Though two faces exists, tough overhead the all exists,
though we have one soul that exists,
Though the one candle dispossess not the flame though
the flame en-kindles all of California, even though it all happens,
I am not a man but a sea, lost at sea:
mermaids systematized upon porcelain stone beaches, yellow
lions call with echoing human tone
chanting___"life is but a dream__"
I don't want to feel anything anymore but
fate draws the currents in oceans like a Napoleonic recrudescence
from banishment on a paltry island made entirely of money.
However to say it properly, my mind has been bought and sold a thousand
times, and a thousand times I've wept for
our two faces to be one soul.
It is absurd to surmise your own thoughts are
knives poised against your neck
and you're happy to see yourself solidified.
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 1:43 AM UTC
Lost humanity, Soul One, Deus trois corps humane premiere to inherit fire from the rain birds of Iranian war children; sing at
last the ballads of thought crimes performed by
the actrice of the 1% of the 1% of Luciferian symbiosis, but I
wander and roam
to whom the birds reign forth
to cuddle a storm-
The purpose is that the mind cries in crime only,
ups the ante higher to the young prospector-
mountain gold and literature was the blood
in my youth vessel; we spoke of daemons and
the friends in my head who write soliloquies
upon the dome of my frontal skull, closing
my eyes I see a goddess splitting my one soul
into the pantheon, chante, marche, mange la
nurriture pour la tete,
money on war, some win over again the game of death-bet.
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 12:42 PM UTC
Your life leaves ribbons of light by which
my mind catches and begins the mainspring of our
Soul as one - you are to me a universe that
I see stars and nature (the sun in my eyes blinds me)
with blindness I rage upon darkness only to repeat
a revolution upon the Ouroboros snake.
You wear sunlight as armor for love, yelling to
flowers that sense unravels without love
and thanking land spirits for everything that is natural-
feeling the pedals first, feeling always first, only the dead
confabulate the doing and undoings of a pressed kiss from
love's archetypal phantoms behind reality.
your eyes have a voice (i think), but
I feel I love you greater than society
and nothing on the sun is brighter
than (i think) your smile with a flower over the skies of my head.
I was fearless, my mind ate all the flowers
in your garden but I did not touch you; I only
left a poem given to me from an Angel
whom has no trust in humanity, but entrusted me
to touch you with the untranslatable language
of my fearless obsession to communicate
to you the tiredness of things that break under
the weight of love and nothingness.
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 12:20 PM UTC