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poemsbyothers Sep 2020
It is copyright © Leonard Cohen 2006 and Jacket magazine 2007.
Takanawa Prince Hotel Bar

Slipping down into the Pure Land
into the Awakened State of Drunk
into the furnance blue Heart of the
one one one true Allah the Beloved
Companion of Dangerous Moods–
Slipping down into the 27 Hells
of my own religion my own sweet
dark religion of drunk religion
my bended knee of Poetry my robes
my bowl my scourge of Poetry
my final circumcision after
the circumcision of the flesh
and the circumcision of the heart
and the circumcision of the yearning
to Return to be Redeemed
to be Washed to be Forgiven Again
the Final Circumcision the Final
and Great Circumcision–
Broken down awhile
and cowarding
in the blasting rays
of Hideous Enlightenment
but now finally surrendered to the Great
Resignation of Poetry
and not the kind of Wise Experience
or the false kisses of Competitive
Insight, but my own sweet dark
religion of Poetry my ***** prize
my sandals and my shameful prayer
my invisible Mexican candle
my useless oils to clean the house
and remove my rival’s spell
on my girlfriend’s memory–
O Poetry my Final Circumcision:
All the pain was in fearing
and ignoring the girl’s voice
and the girl’s touch and the girl’s
fragrant humbling girlishness
which was lost three wars ago–
And O my love I love you again
I am your dog your cat
your Cleopatran snake
I am bleeding painlessly
from the Final Formless Circumcision
as I push up your dress a little way
and kiss your miraculously
lactating knee
And may all of you who watch
and G-d forbid!
are in a suffering predicament
as I go sliding down to Love–
may you speedily be embraced by
the girlishness of your own
dark girlish religion
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.wow, i never thought it would ever be possible,
i'm sorry, i have no empathy for these youtuber "creators",
any idiot can regurgitate the news,
venture into vulture journalism,
  then again: gone are the days of closely associated
with people like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein...
they are really gone: what the hell was gamer-gate
compared to watergate? gate after gate,
and all i'm hearing is response videos,
it should have never come to this,
whereby journalists are as untrustworthy as politicians,
and of what remains, come the saturday and
the sunday editions, when the petty bourgeoisie
come out of the woodworks of a week,
album reviews, book reviews, t.v. reviews,
restaurant reviews: real, real journalism,
all the grit you'd expect from a warzone...
           journalists forgot they were not kindred spirits
of politicians: but immediacy historians...
the front-line history chroniclers...
i find... these days, esp. these days...
    you know why i like heidegger so much,
and forget the fact that he joined the **** party?
in 1938 he was already disillusioned by it...
so the ad homine fallacy bites the dust...
   even a **** deservers a redemption...
but i find that these days, of all days...
   man, as a historiological creature has to bow
before the unshakeable facets of the biological man,
esp. in the english speaking world...
    in terms of history and biology:
     history has all the fun stories,
and a sensible "concern" for time,
   well... if not "concern" then at least a bearbable
time-frame...
                  after all, i am the one who said:
all the great deserts of the world,
akin to sahara? they were once great
mountain ranges... you already know where
to look between a mountain range akin to the alps
and a desert... bound to h'america...
   monument valley: utah...
  a mountain becomes a rock after a while...
while the desert expands...
    ayers rock (uluru)... but monument valley (utah)
is a transition period between a mountain range
and a desert, if we're going to stand outside
of all space and time, and look back in...
we have plenty of time to catch-up on...
           just like i believe that black holes
are actually 2-dimensional objects:
   that spin really fast, giving an impression
of them being 3-dimensional objects:
as usually represented by a gravity dip associated
with them pulling matter into themselves...
i think that black holes are paradoxes...
since how can a 2-dimensional object
actually exist in a 3-dimensional space?
   that depends on the size of the "3-dimensional"
object / space... the universe is a medium,
it's defined as a "space" but to me...
      it's beyond space... it's only space on the grounds
of isolated time, 365 days,
the time and space it takes for the earth
to orbit the sun... which is an isolated example,
outside? well: there's atmosphere on earth,
outside? vacuum!
who's going to prove my theory wrong?
               not anyone in my lifetime -
besides the point with these youtube content
"creators": where credit is due, credit is due,
but once might have cared for their vulture
journalism... two old farts akin to felix (black pigeon
speaks) and sargon of akaad talking about how:
the youth are congregating to youtube to listen
to music: that's what i've always done...
  i discovered these youtube "creators" by accident,
i just wanted my jukebox back, man,
i wanted my algorithm back, my imprint back,
now that the devil's dozen scenario took hold
of the platform: 1 video playing, 12 back-ups...
and they're all the same, unrelated, *******...
        talk all you want, please, just give back
my algorithm imprint, where i can discover new music...
again... i never thought i'd see another
compilation video, 173 videos bound to one...
and, mind you... after finding about 6 googlewhacks
(googlewhack? when you use the sort of
language that provides you with only one search
result on the behemoth platform of billions
of results, 1 is grand, but 6? it's becoming too
predictable)...
                        so here's what i found
   (band - song):

wooly mammoth - mammoth bones / kyuss - space cadet,
rainbows are free - last supper / grand magus -
                                                mountain of power,
zed - lies / om - cremation chant I & II,
    smoke - hallucination / weird owl - white hidden fire,
orchid - son of misery / witch - seer,
               unida - you wish / black mountain - old fangs,
b.r.m.c. - ain't no easy way /
              jack daniels overdrive - ****** to death,
shrinebuilder - blind for all to see,
                   datura - mantra / the heavy eyes - voytek,
the machine - infinity / clutch - the regulator,
   colour haze - mountain / maligno - son of tlalocan,
dozer - twilight sleep / gomer pyle - albino rattlesnake,
blockback - dead mans blues / greenleaf - witchcraft tonight,
cactus jumper - right way / borracho - bloodsucker,
alabama thunderpussy - motor ready,
                    earthless - sonic power,
my brother the wind - death and beyond,
   zaphire oktalogue - carrion fly / siena root - reverberations,
unida - slaylina / pothead - toxic / sungrazer - mountain dusk,
   rotor - costa verde / blizaro - it's in the lighthouse,
planet of zeus - woke up dead,
     kongh - pushed beyond / ufomammut - smoke,
high on fire - to cross the bridge,
              the secret - bell of urgency,
      unida - wet pussycat / dozer - big sky theory,
cavity - chloride / brutus - swamp city blues,
the grand astoria - something wicked this way comes,
sasquatch - the judge / pharaoh overlord - skyline,
baby woodrose - love comes down / kamni - **** of satan,
lay with me - the flying eyes / cowboys & aliens  -
                                                out of control,
sons of otis - liquid jam / hainloose - recipe,
    ridge - rancho relaxo / bongripper - ****** sutherland,
skraeckoedland - cactus / grails - satori,
    lo-pan - chicken itza / five horse johnson - people's jam,
blind dog - don't ask me where i stand,
     wiht - orderic vitalis / hisko detria - nothing happens,
liquid sound company - leage for spiritual discovery lives,
   goatsnake - black cat bone / gandhi's gunn - rest of the sun,
the egocentrics - wave / propane propane - it's alright,
heliotropes - ribbons / mother mars - price you pay,
che - the knife / annimal machine - condenado,
   earth - tallahassee / the whirlings - delirio,
orchid - heretic / maeth - horse funeral,
siena root - rasayana / graveyard - longing,
           tia carrera - hell / hainloose - recipe,
      burner - five pills (and a bottle of whiskey),
dala sun - guilty for ****** / vulgaari - lie,
        slo burn - muezli / stonehelm - zombie apocalypse,
smallman - evolution / spiders - fraction,
         shakhtyor - e. jaspers / earthmass - lunar dawn,
evoke the lords - dregs / colour haze - silent,
     sutrah - el septimo viaje...

  

who are "these" people,
who: "supposedly" live for the future...
they always cite it,
as the one motivational
momentum of the present -
it's as if they've never seen
a bull itch the ground
with its front hoofs -
   imitating building up momentum
before a charge...
or how a slingshot,
or how a bow works...
   to these people,
the ******* sideways movement
of a bow against a violin...
sometimes...
      you do not retreat into
the past, to hide, to amount
to nostalgia...
     sometimes
the only reason for the reflexive
affirmation, confined to maxims
and aphorism, nay: even poems!
is to look back...
     to reap what was once
sowed, rather than sow blindly,
and reap: what no one wants
to reap...
    drunk? getting there...
       it felt so relaxing paying off
a 100 / 250 part of a debt
i owe her...
            while buying a russian
standard liter,
   asking for a 100 cash-back
of the supermarket cashier,
- the limit is 50,
   but if you buy something else,
i can give you another 50...
- oh... ok...
   so me went to and took a bottle
of shveedish cider...
   rekorderlig...
   mind you? the swedish,
what they perfected fermenting
better than what the the irish claim
to fame is?
    sorry... magners:
               irish? stick to the guinness...
(it's actually the only cerveza
i'd go into an english pub to
drink from the tap... bottled? canned?
not the same)...
     but with such swedish delights
such as the above mentioned,
  ålska and K  ö   nigsberg
                            *œ
?
no competition... the suede(s) just
do one thing grand...
    cider...
- what was i talking about?
  ah... the "dreaded" past...
     the people who say:
  but you can't live out a life,
   holding onto a private past,
a memory...
    so... these other ******* were
allowed to implant a false
past, unrelated to me,
teaching me whether it was
Newton, or Leibniz who first
invented the infinitesimal calculus
method?
                i'm betting on Leibniz...
after all... he took the position
of a ******* librarian...
   and he wasn't buried with pomp
& circumstance at Westminster Abbey...
sometimes...
         one person can't have it all...
but if the education system
is a system that is indicative for
the erosion of memory, esp. private
matters... and juggernauts in
with these selective rubrics of science
and history...
fair enough the basic
implants: numerical arithmetic,
and lettering arithmetic -
    and then... lessons in mental
entertainment... when applied
           to menial labour...
memory is: supreme...
          i can't give my memory up...
that's what: killer proteins
eating the fat tissue of the brain
like starvation in reverse
        of a case of Alzheimer's?
memory is: cameo cinema -
    however distorted it might be,
although i beg to differ on
whether time per se,
  is not the better psychedelic
component
when coupled with memory -
esp. the cinematic aspect of memory...
there was never a "living" in
the past -
      there was a point about memory
to sharpen the edges of
    "dasein"... all speculation and
questions regarding consciousness,
as championed through
a chimpanzee's *** are somehow
pointless:
    given there's a higher tier of
conceptualization -
   working from dasein...
            hierjetzt -
      or in english?             presence...
- because why would i treat
a personal memory,
like some inorganic entity of
a schooling system,
under Catholic measures,
  that made it necessary to include
Pythagoras... but not Horace?
that's inorganic memory...
and unless i turn into some
inorganic entity -
   the organic aspect of my psyche:
my past, my cameo cinema?
   that's going to be a leech,
attached to me...
  and i'm not going to give it up,
just like... when i walk about
my door, and enter the england
that i know on the peripheries...
i'll speak the lingua franca -
     but with my privacy?
    you'd better cut my tongue off
before i stop speaking
my western slavic heritage...
    and it pains me...
when certain groups of immigrants...
don't know the POINT
where immigration becomes
insensible... self-lacerating...
           i once hated their approach...
now i just pity them...
anyone ****** can juggle
     two oranges rather than three...
p.s. old school cure for a cold?
forget the pills...
   glass of warm milk,
  an egg yolk,
     and a good scratch of butter...
  (on the rare occasion,
  milk infused with garlic)

mixed together...
before bedtime...
  if the ****** won't sweat out
the bacteria during the night...
     well... stick to the synthetics...
i'm pretty sure i know why i drink...
certainly not to: PARTY PARTY PARTY...
i always aim for
the one safety net of "pharmacology"...
ssssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

p.s. so much for children loving their
parents...
        in vitro and the whole
m.g.m. debacle:
so, sweet little *******,
       no *******, no chance for your
for a quickie satellite launch date from
Tehran, under all the weight of
monotheism turned secular...
christianity: the only "monotheism"
with overt tinged of polytheism,
lutheran, baptist, catholic, orthodox...
just today i opened my door twice...
once to a confused curry house delivery man:
did you order some food:
i too replied with a confused look
and the word: huh?! no.
then a black woman with a a white ol' granny
came by with a leaflet...
the jehovah's witnesses were on my trail...
lucky of my grandfather,
   the profanity brigade of the hebrew name
i will not dare utter came by...

