Red Dot

The message is conveyed. Some may not get it anyway. A broadcast streams over the television set about millionaires tossing around a fully inflated pigskin. Here are the chargers who organized the pouring of yardage of concrete to form an endless wave. Wasted stimulus are those who watch the game and never enter the engagement. The slave is the self. We talk about it like it’s good health, but the giver has the wealth. The Master came to give the dead life not in stealth. A belt of truth worn in martial law. A Survivor commercial by grace. Are you done lifting the weights? Open a garage sale. Sell the treasure shortening our shelf life. The megaphone is a magnifier of the majestic. Direct the voice. Run with perseverance the race marked out for us.

The hand kept inside the Sony strap. A handy-cam records the journey. Presto. The view has found you on the rounds of the red dot. A routine captured for the screen. Go. Be there. The audience gathered in the detached garage for the after celebration of an incredible skate parked dedicated to a promising skateboarder Michael K. Green. He rose from Paramount with a cart full of supreme tricks like ice cream chiming around the hood between Pacific and Pine. He charged through the blocks’ intersections on a flatbed and two trucks and was not stuck in the cracks of the concrete. The landscape of the greenbelt slowly changed by a crushed grape. In District 1 the young and old signed the clip board sheets for the Long Beach signature sign. The pictures are paramount. Messages are relayed like a baton. Drop the fake ones. The One you hold onto during the race affects your audience who see you face to face. Even professionals are loud in front of a crowd, but their proclaims add bricks to their empire. The One we’ll see face to face claims the Kingdom for all who believe in Jesus’ name.