up, conceited, awesome adopted genetic bastard. 12 string acoustic guitarist sweet savior smart, good-looking, teacher Jayden could get, have any blonde, brunette women he wanted. Why me? Benjamin and Dr. Shepherd taking the lead in my dreams. Dream on, hope, anyway. I will clean, cook, do anything, Benjamin, if you will marry me, I desperately propose to the comical, loving heating and airman. The house, TARA, belongs to him after all