  and if you have lived a good enough life:
memory? memory beats hollywood
technicolour and CGI...
at least in the cinema of memory i always
get to play the cameo (role)...

oh i get the youtube creators:
   living with his parents... still. aged 33...
funny that i don't mind them,
since they're getting older they're settling
into their solispsism,
        annoying as ****, but i stand them,
thank god the protruding caduceus veins
on my phallus protected me from
a circumcision...
  i can ******* like a girl with a web-cam...
no scented candles:
the no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones...
the toilet, simultaneously masaging my ****
and prostate...

men were not exactly supposed to derive
pleasure from ***: they were,
supposed to give pleasure,
and in giving pleasure to one outlet,
they were subscribed to finding out what
best pleases them: ergo?
women would always derive more of
the people from *** than men would ever...
*** is not a story of bragging about
a harem... the woman lies flat...
the man pumps her...
after all... she is the one burdened
to carry a child, why wouldn't she be
the one deriving more pleasure from *** than
a man could ever?
72 virgins! ha ha!
   ah ha ha!
             what's the ratio?
   last time i checked... a 3 hole caravan...
of a woman's worth...
   mouth, ******, ****... and man?
only two points of entry, well...
"entry"...
                    seems that the tomatoe,
really is a fruit, but is treated like a vegetable
nontheless!
homosexuality in the 1960s...
william burroughs in Tangiers...
                    when Islam was quiet radical...

well... i cook, i clean...
                what are my other options of continuing
to write and living the ed gein "lifestyle",
i tried getting social housing in england,
but, i'm not a somali with two wives and a dozen
kids...
              rent, in london?
extortion...
                   housing shortage...
                 well there's me hating my parents,
the outside world just needs to see
an ed gein imitation...
               or there's me living off acorns
in the woods, or rummaging on the streets,
making the N25 bus from oxford st. to ilford
my own personal mobile hotel as a homeless
man in london...

   i think it's time to succumb to your
parents prejudices, if only for the jokes,
no point in making ethical high judgements
to fit into a zeitgeist narrative surrounding
yourself with people: you'd never eat a meal with...
that's how i define the highest form of respect:
if i'll eat with you: implies that i respect you...
i drink alone...
a high school fwend once thought he could
bribe me with his company,
that i "had to" drink with him...
      no... not really...
          i much prefer drinking by myself...
these days you're not expected to honour your
mother and your father,
i.e. make them proud...
               honour is a double-edged sword...
just don't be ashamed of having
a mother or a father...
not that hard: given western divorce rates...
i.v.f., frozen eggs... yadda yadda yadda...
lucky me in having went to university...
oh... really? so much cooler in a cosmopolitan
environment with your contemporary
flat-mates?
               get the picture?
                 paying rent while literally living
in a diguised cardboard box?
i can't help the fact that poetry doesn't pay...
that there are economic factors beyond
my control in play...
   maybe if i was the grandson of my parents,
born in england, and not elsewhere,
there would be some sort of + leverage...
for a bricks and mortar start-up...
plus... i hoard...
         books and music...
                     mind you:
neither of my parents spoke english as their
mother tongue...
  neither did i...
they didn't teach me this tongue:
i had to teach this language by myself:
for myself...
           aged 8: thrown into the deep end
of the pool: now swim ******, swim!

i just feel sorry for the immigrant parents
who gave birth to their children into the *****
of the land they immigrated to...

two days ago i found a heartbreak,
a romanian couple, with a child...
the father was stubborn in teach his daughter
his / her native sprechen...
romanian... but she was already speaking
perfect antithesis of accent kindergarten english...
and almost non-responsive to her tongue
alligned to her biology...
    clearly she was born in england,
but her parents were both romanian...
i've had that conundrum in my head
for a long time...
   what if i married an english girl...
and i was unable to teach my offspring
my native language,
what if i had to silence my native tongue,
"forget" it, or only speak it by myself,
via reading a book in western slavic?
what if the woman i married:
wouldn't see the benefits of bilingualism,
outside of the mainstream economic
mantra of ensuring your children
learn either german or mandarin or arabic?
that worried me...
          oh believe me, i enjoy my lapses
into english: since i am providing the groundwork...
but in the case of having offspring...
e.g. teaching them the western slavic tongue
so they could speak to their grandparents
(i.e. my parents)...
       even my grandparents lament
the scenarios when a woman would marry
an austrian... and she wouldn't teach
her children her native tongue,
and when the grandchildren would visit their
grandparents... they'd be speaking
a crude variation of braille, morse,
   sign-language: na migi...
               i know that my mother is alive
in me even under this veil of english...
because she's more than the womb,
the genitals of my conception, the breast fed off...
she's also the Atlas of my vocabulary
of the "hiding" tongue beneath this one...

i already knew the "game" was rigged from
the get-go... i've seen how one hindu woman
suffered being married to a scouser...
she never managed to pass on her language
to her children,
she bought a library, thinking her children
would succumb to learning: however poor
they might end up being...
but she was suffocated by the english
tongue of her husband...
and her children didn't express even the most
vague of desires to learn their mutterzunge...

that's what worried me to begin with,
marrying an english woman i was afraid
of the ignorance that someone bilingualism
was en route toward a psychiatrist disorder
i was diagnosed with: schizophrenia...
this anglophonic ignorance still scares me...
like: everyone is expected to speak the revisionist
globalist lingua franca: this anglo lingua...
if i didn't meet a bilingual / polyglot woman,
i'd return to rearing idiotic children...
anglo lingua was only supposed to be a middle-ground,
a "no man's land"...
             a language of trivial economic transfers...
a language primarily orientated around usage:
rather than an ethno-centric basis for "englishness"...
to **** with: god save the queen...
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
                 old scot dragoons': auld lang syne...
those where my forever anthems...
see...
        what gave birth to a jihadi john?
his mother "forgot", his father "forgot":
his "mother" forgot, his "father" forgot to speak
the "ancient" tongue...
there's a point to integration of the immigrant,
an immigrant is a forgetful creature,
an ever pleasing creature...
never to mind himself as an ex-pat...
you ****** forget your mutterzunge...
you'll be speaking in cockney accents
with broken affairs of arabic beheading people
for zombified reasons of grandeour!
*******...
          you, you: you are to blame!
you were so ashamed of your parents that you
delved on honoring them to the point
of thinking giving pride unto them was very
much akin as keeping shame away from
their girdle of the wedlock of your own existence!
death has not made your a martyr...
i guess you deserve those 72 mishaps,
those 72 annoying voices...
and i pray to god that you receive your reward!
i hope that among the 72 you will never find
a chance a repose to find your: self!

integration is one thing,
pandering to the "elites": plebs who think they
are kings among the plebs,
is quiet another...
plebs who go places and think english
is a universal tongue: just because
uncle sam says so...
of those i respect:

y cymraeg: pwy dal eu tafod...
an gàidhlig: cò fhathast bruidhinn an cuid teanga...
i nawet moim: co ma mówić
to nawet tyle: co znaczy tak niewiele!

there are boundaries... learn the customs
of the natives, but ensure you retain the customs
you were born with...
a child, born in a foreign land,
ought to ensure his parents teach him
the words to speak to his grand overseers...
complete immersion,
this cultural abortion,
this cutting of the umbilical chord
from: i have never met a people so
content at having been subjugated outside
the indian sub-continent,
cricket... for ****'s sake...
       as to demand other europeans
to treat them as superiors,
when sitting alongside an englishman...
****-bud-bud, the **** are you on about?!
once again: england has become the circus
for the grounding of what began
with engels and marx...
   wasn't communism born from
engels and marx observing english society?
sure... first experimented en masse in
mongolia... but its origins?

   so of course i had problems finding a suitable
mating partner... i was afraid that my nativ-zunge
would die a slow but solemn death...
that an english bridge would not consider
the worth of a bilingual child, or a polyglot,
or that she would repress the chance of my
"biological continuum nuance" to respond outside
of the anglo lingua refrain of: beside the english language?
there are quiet a few one might want to learn...

it's not easy being a first generation immigrant,
esp. if you moved aged 8, mute as a wolf
to a domesticated dog's barking...
but hey, no jihadi john in me...
           jihadi john should have been raised
bilingual... i wouldn't be the one speaking broken
tourist arabic while beheading someone...
jihadi john spoke tourist arabic...
the dichotomy of the mind to the biological
reality, beside the current, western,
"biological relativism" debate...
      clearly darwinism was "wrong"...
man is, these days, left with neither a biological
reality, nor a historical reality...
              but there is a historical reality:
but it's so knit-&-picky...
come on... philip augustus of the capetian
dynasty?
                 casimir III...
                        jeremi wiśniowiecki...
konrad I of masovia...
                           kuno von lichtenstein...
alles ist gott: und gott ist alles -
  gott mit, uns!

              mit eine leben wert leben:
    erinnerung ist die nur kino
             wert sehen eine film beim;

hell... could be worse:
   i might have translated some latin
of horace into pig-trough comfort food.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2022
precursor - title correlation
body -

mind of:

C                oh

    oh                      Ri

n'ah.   (half an hour fiddling with a 502 bad
gateway; traffic these days! jeez!)

I.

it don't know what's more frustrating for the reasons that it's so good... i can't choose... it's a close call... either listening to Red Hot Chilli Peppers' B-sides from By The Way... ugh! why didn't they release that as a double album! Stadium Arcadium was not that good as a double-album... all the prior albums are MAGIC... literally... for ****'s sake: GOLDMINE is literally just that... there's that... i can't concentrate on making my own translation of Ovid... i'm yet to scribble down the translation i have... i can't even drink my whiskey properly... the other frustrating focus? watching Armand Duplantis break his own world record of 6.21metres... the ****** has still at least 10cm in him! a record that will have to stand-still for the next 20+ years... i'll be dead before this record is broken... Сергій Бубка best be sleeping... i'm listening to the music, reliving the end of the World Athletics and trying to heel-myself-in-the-buttocks: better get a move on boy... hmm! "trying"... i'm actually heeling myself in the buttocks: no time to wait... one can wait for a bus... one cannot for one's own incentive... ol' Lizzy is coming up the mountain... she's coming with the proper closure of the 20th century... however many popes she outlived... however many prime ministers and american presidents... come on Lizzie... just one more year... i'm actually dying to spend money with whittle Charlie printed on the notes... my fingers are itching... but **** me... music so good By The Way should have been a double-album... no! Stadium Arcadium was not the salvagable double-album worth session... i'm getting "schizophrenic" vibes... i know that poetry is not an entertaining medium: it's a complacent self-congratulatory, thereupeutic load of *******... it's obnixious when staged: the exasperated art of speaking with speed... today i realised that i much prefer drinking to having ***... i like the preservation of my brain with a hard-on of itchy fingers than any actual ******* hard-ons... the knife opening oysters or plucking out the eyes of deer... best the eyes be gauged out... than having deer stare into car lights... hybrid confusions of static, motivated to move... frozen in a make-shift imitation of root and clay and copper: bam! one more statue down...

