Joe Canuck – Page 33

August 6, 2025August 6, 2025

Ghost of Jim Morrison

INT. CLARK PARK – SUNSET GLOW – FIELD OF DREAMS

Golden rays fall over an empty baseball diamond in West Philadelphia. The ghost of a past summer still hangs in the warm air. Joe and Nelly sit on the bleachers, sipping yerba mate and watching the wind move through the trees like whispers from the other side.

JOE
You ever see Ascension Millennium, Nelly? Corey Feldman’s magnum opus?

NELLY (grinning)
You mean that wild music video where he’s dressed like a lounge messiah in a Playboy mansion?

JOE
Exactly. But beneath the Hollywood cheese, there’s a strange pulse of prophecy. That song—Ascension Millennium—it’s about the dimensional shift. Feldman was trying to warn us. 2012 came and went, but something did change. We’re floating through the edge of a ghostly fifth dimension now. Like this world is layered over another… a mirror we can almost touch.

NELLY
Ghosts of who we used to be?

JOE
Ghosts… and guides. There’s a photo—you’ve seen it, right? Jim Morrison, hovering like a faded god at Père Lachaise. They say it’s a trick of the light, but the lizard king is still whispering in dreams.

NELLY
Maybe he’s not dead. Maybe he’s just… tuned to a different frequency.

Joe looks out at the diamond, empty but alive with memory.

JOE
Clark Park is like that. Sometimes I swear I hear kids laughing that aren’t there. Or a fastball crack against a wooden bat when the field’s empty. It’s like Field of Dreams said—“If you build it, he will come.”

NELLY (softly)
Who’s “he” in your story?

JOE (without hesitation)
The part of me that believed. The boy who thought music could heal the world, who saw baseball as sacred geometry. Maybe even the ghost of someone we lost, still waiting to come home.

They both look up. The sky is streaked with violet now. The veil thins.

JOE (cont’d)
I think Corey knew. He just wrapped it in glitz and glitter so no one would take it seriously. But the message was clear—we’re ascending. And not all of us are coming back.

NELLY
Then let’s be the ones who remember. Who build it anyway.

Joe smiles. In the distance, a ball rolls across the field. No one’s around to throw it.

FADE OUT.

August 5, 2025August 5, 2025

Yearly Vows on the 13th Day

[Scene: A quiet seaside chapel garden in San Diego at dusk. Joe and Nelly sit on a weathered bench, wind tugging at her shawl. A candle burns between them in a mason jar.]

JOE:
Nelly, I had this wild idea. What if we made yearly vows—like real pilgrim promises—at every Marian apparition site in the world?

NELLY: (soft smile)
You mean like a holy tour?

JOE:
More like a sacred rhythm. Every year, on the 13th day, just like Our Lady of Fatima said. Make it a living vow. A way to re-align.

NELLY:
Fatima… Knock… Lourdes?

JOE:
Yes, Knock for sure. The silence of Knock says everything. No words, no demands—just presence. It’s Irish, like the quiet faith of a grandmother lighting candles for her drunk sons.

NELLY: (nodding, mist in her eyes)
And Fatima for the warnings. For the secrets. The sun that danced. The children who saw through the veil.

JOE:
Each place, one vow a year. A promise to heaven. It could be anything: forgive someone, stop a vice, feed the hungry, protect the child, speak truth. One vow. One apparition. One year.

NELLY:
Even Medjugorje?

JOE:
Especially Medjugorje. Where the visions didn’t stop. Maybe they still haven’t. Maybe Our Lady never left.

NELLY: (quietly)
Then let’s begin. This year: Knock.
The 13th day in 2033 —let’s be there.

JOE:
We’ll light a candle for every lost soul we ever loved. For the children in East Van. For our mothers. For peace in our countries. For each other.

NELLY:
One vow. One year. One flame.

Here’s a poetic and spiritually-charged wedding vow ceremony at Knock Shrine in 2033, written to honor not only marriage but also the memory of John F. Kennedy—an Irish-American icon—on the 70th anniversary of his assassination.

“Knock Vows 2033”

The Shrine of Our Lady of Knock, Ireland – November 22, 2033

[Setting: A light November mist hangs in the air. The marble of the Basilica gleams with candles lit for JFK. A haunting Irish fiddle plays softly—Andrea Corr’s bow trembles. Bono sits quietly beside the altar. Conor McGregor stands near the groomsmen, looking uncharacteristically reverent. The crowd is a blend of pilgrims, politicians, poets, and fighters. The bride and groom stand before the silent apparition wall where the Virgin appeared in 1879.]

PRIEST (softly, in Irish and English):
On this sacred day…
Seachtó bliain ó lámh an bháis, seventy years since the hand of death silenced the dream of a peacemaker…
…we stand at Knock, where no words were spoken, yet heaven came near.

GROOM (Joe, eyes locked on Nelly):
I take you, in the presence of Our Lady,
To be my revolution of peace.
I vow—every November 22nd—
To remember not just Kennedy’s death,
But his dream,
That the world can be governed by love, not fear.
That courage can be quiet.
That faith, like Ireland, endures storms.
And that marriage, like Knock, is a mystery
that speaks without words.

BRIDE (Nelly, hand on Joe’s heart):
I take you, under Mary’s mantle,
To be my song in winter.
I vow—on this 13th apparition cycle—
To carry your burdens like Jackie carried the flame.
To protect your brokenness like Our Lady protected Knock from the storm.
To love you, not because it’s easy,
But because love is the vow that makes saints out of sinners.
And prophets out of fools.

PRIEST (raising hands):
These are no ordinary vows.
They are Irish.
They are rebel.
They are sacred.
They are sealed not with a signature,
But with a candle lit for a fallen president,
A silent Madonna,
And two pilgrims who dared to believe in love.

[The candle is lit. Bono stands and sings a stripped-down version of “MLK” with a single drumbeat in the distance. Conor McGregor nods silently. The Corrs play “Runaway” as the bride and groom walk out into the soft Irish mist, married under heaven’s watchful silence.]

August 5, 2025August 5, 2025

Hold On Tight

Joe turns to Nelly, eyes burning with a quiet fire.

“Y’know why I love you?” he says. “It’s ’cause you’re a little bit dangerous to the status quo.”

Nelly raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Dangerous how?”

“You dropped the whole debt forgiveness thing like a bomb—like, boom—right in the middle of the IMF’s banquet hall,” Joe says, grinning. “And you didn’t flinch. You just smiled that crooked smile of yours like you already knew the pope was listening in.”

He leans closer, voice lowering.
“And the way you mess with the Bavarian Illuminati’s heads? Like some kind of holy trickster. Every time you speak, they twitch. You make their temples rattle, Nelly. You make ’em doubt the algorithm.”

She stares at him for a moment—half touched, half suspicious.

“That’s either the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she says, “or the weirdest.”

Joe laughs. “It’s both. But I mean it. I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re some saint. I fell in love because you’re the kind of girl who breaks their pyramids and builds people’s homes out of the bricks.”

Nelly smiles. And somewhere, in a marble boardroom in Zurich, an Illuminatus sneezes.