II.

it's no wonder why i'm not looking for a girlfriend, it's no longer bewildering why i'm not looking for a wife, at best i'm looking out for that ancient custom of Roman emperors: to become a foster father, a surrogate - i'm yet to find a match-up... i almost did, but she undermined my chances by undermining her own seriousness in such affairs... but clarity does come... as much as i might be a surrogate father to her son or daughter: i wouldn't be faithful to her... i would steal the night and run away into a brothel... but there's something else... the whole dynamic of publishing has changed... the whole idea of a library has also changed... i own more valuable books in my private collection than the public library of Romford... which is me peering at the dire straits of what the public is fed... i know why i don't aspire for pair-bonding... perhaps man so levelled aspired toward the imitation of birds a long time ago... perhaps swans are truly noble creatures: for one hears of widow and widower swans... perhaps parrots: born from those monstrous beasts that were the dinosaurs can imitate our talk... all that's this reality within the confines of "perhaps": nonetheless, it's all true... but perhaps being the mammal that i am... i moved from a community of chimpanzees into a solo-ride of imitation-bear... perhaps i only entertain the opposite *** on the encounter of ***... i couldn't land a conversation with a woman outside the constrictive-framework of work, so much so: i would abhor the mindset of men that go on dates with women: buy them food and then EXPECT... i leave that ******* out in my interactions... pay-up-front for what you're about to receive otherwise don't play cat while the woman plays mouse... or rather... a rat in cat's clothing: the woman therefore becoming a rat-trap... mind you: i can't think of a more terrible idea than the modern version of: eat first, **** later... at the old ****** proverb states: a hungry ****** is angry... a filled ****** is lazy... god forbid i ever become tempted by those dating sites... i'm currently looking for the original Latin text of Ovid's the Amores book 2 poem 6... why? what i have in my hand... and what i'm finding... it's like what Robert Pinsky remarked about once: TRANSLATIONS differ so much from one translator to another...

they have done it... UEFA are mad... just to get my
accreditation for the women's Euros final
at Wembley they're asking me to bring my passport
with me... so is Wembley the JFK of Florida
          space-shuttle launch? Houston? am i leaving
the country?
                but the girls have done it...
funny: some other people are still complaining:
IT'S TOO WHITE!
   there's not enough diversity in the team...
          that's me also planning to go and live
in Kenya and become a model for toilet paper...
i'm sure i could replace that known Koala bear /
golden retriever or perhaps i could go there
and model for soap adverts...
it just so happened that racial tensions (only football
could create them) rose up for a little:
just one night the day England lost to Italy
on penalty shootouts... because... 3 black guys
were playing a rigged roulette...
            then again? me? and the African heat?
fat chance...

find me the original Elegy VI: the death of Corinna's
pet parrot...
oh man... and her name was Polly...
i sat up late last night trying to find something
interest on the television...
bam! thank you ma'am...
                       kurt cobain: montage of heck...
sort of reminded me of...
                           a SCANNER DARKLY...
                           mind you: i sometimes do enjoy
a one-man show... or at least two...
there was this brilliant show in the West End...
Stones in his Pockets...
       two actors... sharing the roles of...
                  about 15 people each...
but it was back in circa 2001...
so... maybe it was Louis Dempsey
                                                        & Sean Sloan...
mind you... i'd still love to see Samuel Beckett's
             NOT I...

Jack Trades says: i'm about to a heap
of hay of hate...
                                i'm everywhere sometimes...
if it's not music, then its visual arts,
then it's philosophy, then fine literature...
then something "oriental" in thinking...
then its coupling my fetish for Deutsche as:
father to the English zunge...
then it's back east to rummage in some Katakana...

i know why i'm single, Roger Moore remained
a bachelor until his death...
  courteous: as ever as forever always...
i'd be a terrible match-up... i've given pair-bonding
a chance: i can't bemoan why X is not Y...
the sort of men that pair-bond are claustrophilic...
they love the company of a mate...
each time i was ever in a "relationship" i already
had one foot dangling: tapping an imaginary
drum set...
recently i discovered the B-side of the Red Hot Chilli
Peppers... so for me it's a version
of keeping the 20th century alive with
the "dichotomy" of the Rolling Stones vs.
the Beatles... i'm more... R.H.C.P.'s A-sides
of R.H.C.P.'s B-sides?
                                        i'm busy...
                i'm always busy... i don't want to relax...
i want a Turkish barber to suggest that
i need  hot-towel and an arm massage after
my beard is trimmed and... i'm still going to state:
getting a Turk to trim my beard is a close
contender to oral *** from a Turkish *******...

but try finding me that original Latin of Ovid's...
ah! found it! let's see if i can compete with
my own translation... the one i originally read
and the one i found finding the original Latin
were so disparaging...

**** yes! well... there was Ted Hughes writing
about the Crow... poor ******...
should have killed himself: might have competed
with his terribly-wonderful wife of a poet...
i give her that: what noose?
best head in an oven...
and you want a shovel with that?
but this is Ovid... "complaining" about
the death of his lover's parrot...
immediately i jumped to conclusions:
not enough crackers...

(A) the Original:

Psittacus, Eois imitatrix ales ab Indis,
    occidit—exequias ite frequenter, aves!
ite, piae volucres, et plangite pectora pinnis
    et rigido teneras ungue notate genas;
horrida pro maestis lanietur pluma capillis,
    pro longa resonent carmina vestra tuba!
quod scelus Ismarii quereris, Philomela, tyranni,
    expleta est annis ista querela suis;
alitis in rarae miserum devertere funus—
    magna, sed antiqua est causa doloris Itys.
Omnes, quae liquido libratis in aere cursus,
    tu tamen ante alios, turtur amice, dole!
plena fuit vobis omni concordia vita,
    et stetit ad finem longa tenaxque fides.
quod fuit Argolico iuvenis Phoceus Orestae,
    hoc tibi, dum licuit, psittace, turtur erat.
Quid tamen ista fides, quid rari forma coloris,
    quid vox mutandis ingeniosa sonis,
quid iuvat, ut datus es, nostrae placuisse puellae?—
    infelix, avium gloria, nempe iaces!
tu poteras fragiles pinnis hebetare zmaragdos
    tincta gerens rubro Punica rostra croco.
non fuit in terris vocum simulantior ales—
    reddebas blaeso tam bene verba sono!
Raptus es invidia—non tu fera bella movebas;
    garrulus et placidae pacis amator eras.
ecce, coturnices inter sua proelia vivunt;
    forsitan et fiunt inde frequenter ****.
plenus eras minimo, nec prae sermonis amore
    in multos poteras ora vacare cibos.
nux erat esca tibi, causaeque papavera somni,
    pellebatque sitim simplicis umor aquae.
vivit edax vultur ducensque per aera gyros
    miluus et pluviae graculus auctor aquae;
vivit et armiferae cornix invisa Minervae—
    illa quidem saeclis vix moritura novem;
occidit illa loquax humanae vocis imago,
    psittacus, extremo munus ab orbe datum!
optima prima fere manibus rapiuntur avaris;
    inplentur numeris deteriora suis.
tristia Phylacidae Thersites funera vidit,
    iamque cinis vivis fratribus Hector erat.
Quid referam timidae pro te pia vota puellae—
    vota procelloso per mare rapta Noto?
septima lux venit non exhibitura sequentem,
    et stabat vacuo iam tibi Parca colo.
nec tamen ignavo stupuerunt verba palato;
    clamavit moriens lingua: 'Corinna, vale!'
Colle sub Elysio nigra nemus ilice frondet,
    udaque perpetuo gramine terra viret.
siqua fides dubiis, volucrum locus ille piarum
    dicitur, obscenae quo prohibentur aves.
illic innocui late pascuntur olores
    et vivax phoenix, unica semper avis;
explicat ipsa suas ales Iunonia pinnas,
    oscula dat cupido blanda columba mari.
psittacus has inter nemorali sede receptus
    convertit volucres in sua verba pias.
Ossa tegit tumulus—tumulus pro corpore magnus—
    quo lapis exiguus par sibi carmen habet:
"colligor ex ipso dominae placuisse sepulcro;
    ora fuere mihi plus ave docta loqui".

mein gott... in English it reads so smoothly reading
it while listening to Red Hot Chilli Peppers'
B-sides... quixoticelixer...
teatra jam (short)... and then thinking about it...
through to and through Going Li coupled
with trouble in the pub (instrumental version)...

i will never own a car...
              mind you: i already secretely own a house...
if i keep appeasing my mother and my father:
when reality kicks in and they're dead and i'm
project solo... it's not like i'm waiting for the day...
they are hoarders of shoes and screws...
literally... no metaphor...
  on my own: i will have to recycle so much ****
before i will put the house on the market...
and? i never pledged any allegiance to Essex...
England... i have: pledged an allegiance
to the English tongue...
                 but if not the Shetland Islands...
north... "god" send me north! even as far as
Greenland!
                i'm not willing to die in a place where
villages are flaring up in a July heat...

i can't bemoan what i honestly couldn't keep...
i sometimes get mad at my father for being
so submissive to my mother...
i sometimes get so mad at my mother for only
being able to talk about her chronic pains:
i'm alligned with my grandmother
who once said: she's just like your paternal
great-grandmother... every itch and scratch...
it's like writing with chalk on a blackboard...
hey presto! ruptures of the Grand Canyon...
that ******* bollocking of: ooh! ah!
           me? i don't understand people with tattoos...
me? i collect scars...
these two fading ones on my face are a disappointment...
i thought something more pronounced
could be kept from that bicycle-crach Francis Bacon
esque imitation of painting:
   the sort of painting where you can still revel
in brush-strokes being visible...
   because it's not rigid: Renaissance form painting...

now: i can sort of imagine what men couple up...
those who fear being alone...
those not interested in art...
those mostly interested in sport... but not all sport...
just some sports...
sports that they support "passing their lineage"
with according to the cult of football teams...
not all-sports... i.e. not an interest in fencing...
swimming... certainly guys who thought:
wow! tennis is great to watch!
   but squash is so much more fun to play!
cycling... well... if you love cycling per se:
watching other people cycle is a bit: BOO-RING...
what sort of other men get married?
probably those not interested in risque ***
with prostitutes...
ones interested in making money for a woman
to spend...
me? i'm not interested in money...
                       in terms of money:
i'm more likely to spend £30 on a book than
think about a dinner date...
                      
is that...   ??? i'm not even going to ask myself
that question that begins with a buzz-word
and the letters Mmmm... miso...
                             well... what is a boy to do...
figure out what to do with his spare time...
               i don't mind cleaning the house:
who ever said that it's the duty of a woman to keep
the house clean? i like living in a household in order...
i love cooking: it's like chemistry 2.0...
                      give me a bag of Indian spices and i'll
cook up a perfect storm of a curry...
but then again: i'm not work-shy when it comes
to using heavy-duty tools akin to the KANGO...
which... i later found out was a Japanese word for
Chinese in general... or the other way round...
i'd hate to be one of those Phil Collins types of
forgetting how many hands i have
by changing gloves like i might be an octopus...

and when it comes to children?
eh... it's enough for a boy in a buggy in a supermarket
pointing his finger at me as i walk past
making that chimpanzee face of OOH at me...
or a fist-bump with some teenagers at the London
Stadium... that's enough... i'm happy to play
the "secret uncle" role...
while women remain women: as fickle as the wind...
i've learned to live with that reality...
i scratch my beard and pretend that i'm playing
a violin...

plus, i'm a terrible drinker... i'm a loving-drunk...
i'm drunk right now...
if a litre of whiskey per night satisfies
my libido shortages i'm happy:
it implies i can write... i stop drinking and start
*******: alles goot...
                           today i was visited by a wasp...
i was visited by a bee before...
oh man... it was heart-breaking...
he was dying... i had to help him...
   i poured some honey onto the pave-,
and moved him towards the puddle...
he stuck his mighty Gene Simmons sucker out
and started to perform an OD on sugar...
i was glad... watching him die from a sugar-overdose...
it was: rather pleasant to watch...

TERROR! mix JAINISM with TAOISM
and fuse that in an European mind...
               but i'll still eat meat...
                        it's a parody of what's to be expected:
i prefer life with the possibilities of change...
with... curiosities of: extensive ulterior
possibilities that run counter to estblished norms
of expectations of a RIGID MIND...
i water: i flow...
      i fire: i dance...
i air: i whirl...
i earth: i rumble...
i lightning: i blink...
hey presto! the five elements!

in another language close to my heart:
since i was born with it...
the pronoun disappears:
ja woda: płyne
ja ogien: tańcze...
   ja powietrze: kręce się (odd)
ja ziemia: trzęse się (also "odd")
ja grzmot: mrygam

there are languages in existence where pronouns
hide... to be honest...
in ******? the pronouns are rarely used...
oh mein gott... when they're used in a sentence:
esp. the I... it's like... wow! i just found
a "nugget of gold"!
seriously... that how my mother-tongue
is structured: on English is the current
prounoun-circus available to watch...
i'm siding with the Somali pirates having
a giggle... playing blackjack with either Greeks
or some other Africans...

there are languages in English that cannot: will not,
succumb to the current Marxist onslight
happening in this tongue...
not because these languages will not:
they CANNOT...
mind you... it's such an intellectual low-bar
of achievement... but since it's piggy-pop...
it must be slaughtered on an individual level
before this DISEASE is allowed to spread...
thank heavens that English is only my second
language... how that allows me to bypass
buying into any sort of propaganda...
   my lingua Ingelese... my tongue for spreading
ideas...
    oh: and thank **** i' expressing in a medium
desecrated by the same people pushing these
sordid ideas... post-humous fame! 'ere i come!
obviously! who's in it for the "real" and immediate
if one isn't... fabricating a pickling of a shark
in plastic.... who? who?! woof!
   a-woooooo"

            my heart has shrunk and hardened to
the size and hardness of a pebble...
    i wish i could entertain cosy nights with a woman
watching some pointless movie about
the stereotypes of love... then again: no...
i'd rather not...
drinking alone: who the hell said i was alone?
i sometimes "hallucinate" someone crying:
of late... i'm like: this isn't Aud Lang Syne...
this isn't Shakespear...
then again i love the idea that my true readers
are yet to be born...
i'm happy, happy-bear-alone...
                       a Maine **** is sleeping in my
bed... i'll join him come the right hour...
but he's not looking at me... he's looking above me...
only yesterday i started to paparazzi
a wasp that flew into my bedroom...
          what the **** do i have above me?
please say letters... i will not do alright with a halo...
i'm not going to join that
archangel one minute... saint the next...
clip my ******* wings for a get-through-easy
card: no!
          
it became finalized today... i'm literally tired
of ***... i'm tired of *** when it's equivalent to not...
being tired of eating food... drinking water...
it's unnecessarily-necessary... *** as golf...
per say...
                2 months of delay in payment...
i'm thinking about rekindling my affair with that mountain
bike... i have to forget the streets...
i need the woods again... but for that i need new tires...
oh... hell... i no longer have anything
to prove in the brothel... blah blah whatever...
threesomes look great: LOOk...
like a block of cheddar looks great...
when shredded...
and then melting...
perhaps in pornographic flicks...
but in reality? the changing of condoms
from one mouth to another...
from one ****** to another...
                          
what?! peiple are having unprotected ***?
vermin ****?!
   **** me... well... at least i'm obnoxiously savvy
in that regard...
no no... it's too disappointing...
you have to split your attention up...
there's nothing good about a *******...
why? because, usually... of the two girls...
there's one you really want to be a screwdriver to...
while the other is just being a, *******...
a ******* bandwagon... leftovers...
a pair of **** you get to imitate ****** with...
it's a bit like:
coupling an elephant with a giraffe...
but i want to ride the elephant!
but i want to stroke the giraffe's neck!
but  i want to pretend the elephants's tusk...
no! not tusk! TRUNK....
that rectangular bit of ******* you shovel
your clothes in when travelling...
TRUNK... or a TRAMPOLINE!
no... not the bouncy layer...
TRUNK... sneeze! trambone! jazz! ******* Miles Daisies!
Davis!  trumpet *******!
no... don't get me started on the sax...

then again: i want a rhino's horn! ram-jam...
Black Betty Bam B'eh Lam!

- oh no... i moved along... R.H.C.P.'s: thanks for the t-shirt...
Big Bukowski style:
i hate the eagles... run through the jungle...
run Forrest! whun!
WHUN!
  and that's me... hardly a LAMNTIA of the Beatniks
tripping... me? enough whiskey
and the right song... and i'm grooving beside
an imaginary drum-kit...
in that: once upon a time...
when men grew their hair long...
they were the barbarians knocking
on the gates of Rome... rather than being
the implosion of Rome within with
all of Rome's degeneracy of transgender gimmicks...

mind you: i've given it some thought...
i broke it down toward the following schematic:

anonymous audience, commenting,
video making blah blah...
****** "schematic": if you can call it that...
mind you: the VAR in WIETNAM
had the best soundtrack...
just saying: hey! her?! hey! don't shoot
the messanger!
i'd rather work the Fulham opening night
with the new stand: Thames-side being opened
than attend Wembley for a Westwood...
Westworld... Westlife concert,
i'm all up for handling those Scousers:
northern monkeys?
southern fairies...
let's just call them for what they are...
northern TOURISTS...

but the dynamic of publishing has changed:
i already know the criterium first...
women and children first...
THIRST beccause water matters...
i'm thirsty too... one litre of whiskey and
i'm still typing like a machine...
i'll box my liver and kidneys
as long as i keep my brain and eyes happy...

but it's just a different dynamic...
the internet experience...
i know a lot of people miss it...
i can't force people to read my bollocking-riddles...
ergo? i don't stagnate into celebrating it
or therefore advertising it...
i'm either read or i'm STAUB...
   dust...
                
i can't! i'm only making something available...
i can't force people out of their democratic "wedlock"...
you like it? great! you don't? great!
but the psychology of those video creators that
mind how many views they receive and
how many comments they: likewise receive...
"false hits" with the number of hits of viewership?

me? i'm not bothered... i've been watching
the female Euro finals...
i was almost scared... what if the female England team
don't make it to the finals?!
me? i'm gearing up...
any rowdy hooligans up to speed?!
as much as i hate women not trying toi compete
in sports that are sexually-exclusive...
there's this... THIS... i watch the games because
the Colleseum is burning...
i'm only watching the fire...
    and i'm watching the women i'd love to ****...
this never would have happened if watching
tennis...

    the crisp biting attache of a sharpshooter
WONG sort of mixer-mix-up with a whiskey
and a pepssi...
me... reaching for a second glass
with one already filled like: *******... RAINMAN...

keep your horses!
i'm gearing up to a translation!
wait, the, ****, up! keep it cool in Doob-Lyn!
oh no... you don't get to tell me
i use too many vowels without me showing
you... you mishandled the vowel-to-consonant
dynamic... Doob-Lyn is Dublin: tow me...
no: not to me? tow me... now you're dragging me
along the snail-trail...

the disparaging translations:

(B) the A. S. Kline translation

Parrot, the mimic, the winged one from India’s Orient,
is dead – Go, birds, in a flock and follow him to the grave!
Go, pious feathered ones, beat your ******* with your wings
and mark your delicate cheeks with hard talons:
tear out your shaggy plumage, instead of hair, n mourning:
sound out your songs with long piping!
Philomela , mourning the crime of the Thracian tyrant,
the years of your mourning are complete:
divert your lament to the death of a rare bird –
Itys is a great but ancient reason for grief.
All who balance in flight in the flowing air,
and you, above others, his friend the turtle-dove, grieve!
All your lives you were in perfect concord,
and held firm in your faithfulness to the end.
What the youth from Phocis was to Orestes of Argos,
while she could be, Parrot, turtle-dove was to you.
What worth now your loyalty, your rare form and colour,
the clever way you altered the sound of your voice,
what joy in the pleasure given you by our mistress? –
Unhappy one, glory of birds, you’re certainly dead!
You could dim emeralds matched to your fragile feathers,
wearing a beak dyed scarlet spotted with saffron.
No bird on earth could better copy a voice –
or reply so well with words in a lisping tone!
You were snatched by Envy – you who never made war:
you were garrulous and a lover of gentle peace.
Behold, quails live fighting amongst themselves:
perhaps that’s why they frequently reach old age.
Your food was little, compared with your love of talking
you could never free your beak much for eating.
Nuts were his diet, and poppy-seed made him sleep,
and he drove away thirst with simple draughts of water.
Gluttonous vultures may live and kites, tracing spirals
in air, and jackdaws, informants of rain to come:
and the raven detested by armed Minerva lives too –
he whose strength can last out nine generations:
but that loquacious mimic of the human voice,
Parrot, the gift from the end of the earth, is dead
The best are always taken first by greedy hands:
the worse make up a full span of years.
Thersites saw Protesilaus’s sad funeral,
and Hector was ashes while his brothers lived.
Why recall the pious prayers of my frightened girl for you –
prayers that a stormy south wind blew out to sea?
The seventh dawn came with nothing there beyond,
and Fate held an empty spool of thread for you.
Yet still the words from his listless beak astonished:
dying his tongue cried: ‘Corinna, farewell!’
A grove of dark holm oaks leafs beneath an Elysian *****,
the damp earth green with everlasting grass.
If you can believe it, they say there’s a place there
for pious birds, from which ominous ones are barred.
There innocuous swans browse far and wide
and the phoenix lives there, unique immortal bird:
There Juno’s peacock displays his tail-feathers,
and the dove lovingly bills and coos.
Parrot gaining a place among those trees
translates the pious birds in his own words.
A tumulus holds his bones – a tumulus fitting his size –
whose little stone carries lines appropriate for him:
‘His grave holds one who pleased his mistress:
his speech to me was cleverer than other birds’.

(C) the  P. Green translation

parrot, that feathered mimic from India's dawlands,
is dead. come flocking, birds, to his funeral:
come, all you godfearing airborne creatures,
beat ******* with wings,
   mourn, claw your polls, tear out soft feathers
(your hair), and pipe high your sad lament.
Philomela, nightingale, the ancient crimes of Tereus
which you lament is long past -
    divert your grief to the obsequies of a rare and modern
bird: poor Itylus' case was tragic, but antique.
all wind-borne voyagers through the clear empyrean
lament now, and above all his friend the turtle-dove
they lived in complete agreement,
    their bond of faith held firm to the end.
what Pylades was to Orestes or Argos, that Parrot,
turtle-dove was to you - while fate allowed.
yet of no avail your devotion, your rare and beautiful
plumage,
your adaptable mimic's voice;
    not even the care that my darling lavished on you -
poor Polly, paragon of birdhood, is dead.
so gree his feathers, they dimmed the cut emerald;
scarlet his beak, with saffron spots.
no bird on earth could copy a voice more closely
or sound so articulate.
fate, jealous, removed him - that unaggressive creature,
that talktative devotee of peace,
with his tiny appetite , whose love of conversation
left him little leisure for food,
who lived on a diet of nuts, used poppy-seed to encourage
sound sleep: kept his thirst at bay with nothing but water.
quails spend their whole life fighting -
maybe that's how they reach a ripe old age.
carnivorous vultures, kites gyring high in the heavens,
weather-wise jackdaws, prophets of rain to come,
are all long-lived - while Minerva's bête noire, the raven,
can outlast nine generations. yet Parrot is dead,
that loquacious parody of human utterance,, that bonanza
from the eastern edge of the world,
greedy death almost always pickss off the best ones early -
it's the third-raters who reach a ripe old age.
Thersites attended the funeral of Protesilaus;
Hector was ashes while his brothers still lived.
what point is recalling the desperate prayers my sweetheart
uttered?
some stormy sirocco blew them out to sea.
six days he survived, and then, at dawn on the seventh,
his thread of destiny ran out.
yet somehow, though dying, he could still find utterance,
and the last words he ever spoke were: 'Corinna, farewell!'
beneath a hill in Elyium, where dark ilex clussters
and the moist earth is for ever green,
there exists - or so i have heard - the pious fowls' heaven
(all ill-omened predators barred).
harmless swaans roam after foot there, there dwells
the phoenix, that long-lived, ever-solitary bird;
there Juno's peacock spreads out his splendid fantail
amid the billing and cooing of amorous doves;
and there, in this woodland haven, the feathered faithful
welcome Parrot, flock round to hear him talk.
his bones lie buried under a parrot-sized tumulus
with a tiny headstone bearing these words:
r.i.p. Polly: this tribute from his loving mistress:
articulate beyond a common bird

the thought of LEMONS or perhaps
the IDEA of lemon...
then again: i can't refrain from
ORANGES and LIMES...
and the shy-sunlight of autumn
and the blooming of apples...
and operas...
             "someone"...
                              what pretty pies of
unfuckable wonders await...

divert your grief to the obsequeies of a rare and modern
bird: poor Itylus' case was tragic, but antique
(antiquated?).
all wind-borne voyagers through tge clear empyrean
lament nowm abd above all
his friend the turtle-dove, they lived in complete
agreement
   their bond of faith held firm to the end.
what Pylades was to Orestes of Argos, that, Parrot,
turtle-dove was to you - while Fate allowed,

i'm not even going to bother with a "bananna C"...
i woke up wild-awake with ideas...
brimming with Tao...
"non-doing" id est: point PROVEN
or rather point SERVED?!

Russia and China are clashing...
or rather sparring...
they're having their civilization-state
agenda being put in place...
while there's a "culture-war" in the "west"...
right... James Bond...
so we're refrrering to nation-stattes
as post-nationhood...
  "states"...
                    precursors to the globalist agenda
of fake space exploration via the ******* telescope...
if Russia and China are civivilasation-states...
then... whatever culture "war" is investing in:
or rather: digressing into... impliies
the FSA (federal states of america)
             is a culture-state...
                                                ­                 no?

personally? i don't like the current h'American culture...
it's absolute *******...
no! i'm not going to translate any more of Ovid...
i already read the better translation...
i found out only two minites ago that
i prefer drinking to having ***...
and keeping an eye on cats is just as rewarding
as rearing children: if you allow yourself
to give them a personality...

           so Russia is a civilisation-state...
while America is a culture-state...
                    well... no wonder...
                                            America is the zenith
that could be: but doesn't have to be
preserved...
the culture-state-of-the-sand-*******...
i wish: the Arabs clocked in lucky...
sitting on so much raw ill of oil...
bounce bounce libido bounce bounce...

hmm... "inner monologue"... i had that "thing"
once... i kost it... turning psychotic...
then again: within the confines of having
an internal monologue? i was passive...
       i was a passive agent...
                         upon losing it: having my soul
evaporate: becoming an "N.P.C."...
i became an active agent...
i opened my eyes a second time...

           i think my inner monolpogue became blocked
by:
został wyciszony... bo zaczoł być cykliczny,
tzn. nie po prostej:
       wymarł według koncepcji
sprawiedliwości...

even i know: the gods uttered the words:
shut the **** up! we know you're right!
but we're playing roulette!
shut the ******! we're playing cards!
shut up!
wait! wait your turn!
**** me, given the prowess at attaing
a concept of the differential of space comparing
time... i.e. speed... i'll be karma-happy
once i die...

i'm not translating the rest of that Ovid...
a girl's parraot died... great!
now i'm thinking about:
a bicyckle is a terrible idea... to ride...
on the roads towards St. Paul's... i think i might
require a horse!
i need a horse! bring me a hood, a hoof,
an apple and a toothbrush!
the last place i'm thinking about moving
to is California...
   and thank no god for that...
just the people who already live there.

III.

i sooner discovered the rare B-sides of Red Hot Chilli
Peppers than having realised... oh right...
they release two albums after By the Way...
i completely forgot about those two...
               guess i'm not as big a fan as i thought i was...
Go Robot... it's not oh so wo terrible now, or anymore...
oh woah woe... what a whale to ride into the night...

sometimes it just happens, a sort of blend of an Ezrra Pound
and a Charles Olson moment, poem, moment-poem...
it stretches for three days and you just don't want
to finish it... you kept repeating yourself writing seemingly
aimlessly with no focus...
at this point writing becomes theraputic...
by the simple act of writing: not theraputic regarding
what you're writing about: memories of frustration and
complications having finished Thomas Mann's Dr. Faustus...
unlike those joyous frustrations with Samuel Beckett's
Watt...
                  and on the third day "he" finished painting
four metal chairs a new colour of copperhead...
a copperneck painting chairs copperhead...
to me the colour of copper is more appealing than
that of gold...

if i still had that inner-monologue people speak of
i wouldn't be writing this,
that inner-monologue fantasy i once was a proud owner
of: i.e. the closest "thing" to the idea of soul
was also filled with so many doubts...
i simply don't care what the supposed benefits
of it were... that whole no-inner-monologue ergo
one's an NPC (non-playable character)...
    i remember that that when my first psychotic episode
slammed me on a rampage i started to see DIFFERENTLY...
it was as if a veil was lifted from my eyes...
if i didn't write terrible poetry back then...
i most certainly wrote very little...
             the inner-monologue doubts... a plethora of them...
no? psychosis = the osmosis of soul...
   the body has remained... the devils said:
but these idle hands and this idle intellect have to stay...
we'll pass on the message with your soul
as it leaves your body...
call it whatever you want:
   res vanus or the silence of the "mind"...
that's how you become more of an active agent...
it might be called writing but i call it digging...
a tunnel toward some variaton of: marrying Hades
with Tartarus...
                after all... Venus is the daughter of titans...
and she's the only Titan among the Olympian gods:
such is her perfection... almost on par with
   the patron of philosophers that's Sacred Sophia:
who entertains the foolishness of elder men
without being able to tell them apart from boys...

IV. if i were to translate Amores II. XI

would i be willing to add a D in the translation sequence?
i don't think so
there's no need... i like comparing the two i already
made available...
i just wanted to stress how unbelievable Latin is...
compared to the modern tongue, for example English...
how compact it is!
- and course, i prefer the second translation...
     it... exfoliates!
                     this is the point for me where i truly appreciate
Ovid to be on par with Horace...

side by side walking through the zenith-nadir of
man...

   i'm finally come across a sequence of events that
make me unwilling to stop typing: perhaps if i get
drunk enough and stumble on my first typo
perhaps a series of typos would end my ambition...

do i think men in the west are living
in a land of libido-insomnia? i think they are...
whoever said that watching one type of pornogrphy
soon spirals out of control and men start
scouting for more extreme *******:
hello outlier A! hello outlier B!
where's outlier C? oh... he's coming...
at a time when women are supposed to be these
sexually liberated creatures while men
are either STAGS with harems or limp biscuit *****...
thank god i managed to catch the train
of having the ***** of walking into a newsagent
and buying a pornographic magazine to ******* to...
stashed about six in a folder behind
the radiator in the bathroom at 21B Beehive Lane,
Gants Hill...
                         mind you: i started prematurely...
8?
     i switch off with western ****** antics:
people are either having too much ***: ergo the kinks
or not enough of it...
outlier in the middle: when it's too hot
i leave the insects to do their lineage pride...
cooler temperatures: *** like rubbing sand-paper
on a ****** paint-job...

                         makeshift boney **** of the hand...
well: at least ******* makes me more interested in
the **** than **** ***...
but i did the opposite... i need to keep a sack-of-sanity
atop my head...
beside adoring the Katakana...
i very much adore Japanese tamed sexuality...
     グラビア アイドル (gurabia aidoru)...
back in the day when the English tabloid newspaper
the Sun had a page 3 girl...
back to basics... a show of *******...
    a show of cleavage... perhaps even the breast
like the eye... the sclera of the rounded breast...
the darkened skin at the iris and then the pupil
as the ******...
  floral patterns of the *******...
                  back to basics...
                           a photograph of a naked woman
and all the imagination at work: what wouldn't
i want to do with her?

well... if you begin pleasing yourself while concentrating
on the kiss between Venus and Cupid
in one of Bronzino's beauties of paint-strokes...
you're hardly going to go down a rabbit-hole
of "hide and hide": wihtout seeking it out...
people and thier kinks...
while a minority: dodo-project sexuality of
homosexuality is celebrated: garnerded unto the guise
of "pride": i can't stomach shame...
but hey: look at me! i'm about to parade my sexuality
like and ******* latex-clad gimp readied
for being given ***-favour-orders...

outlandish! god-forgiving god-fearing...
  hardly every god-loving...
           a settling in of a blue that's not the sky
but a melancholy... i'm finally willing to end this
"diatribe"... to start afresh... again and again...
like mixing: Dreams of a Samurai with
Hans Zimmer's spectres in the fog...

                      my ***: going back to figuring out
the premature adventures into ***...
one boy passing on the secrets of *******
to another while sharing a bath:
the cruel curiosity of the circumcision:
in a secular environment: without the kippah
or the niqab: the submission of the women...
i will not give up the "sheath" to my "sword"...
i will keep my teeth with my twirling tongue...
if ever an improvement on the aesthetics?
clipping the ears of Dobberman dogs...
banning clipping the clipping of their tails...
but still: the preserved atrocity of male circumcision...
i could agree...
once a woman is devoted to her man...
a circumcision like putting on a wedding ring...
noble swans... oh noble swans...

a melancholy that's sort of azure...
amass enough water and you will see blue...
amass "too little": freeze it...
a paleness somewhat grey...
but then the icebergs roaming that are
the Cistercians...
            all i need right now is for some lonely
dog to start barking into the night...
or the cackling "laughter" of a fox...
    
    but all those sexless lives...
            "lucky" me for taming my consumption down...
where would i be without it?
i didn't ask for a *******...
i wa offered it... i will never forget how she clamoured
for the opportunity...
she couldn't stomach being rejected twice...
she just had to clamour like a crab in a crab bucket...
even if she thought she thought she succeeded:
she was the spare wheel...
what i've learned... i prefer one-on-one interactions...
but i gave in...
   it would have never worked out:
not like it "works out" in pornographic flicks...
the sharing of saliva and other juices...
we're responsible adults...
unlike in the pornographic flicks...
          two women: one man...
the changing of condoms...
                           i had to think quick:
there's only one way i will not be undermined...
snuggling up to the one i really wanted
to spend an hour with...
                       kissing neck and cheek...
while she did a hand-job...
   the other just sat there sort of idle...
                          until i figured out... those *******
could be of some use...

- i couldn't pull off a Jesus look...
long hair and a beard is not my "thing"...
even with a sly undercut...
i chose the better option.... short hair, a beard, yes,
but a "fu manchu": an elongated love-spot...
competing with the length of the beard...
i really "don't understand" why i have no memory
of my chin and neck...
it's like there was never the idea of using
water as a mirror... perhaps poor Xerxes lashed
at the Aegean for hiding his reflection
when he had one of those Narcisstic moments
of anguish: he forgot how he looked like...
but then the sides of the moustasche also drooping:
elongated... that work much better than
a beard and long hair...
it's so unfashionable these days...
i don't get why men think beards and long hair
"work"....

then again i never figured out why Khadira
wanted to have unprotected ***...
  how she insisted that it was just plain o.k.
for me to ******* into her...
how i snapped and dived in into her pandamonium
of multiples springs of irritated ****...
all slobbering with oyster-tongue
and knose...
                               all that informed me...

companionship? what a rare commodity...
it's enough to have a mother to know
how a woman's company can quickly sour
the already sweet grapes...
one word: tell a man he's LAZY...
while he's just tired of being pushed and shoved...
if a mother can do that to a son?
what could a wife do?
                          and i'm come across curiosities of
men who waged wars with their mothers...
at the Tyson Fury boxing match...
i was trying to calm the **** down a guy
who was having a panic attack after being
"abandoned" by his mother...
who bought the tickets... and drinks...
i squeezed him hard... told him: but i'm here for free!
nay! i'm here and getting paid for it!
blah blah...
               i hate seeing panic attacks in men...
it makes me either feel like
more than a man or less of a man...
it makes me think of the men prior
with shell-shocks... or women exploiting
the challenges of p.t.s.d.

                                    i've seen so many people fake
a mental illness... i've spoken at length
to them... how easily open up to their own struggles...
while i'm left alone with whatever ones
i have...
                   maybe because my "mental health issues"
have morphed into philosophical caviats
implies that i'm immune to outright sharing
the details... and boring people to death...
so i listen...
        i listen...
                            in one ear out the other...

i remember days in high school when we would love
to change the subject, create a game:
SLAP-BALL... imitation of Tsar Peter III prior
to tennis... an imitation court... with a fence between us...
or just playing BLACKJACK...
cards... that was big... we understood that ignoring
women was best done with / by playing cards...
at one point: i remember it to this day...
Samuel Richards grabbed Ian Goodman's neck
and pinned him to the floor...
we tried to intervene...
i don't know whether it was about the actual
game of cards or whether it was about
Sam bailing out... he was about to move to France...
and ****** off from pur in-group...
started playing basketball with the black-boys...
forgot he was supposedly the "PUNK" in the school...
i remember skateboarding with him...
he actually stole his mother's credit card and bought
a skateboard for me...
but his ******* MOHICAN was ****...
it didn't entertain the entire length of his skull
meeting his spine...
but we did walk back from Romford
toward Ilford this one night...
underage drinking... singing Backstreet Boys songs...

ha ha...
         time is a museum of melancholy...
while space is a museum of furthering whatever is left
of leftover potential...

i'm so despondent about this life having to end...
today i cycled up to the traffic lights
on my ******... ******?! £125 viking road bike... say the word
****** one more time... what was i facing?
a solitary man in an Aston Martin...
behind him? some solitary guy in a Porsche...
right... "alphas"...
i'm on my bicycle... but these two guys
in those choicest of motor-examples?
that's the thing with "competing" in life rather than
sport...
     i like my bicycle... i love my bicycle...
i am yet to wash away the blood from my head
from the crash...
i don't have a broken leg: i just have an outgrowth of bone
on my shin where my bone should have cracked:
i love milk...

competing with these men... **** me...
i was thinking about the Porsche guy...
nice game... but it's not playing cards...
i taart myself up: compete...
what do i get? i get a Porsche...
     but then ahead of me there's this guy
in an Aston Martin: mate! i'm ******!
oh blue blue Hue... the Aston Martin looked like
the bomb that is already was...
the Porsche? the Porsche looked like
a ******* Ford Mondeo by comparison...
Civic Extra... if that's even a car...
i was sort of happy to by cycling...
i figured... well: i'm not using my legs...
to walk... i'm peddling...

ever heard the expression "push-bike"?
i heard that only recently... what a werid coupling
of words... a motorcycle is distinguished from
a a bicycle by the term: "push-bike"
this half-brain-dead coworker...
what the **** am i pushing?!
it's just as weird as calling it a peddling-bicycle, no?
eh?
but what am i pushing? a bicycle is a bicycle
a turtle is a turtle... i still have to figure out
what's being pushed...
what comes first? the donkey, the carrot, or the stick?!

mawn the lawn: sieve the sand...
mawn the lawn: sieve the sand...
keep nurturing the spacing between numbers
but also keep lost track of the alphebticaal
queue...
never the type to rehash a refurbishment
of SPAWN...

           i simply don't want this day-dream to end...
around me people cowering into sleep...
i'm left in limbo...
            between consetllations and the scythe
of the moon... dearest: moooooon...
i'm itching to break the silence with a howl...
but first: the thirst of a dog barking...
i hear a dog barking i'll start to howl!

aren't we simply becoming the same
tired people of old?
              more impetus...
more gravity! more fire! more tides!
more the quaking of the earth!
more whirlwinds! more! more!
one Pompeii is not enough!

                       almost one litre of whiskey
into the session and i'm sober-tense...
i'm starting to think that entertaining
hell is not a bad "gimmick"...
                  there's the imaginary hell-crowd
and there' some also doubly-imaginary
crowd of people that yet to be bound to imitation-migration
focus...
           next time you ask me:
i'd rather be eating ice: crunching on
ice than drinking water...
i want to burn my tongue...
licking ice...l i want to burn my tongue
licking ice: but first i want to be dipping
it in coridnader-cumin-chilli-turmeric mix-up
of spiders...

i want to first bruise my knees before
i lick them clean...
i want the strict juices of: not tomatoes?
red is red: ergo blood is blood...
vulture ****...
there's an open window:
there's an evaporating night too...

best refrain: 6 by 6s refrain on 9s...
since? there's plenty of 0s / oopses...
by this "flesh and blood"...
i heave this sand and timer
like: i was sadly woken up with
an inheritance of salt...
boiling blue bloods and boiling gravy...
a smile that reads: clenched teeth...
a smile so awkward that
it make^ a parrot think twice about
imitating human speech.

^a notable typo, i think i might require an editor
(insert a snigger); two alternatives:
1. it might make a parrot think twice,
2. a smile so awkward that it makes a parrot think twince...
all depending on the tense.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
bewilderment, many more women than men, and still so few a man committing polygamy, it's almost like the mirroring of so many men committing suicide; the loss of the practice of polygamy leaves so many men committing suicide prematurely, leaving so many women alive to give the abnormal ratio without an actual diseased cause of death of men, hence the statistics.*

just when you start enjoying it,
you stop,
there are so many going to restaurants,
but you're just a turkey
readied for stuffing,
you gorge on it
like traffic in Hinduism with
the holy cow that's a pedestrian
in England...
chomp and chop the food
like a toilet blockage,
you eat it without a palette,
no cheese and crackers after,
no candlelight, no wine,
it's a strange looking necessity,
esp. once digested;
it's as necessary as death for your
engagement: you have to eat,
you have to die...
i eat to add to the insomnia cure
because i should but can't pay alimony
payments because an engagement is
not lawfully enforced...
chemists are natural bachelors,
i told you, but you wouldn't
understand...
you were the ******* of youth,
the girl aged thirteen prone to suicide
and still the many numbers of men
committing to the act of suicide...
the law is in your favour, since you're
the incubator of it, the womb,
any rich **** can provide the Semitic root
of it all, cutting the excess skin of genitalia
of one ***, whether ******* or *******,
you think you won't get anti-ontological
behaviour? if what was intended was intended
and you play and revise the **** thing,
do you think the answering reason will
not look ridiculous enough to not attract ridicule
like a cow and flies, ready to spawn maggots
in the wet eye sockets?
you must be joking then!
monotheism was born in the halo
of revising mankind, abraham's snipping
isaac's "excess" skin...
it took place there... but revising a second
time with female circumcision...
well, revising humanity like that
gave us all the possible abominations accessible...
how can you teach the origin of man
with that ugly aesthetic of being furry
and a blunted snout of the gorilla
and not wonder why revising man
to an over-eager representation of engaging in ***
not combine into a holocaust...
you steal the sheath of the sword from the sword,
you'll find it constantly warring,
because that's what circumcision did,
it stole the sheath of the sword...
and no, this isn't crude imagery, ******.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i can be a sadomasochist with myself sometimes,
given the videos i watch on the internet -
but then i'm again bound to being perched on
a windowsill, married to a dialogue with
the moon... and to tide bound,
sometimes the graciouis words comes my way,
sometimes the ingratitude... but then clouds at night
are never so by day.... and i feel blessed...
for they contort in such a way that i see
all paths toward pandemonium
leading, how they contort without
Mickiewicz toward no hope of castles or swans
being conjured - but hollowed out eyes of death
with a jester's smile of awaiting Tripoli -
are thus bound and exhausted
in exceeding their time there...
once monotheism conquered
the gods of both norden bound
and classics... it should be faced with a new
barbarism, and bygone strides
       against the demigods...
with a demi-**** that's Muhammad
of semi-applause allowed the gratification
of being literate, but as all good myths
abide by: unable to write out
δ ι κ τ α, plus minus 1 + 1 be the = dicta...
clouds in the night...
breathing magnimonity -
         as merely: cloud in the night,
Ilsidore...
had i been given the confirmation name,
now i can think of a name, i'd would like...
izydor...
             this is this last precision of magic...
had i been confirmed by a church,
and the bishop of some obscure essex country,
only being aged 30 i'd like the name to
be Isidore...
                     a bit late, i know...
  but i am an apostate, and i want
to drink from the font of baptism...
but you give me no water for my scythed lips...
for death scythes no bones...
had my confirmation be, it would have been
Isidore... the 16 year old me would have taken
to the name Michael... give it time
and it would have matured into Isidore...
Izydor of Seville...
but i am an apostate... and i don't believe this
egypt crap of the nag hammadi library...
i can't argue with a muslim,
i am given the archeology of the library,
and given the death of the prophet Isaiah...
it's too real to have these two prophets burried...
and in script re-awoken...
           that the new testament and the koran
make no sense... archeology sort of dislodges their
heart's intent to kneel and make macabre at the mosque...
it's impossible to convert... because you just can't convert...
   Isaiah was cut in half and Jesus was crucified...
i can't believe in the son of god...
                           both were burried...
       but the catholic bureucracy remains,
and if my confirmation name goes as anything,
i would now be called Isidore...
                                and if i'm mad for doing so:
then i have prince purple as my sparring partner...
                       nag hammadi & the dead sea scrolls...
no wonder the koran is so agitated...
      it has lost its profound origin...
it has lost its profound cool because it was lost...
the current muslim affairs are due to the fact that
the nag hammadi library and the dead seal scrolls emerged...
there's no simpler explanation,
   it's hard to testify irrational emotional
                                    coagulations when something is spoken
in archeological testimony...
    thank god the new testament speaks of jo and ma
moving to egypt, where the nag hammadi library was found...
and we know the prophet isaiah was a courtesan,
which is why we find his book in israel...
but the koran brotherhood is *******...
   i think the new testament wrecked more havoc
on northern europeans than the koran ever could
on the Indonesians... to be honest.
but because the two archeological findings were found,
the koran crew is *******... they're simply saying:
we prayed five times a a day, and for what?!
you ask me, i was expecting falafel and baklava.
                i can't expect them not being angry
when the koran has been undermined...
and it has...
                       when they hid the gospel of thomas
in egypt and sold the truth: by jew for jews alone...
no one thought it would backfire...
     st. paul can sorta forget mass circumcision as benefit
with these women...
  it's a question of: you have to re-learn
the benefits, to see what you lost.
              and you have lost what you couldn't appreciate.
so in america: anti-religious circumcision,
or secular circumcision and ***** paved the way for
what we have: rather happy masturbators with foreskins
and women with circumcised male partners,
and neither masturbators nor secularists want to
start families... d'uh.
             the koran is ******* because of what emerged
in 1945 and was guarded by the logic of archeo...
                                    you can't stop
because they know they're simply wrong...
we know from those adhering to st. thomas' gospel
as promoting trans-gender bulletproofing
that poetry can only be stretched so far...
   you can't tell demons to be methapors
   and tell transgender bi-genital creatures that they're
figments of our imagination...
you tell me a demons doens't exist: i tell you a transgender
person doesn't exist... this is the glorious
anarchy of st. thomas' gospel implemented without
the authority of the church...
the mystery of lawlessness? archeology:
hide it long enough, even the koran will crumble...
and lo and behold! i'm drinking! why?
because i'm celebrating this glorious whirlwind of
insisting anarchy!
         and why do i not feel rebellious?
that might be a good question...
                 but it's not...
              i don't have a proto-koran to begin with...
i have the old and new testament,
  and the emergence of
                      a 2000 year old hidden
mingling of the two, beginning with the prophets
Jesus and Isaiah...
                               one was a Jew that lived as a courtesan
and was cut-in-half...
the other was a Jew that became militant and later
made sure that Muhammad was also a militant
prophet starting off from a non-militant position
of mere merchant... according to the historian Josephus...
the compendium of the profanity of
tetragrammaton came with the historian Josephus
at the rule of Nero... hence the quickened
book of revelation being written...
                       once "the" beast reigned...
       it's no wonder that the two books are so unknown
in christianity...
            the fact is that the simultaneousness of
the emergence of nag hammadi and the dead sea scrolls
being simultaneous meant that the two old devils
of christianity and judaism would firmly diverge,
make divorce... and make secularism married to islam's
antagonism as the last blind-man fondling the elephant...
   i can't be jew because i'm not circumcised,
but i can't be christian in my liberalism to accept
the anarachy steering away from church,
   and family... or nation and federalism...
and i know, that's obscure; i just can't see
trans-gender ******* as a priority for humanity...
i can understand wearing a mismatching pair of socks...
but genitelia? that can't be jewish...
that has to be egyptian...
that has to be egyptian in terms of undermining
a jewish psyche...
                worthy of a crucifix... meaning that jo and m
really did travel to egypt and escaped herod...
               but je suis was cought up in the egyptians
taking rule and i bet one ******* duck-quack
that je suis was robbed from being capable of
conjuring up a dream... i bet je suis
couldn't dream... all the icons point toward that
crusade analogy.
                 it's still no excuse for the koran plebs
getting so frustrated that they have no archeological
involvemnt in the matters of today,
which is why they turned to brute and bully...
because they have been excluded from the archeological
findings, they can only do the meanest thing imaginable
and stage a violent insurection into the dialogue...
but since they're not really welcome,
and because they're actually talking *******
they can only resort to terrorism...
   it's a harsh reality to be met against...
    i'm not surprised they resort to terrorism,
given that they have no archeological grounding to
introduce themselves...
               into a civilised conversation...
          i'll probably bemoan this fact for
about 10 seconds... and then laugh for the next 10 minutes.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
just like Hegel said: be careful about men that think,
for you might just end up in a puppet show
of their whimsical change of thought.

and this is my point exactly, for a long time
i thought i was sexually primitive,
after this incident in school when a girl
demanded that i should know how H.I.V.
is transmitted in a biology class,
once i feigned ignorance, the teacher,
a full-haired Muslim started to wear a
hijab... i was ignorant about the darker side
of ***, but maybe that's because i was
more capable of donning a ****** with
prostitutes more than anything -
sure, slurp the flower of Gomorrah,
just make sure you pay the extra £10 entry
fee.

but it dawned on me, just today,
Channel 4's new "blind date" show, naked
attraction
, again my "ignorance" played
a part, i don't mean it like some omnipresent
delusional freak, slang and gossip quickly
spread, you're bound to have some eager ******
ready to show you an experiment,
i miscalculated the idea of male circumcision,
i thought it was the norm, given **** movies
where it is the norm...

a blonde was choosing her date, from feet exposed
right up to the head, 3 times had silicone implants...
no matter, that grand canyon in the middle
and the constant stiffness, i wonder if babies
end up with silicon strength teeth after breast-feeding...

now a short list of interests:
- the book of Maccabees (and their martyrs)
- the revolt against Antochius led by Judas Maccabaeus
  (the 164 B.C. recapture of Jerusalem)
- two causes of revolt: parting with the practice of
  circumcision and invoking a practice of eating pork
  (i'm sure the pork will do given no immediate
   care to concern yourself with tapeworms,
   obviously the worse of the two, i.e. all manner of
   parasitic behaviour, and that not being engaged with,
   human criticism of a created form will only
   spawn an insurrection with horrid consequences
   elsewhere, already overtaking the religious obedience
   of pork is filth... well... just a little bit salty...
   in economic translation: the nanny state and
   benefit street... me? i'm giving you poems, not many
   mouths to feed - and is it not the case that having
   ******* competence in phonetic encoding people
   suddenly became privileged and by my assertion
   prone to gluttony from such inheritance? no wonder
   all the major manufacturing jobs went to China...
   their sacred ideogram was a cushion for them to
   continue working, they turned the other cheek
   and got a sobering smack... seeing fat bishops made
   us want to be fat bishop also, so we undid our
   trousers and showed the buttocks, and got spanked
   silly into the vegetation of Plato's cave, the t.v.)
- Jews of Judea were few, most of them hellenized
- the fourth book of Maccabees akin to Stoicism
   and not worth the public's eye of scrutiny akin to
   plagiarising prior to, e.g. Ezra, Nehemiah or Daniel
- Enoch and the fallen angels of metallurgy apprenticeships.

well, that's the list, you can look into it at your own
leisure, but my concern is with what i already
expanded on: insult swine, get a parasite instead -
either real or in human form economic;
but the major deal for me...

so this Channel 4 program is on, naked attraction,
and she's looking at ****, and i'm looking at her
gasp and rhapsody too, she chooses the
Eiffel tower dangle rather than a Big Ben,
she says she hates northern accents, and Eiffel Tower
dangle is from Tyneside -
i get stimulated by all the usual objective facts
that make me think more of robotics and that
still fervent translation of predestination from
Protestantism: i.e. get all the facts, see it **** up later:
what hair, what build, apparently small testicles
will make you a good father...
perfect for women, this channel, you get to shop
till you gag or ***** - oh come on, share a little
barbaric choke-joke of the stereotype with me;
but it's going on this... but then the crescendo
i wasn't expecting, but it proved i was progressing
from ****** ignorance to some sort of enlightenment
without the bombast attention to feel glued to a grin -
so given my belief that circumcision was all
pervasive the girl said the following:
my last boyfriend had excess *******, and every time
he *******, it was sorta like squishing a doughnut,
the ***** just sort of oozed out like an acne ****
rather than shooting into me like a geyser from Iceland
(i had to change those lines a little) -
just like i was saying all along! they're not pulling back
their ******* and imitating circumcision,
null points for either side, both are dumb as brick...
you have ******* to *******,
you pull it completely back to have ***,
you pull it over again, and when you're desperate
for a **** and finally get to ****,
you end up shivering with goosebumps like a woman
with a shower-end sprinkling water on her *******,
it's that simple.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
⠞⠕     ⠇⠕⠕⠅         ⠊⠎        ⠞⠕     ⠝⠕⠞        ⠁⠇⠺⠁⠽⠎      ⠎⠑⠑
god, you really have to have tender finger tips to read braille... forget about learning to play the guitar... good luck being both blind lemon jefferson and a reader of braille... to look is to not always see... that's the braille translation...

attempting to learn "morality" from
gentile, circumcised men...
probably as useful as the translation
of st. peter into the embodiment
of van gogh...

               aren't these new moralists...
supposed to be less of guru
              and more the mediator?
don't they have,
"something", missing?

              i know of one "thing"...
        of course jerking off while taking
a **** is "disgusting"...
all this: save zee vest,
       blah blah...
               but i'm hearing it from
circumcised men...
at least in the old times,
circumcised men were granted
their circumcision, if, and only if,
they succumbed to strict obligations
of a religious nature...
given, that i'm not circumcised?
what's stopping me?
  i take a ****, i subsequently ****...
every single time,
it's almost like a post-hibernation
bear unclogging its **** duct,
to allow for an agitated waterfall
of digestion being revived...

           but... the "moral" question
of circumcised men, h'american men,
telling me, it's b'aaaah b'aaaah bad to
******* while taking a ****
looking at still images of fine renaissance
art encompassing ******...
  circumcised men...
                  if you had any *******
left in you, you'd know...
      i could tell you of circumcised men
who ****** off 20 times a day...
which is slightly pointless...
given...
            eh... the ******* is supposed
to be allocated to that sort of act...
and all the women are not circumcised...
hence the web cam earnings...

      ******* ******* *******...
maybe the whole idea could come about...
when a man is about to get married?
what's the ring about?
how about... how about...
a man consents to circumcision,
once he's about to marry...
   how about that?
                  and they're saying
abortion is bad...
   how can a baby consent to circumcision?!
the perfect marriage gift,
tying the knot,
          the next time i hear
a circumcised man's sort of *******,
the sort of ******* that circumcised men
give, without being able to have,
to have, to have given consent to their
circumcision?

                  i'm out...
                            it's just refrigerator
background snooze,
    ambient noise...
                blah blah this, blah blah that...
so...
        a woman can have both
the pleasures of jerking off,
but also the ***,
while men is, not supposed to have
the pleasures from jerking off,
and only the "sporadic" sense
of ***?
          great! gimp suit that ****** up...
he's about to become the next torpedo!

sure thing, if among the sort of people
that will guarantee you a spouse,
even if it's your ******* cousin...
   religious rules...
            but what the h'americans failed
to acknowledge...
   eh... circumcision...
   and whatever is left of secular
pseudo-religiosity of values?!
            
           at these moments i know i'm being
flamboyant and aversive...
i have to be: i can't listen to yet another
circumcised ****-whistling clarinet player
to save me...
          i'm sorry that you entered
the world of snippet!
   but please... the ******* is not
some "spare" part...
         no ***** pokey no ***** poke-'em-on...
no diddly...
                    but to be at the mercy
of women?! for the "added" pleasures
of phallus where the skin is pulled
back and is suffocating your "maiden head"?
seriously?!
              
          i'm sorry... unless the man is donning
a kippah... i can't listen to the *******
of circumcised men...

few drinks later, and a labour of minutes
that expand into the night:
nope, i still don't get it...
the sunday times news review,
sure, sure: that's fine...
         philip lamantia?
       no?
         i remember this one cucumber cutie...
spanish... lived with 2 faggy-bottom-blues
guys... went to the notting hill carnival
with her... samara?
    anyway, limp-****,
under the bed sheets:
cocoon *** under the bed sheets...
   tamara!
              
        well at leat with the bulgarian
prostitutes, two rules:
dimmed lights, no socks...
third rule: shower first.

          and i too brought a shrimp
to settle with on a swing...
swang like a ***** in bull's worth
of a saddle...
i smiled, till my mouth broke,
and i filed for:
           aesthetic surgery...

easy head, easy, easy as while drunk...
so much! cascade of being
                  de-armored...
      like the inflection of the exoskeleton
of an insect...
        
again: who are these, these,
circumcised men, shouting their moral
authority?
isn't the ******* supposed to imply:
a chanced rekindle of the sort of
puppeteering associated with
one child "policy" of men toying
with g.i. joe?! no?!
oh well...

            first i grew the long hair...
don't worry, i didn't turn trans-gender...
more a mosher, a metal-head...
a pig's-thick-skinned-novelty
of the banging cranium...
    shaved... then grew a beard...
relapse!
                   oops!

but there's still the, "problem" of
circumcised men spewing righteous maxims
akin to a t.v. evangelist's list of demands...
eh... women are the truth...
since they so rarely eschew it,
into the public forum...
           i can lie,
    i can tell the truth,
point being: i am not bound
to allocate myself to either...
the beard replaced my ambitions
to learn playing the violin...
point being: i can fiddle both!

            shrimpy! hey shrimpy!
bozos buggot beggar boo!
ooh yeah... now we're spreschen!

circumcised men talking to uncircumcised men,
while entertaining the lifestyles of
uncircumcised women,
"fwee" vank videos...
                               "extra" skin a pleasuredrome
in some parts... castrations,
     circumcisions elsewhere...
boy! good foot strutting child soldier
elsewhere!

  h'american circumcised men's arguments...
if i don't sniff my itchy finger-tips,
and don't sniff out tobacco;
who needs the opinions of circumcised,
secular, men?
                  
          i need a beard,
to hide my chin...
              i need a chin...
        to find the scimitar shaped moon...

circumcised gentile christians:
sorry... i'm tired,
i'm tired of the atlas pose...
i'm tired of only one man in existence
ever having existed...
   i'm tired of hey-zeus! being
compared to the vowel-catcher
of the tetragrammaton...
tonsure, kippah?!

                             the nag hammadi library
emerged in the year: 1945...
and still people... and still people...
****'s sake for sure:
the pagan nazis would have never
bombed st. peter's...
as they would have never
burned down the library of alexandria...
but the monotheists did...

  i spew i spew i spew...
              you know how insulting it is,
you were educated in chemistry?
here you go,
go back among the offspring of
the most irresponsible of people...
         oh you can have children in your
mid 50s...
         i'm not exactly sure what they'll
become...
            dr. who who's who wannabes...
certainly not usain bolt contenders...
even with basic arithmetic...
   hell... let's have them, let's pride
ourselves on... everyone sacred...
window-licker sacred society of
the enforced samaritans!

               the evolved "circumstance"
of a game of hide & seek...
               well... there's plenty to hide,
but not that much to be bound
to the desire to seek.

                                   savvy?
Kafersuseh One-Dimensional Beams II; In this environment of preservation of links and communication with each other, Raeder, Petrobus the Pelican and Alikanto were in a state of maximum stillness and complacency, they were enjoying the reality that was experienced with the child. Raeder unexpectedly leads Petrobus out of the barn and begins an exploration of the rolling nativity event. Here he takes hold of the gold-jade rings and takes flight towards the upper part of the stable, where he can see from above that it did not look like an ordinary stable, rather it seemed like a seat of the Faith where he observed that some prowling on the roof cherubs, they jumped and crossed mimicking the same gestures that Joshua made in his manger. Impressed, Raeder approached them and began to share with them, flying over where they could do it with their new friends. After a while, Alikanto joined them, who also enjoyed these games precisely, but did not see the Cherubim. He only saw how the two of them jumped but was surrounded by a large concentration of flying Lepidoptera. At the end of the night, when dawn begins, everyone retires and goes to their tents, not knowing what to decide for the next day. The tired Apostle next to Vernarth was glorious with joy after having recalled this episode of the arrival of a Messiah who would transport them from this stable to Gethsemane where his native Aramaic jargon had to enable him to generate synergy between the areas of the Gardens of the Olive trees and Gethsemane, to concatenate the entire phylogeny He only saw how the two of them jumped but surrounded by a large concentration of flying Lepidoptera. At the end of the night, when dawn begins, everyone retires and goes to their tents, not knowing what to decide for the next day. The tired Apostle next to Vernarth was glorious with joy after having recalled this episode of the arrival of a Messiah who would transport them from this stable to Gethsemane where his native Aramaic jargon had to enable him to generate synergy between the areas of the Gardens of the Olive trees and Gethsemane, to concatenate the entire phylogeny He only saw how the two of them jumped but surrounded by a large concentration of flying Lepidoptera. At the end of the night, when dawn begins, everyone retires and goes to their tents, not knowing what to decide for the next day. The tired Apostle next to Vernarth was glorious with joy after having recalled this episode of the arrival of a Messiah who would transport them from this stable to Gethsemane where his native Aramaic jargon had to enable him to generate synergy between the areas of the Gardens of the Olive trees and Gethsemane, to concatenate the entire phylogenies a new bonding relationship between species that were appropriate and endemic to the region near the stable at Bethlem to be inter-inseminated on banks of the Gethsemane slopes, so that linguistics would begin to absorb Joshua and go for a closer shortcut towards the classification of the traditional and omnipotent variants that migrated through the Olive Trees, to renew and preserve the Aramaic or Aramaic languages ​​of a shared origin now, for the omnipotent salvific languages ​​that were to be redirected in Gethsemane. Once leaving for the city of the eight gates, Raeder continued to sway on the roof with the Cherubim, rather they were already inseparable until he received an order from Alikanto that they should hurry back to the stores. He leaves but some mischievous Cherubim follow them and escort them to the tent. The next day at dawn they stand in front of them serenely as if they were still in Kafersesuh. They prepare the camels and the belongings, to resume the return to the final grand opening of Judah; to initiate the trades of reintegration of Saint John the Apostle to the surrealism that predicted him to split poles in his former exile and reintegration, under an early departure to revive the cathedrals of constant ringing and constant vibrating in the bells of Jerusalem and Gethsemane. everyone rides, the Hexagonal Birthright and King David tighten the incisors of the camels heading towards the new door that they took turns opening once they arrived in Jerusalem. Raeder and Petrobus arrived late, flying from the top of the caravan alongside the Cherubim who now guarded them. While the Crickets consumed all the laws that were incommensurable with the litanies of Angels that waited to unroll from In dextro qui non ad altare. "On the boast of those who did not have to reach the altar"



Paraps XXVII

Messiah of Judah IV part

Miracle V- Gethsemane / Aramic Phylogeny

They leave Bethlehem undivided in the Giant Ungulates. Of the seven spaces in the column, the last one that was occupied was the seventh where King David went. Of the five remaining spaces, the Cherubs went, they were playing with Raeder and Petrobus; they showed off with their adventures flying towards elevations of the majestic Sun. The Cherubim tinkled with colors of Abrahamic angelic beings involved in the worship and praise of the Caravan. The Cherubim are first mentioned on the route back to Jerusalem with the large turnout of bumblebees, bees, and wasps all flying alongside Raeder, Petrobus, and Alikanto. They would all stay for up to half a mile before reaching the eight gates and resuming their course to the Garden of Gethsemane. They were surrounded by Debkas dancing in their Aramaic phylogeny. The bumblebees were encrusted by the hills loaded with echoes outside of man...., placing themselves to the east of the Garden of Eden in rows of Cherubim with a flaming sword that turned on all sides to guard the path of the tree of life. Ezekiel describes "four living creatures" as the same beings as the Cherubs, each having four faces that were like a man, a lion, an ox, and an eagle, and each one was tetra-winged. As for their appearance of them: "there was in them the likeness of man" These used two of their wings to fly and the other two to cover their bodies, under their wings they seemed to have the shape or resemblance of a man's hand that resembled the Aramean phylogeny that linked environmental and organic pollinations of Lepidoptera that were carrying the fertilizing spheres to reach the angiosperms. The Christic language was inaugurating the fringe of the frolicsome land that awaited the inauguration of Linguistic Phylogeny to attend to the decrees for the perenniality of the language that relates Gethsemane with the Olivo presses, the Cherubs beating their wings to reach Father Abba. With the flashes of the Apocalypse, the Cherubim danced happily, magnifying the presence of the Apostle in the Hexagonal Birthright with the holiness and power of God, This is one of their main responsibilities throughout the abbey and members mobilize to meet one of the twelve apostles with propaedeutic assonance attached to the twelve Giga camels, in addition to singing praises to Yahweh they also served as a visible reminder of the majesty and glory of the Messiah. The Apostle says by parapsychological regression: "A fascinating route on foot in Jerusalem begins at the top of the Mount of Olives and curiously leads us to the route that will be taken after the evangelical legs of the camelids that will take them to the Holy Sepulchre, Continuing through the Damascus Gate..., here the camelids became restless! Very close by, the topography of the top of the Mount between the route at the foot of Bethany and Jerusalem was perceived, the Garden of Gethsemane crammed with Angels appeared to us..., Joshua's prayers in Aramaic are felt slipping into camel snores as pleas are heard before his arrest in the Garden." Here at that moment, it happens that the flies arrested the apostle, taking him to a specific sector of the orchard where sacred water and humid wind continue to flow, having olive trees growing in the embossed garden with enormous oil press to border them by olive oil pipeline to grace the Lord in laurels from Daphnomancy such a holistic form of divination by which it is intended to make predictions using laurel leaves and branches chewing them before and then lighting them towards the crackle of the consecrated fire of Gethsemane Aramaic that lit paths and feet of Joshua. also carried on its four wings the Cherubim four laurels on each laureate wing.Thickened by palmistry energy, they walked towards the main entrance of the oil press, They arrive in the surroundings of Gethsemane surrounded by Daphnomancy of laurels carried on their wings by the Seraphim, Bumblebees, and others who would be in charge of inseminating the pollinating particles in the angiosperms, thus rescuing minimal words and verbal serial in the words that were transferred from the stable Kafersuseh in Bethlehem so as not to lose the Aramaic word, thus being redistributed to Gethsemane by the Lepidoptera and Bumblebees, wasps and bees. This inter-organic phenomenon would re-couple the verbalized accents of Joshua in middle age and in the unborn in such a way as to preserve the Aramaic dialect, to re-clone the same groupings and intentions as the environmental phylogeny of the dialect in a ritual culture that would redact with insects. and Cherubim, to re-enchant all the pluralities that would be arranged in the Garden to energize the salvific and appearing oil pipelines of the image of Saint John the Apostle, King David, Vernarth, Etréstles, Eurídice, and the rest that make up further from the seventh camelid until reaching the latest; the Fifth Cherub that will be the scribe present together with Pedro and the two sons of Zebedeo, only one with the one nearby in great courage, San Ioannis. His Holiness Joshua used to say: "Abba..., Father, all things are possible for you, take this cup away from me; But not what I want, but what you want. Joshua came later and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter: Simon, are you sleeping? Have not you been able to watch for one hour? Watch and pray so that you do not enter into temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. Again he went and prayed, saying the same words. When he returned, he found them sleeping again because their eyes were heavy with sleep; And they didn't know what to answer. He came the third time and said to them: Sleep now and rest. Enough, the hour has come; behold, the Son of Man is delivered into the hands of sinners. Get up, let's go; Behold, the one who delivers me is approaching." From small lively henchmen lights were seen to greater discontent..., they were the executioner, attached to the broken hostile leaf of the laurel that fell on his back "In flames and crackling in all his offspring "The anticipated visions were fertilized by the Cherubs that anticipated events in the chronological life of the apostle having to do with his life as an apostle and evangelist of the new succession after returning from exile. He came close already entering through a path, that was a road where the rows of pipes were that crossed the Getsemaní subsoil. Fifth Cherubim of the Septuagint: "As a scribe of the Hexagonal Primogeniture I make reference to two hundred years before the birth of Jesus, a Greek translation of the Hebrew scriptures developed and became widely accepted as a legitimate (even inspired) translation. Tradition relates to how King Ptolemy II of Egypt established a vast library in Alexandria. However, it was not complete, and he wanted to have a copy of the Hebrew Scriptures in it. Ptolemy sent representatives to Jerusalem and invited the Jewish elders to prepare a new Greek translation of the text. Seventy-two elders six from each of the 12 tribes of Israel came to Egypt to fulfill the request. And as your Santiago, you will write with me the allegory that will shine brightest in Alexandria. Thus they were led to the lonely island of Pharos where at the end of 72 days their work was completed. King Ptolemy was pleased with the result and placed it in his library. When the task was completed the translators compared everything and it was discovered that each one was miraculously identical to the others. The result later became known as the Septuagint (from the Greek word for 70) and was especially popular with Greek-speaking Jews for centuries to come. Hebrew was displaced and Aramaic prevailed, which is the New Testament language that will influence the eclectic of Aramaic as a language that was also ascended with Joshua to heaven to communicate with all the preaching of his Father in the sacred phylogeny with Lepidoptera and his entourage "I am sitting on the last camel, and I know I will be the first."

Ellipsis Prophet Elijah: "They were on Mount Carmel when I summoned the faithful of Baal, Asherah and others. I summoned them to seal a new pact on the slopes that pointed to the howls in Jezrael from where a prolonged and accursed drought was lamented. At the moment all the congregants were absorbed before the imprecation that he made before Ahab asking for the abandonment of Baal and finalizing the 450 pagan prophets, they called Baal in several days and nights and did not answer, Elijah, mocked him saying "Call him with all your might Maybe he fell asleep and needs someone to wake him up." The people gathered on the mountain and then Elijah told them: "You have to decide, If Jehovah is the true God, follow him But if Baal is the true God, follow him. Let's do a test: the 450 prophets of Baal must prepare an offering and call their god, I am going to prepare an offering and call Jehovah. The god who responds by sending fire is the true God." The people accepted. Elijah put his offering on an altar and poured a lot of water on it. Then he prayed: "O Jehovah, let the people see that you are the true God." Immediately Jehovah sent fire from heaven to burn up the offering. The people shouted: "Jehovah is the true God!" Now Elijah said, "Let no prophet of Baal escape." That day, They killed the 450 prophets of Baal. Then a little cloud appeared over the sea, and Elijah said to Ahab, "There's a storm coming. Get your car ready and go home." The sky was filled with black clouds, the wind blew and it started to rain very hard. The drought is finally over. Ahab took off in his chariot as fast as he could. Jehovah helped Elijah to run faster than the chariot. But were all Elijah's problems already over...? Here the god Aiónius rained down in the crystalline waxy dews of the Horcondising proclaiming eternity in the presence of an ascended Merkabah like Elijah. The drought is finally over. Ahab took off in his chariot as fast as he could. Jehovah helped Elijah to run faster than the chariot. But were all Elijah's problems already over...? Here the god Aiónius rained down in the crystalline waxy dews of the Horcondising proclaiming eternity in the presence of an ascended Merkabah like Elijah. The drought is finally over. Ahab took off in his chariot as fast as he could. Jehovah helped Elijah to run faster than the chariot. But were all Elijah's problems already over...? Here the god Aiónius rained down in the crystalline waxy dews of the Horcondising proclaiming eternity in the presence of an ascended Merkabah like Elijah. The ground shakes and initiations of the Aramaic roots appear after the intervention of the fifth Cherub and the prophet Elijah on Mount Carmel, the Phylogeny is testified with links that flow between subterfuges of re-dogmatized civilizations for ignoring their pagan languages ​​and creeds. In this genealogy were the bumblebees, bees, wasps, and Lepidoptera scattering all this stormy rain before they all reached the arenas of Gethsemane with the perfect connection between the idiomatic form, and the interspecies communicated with the vivid expressions where so many times the strings of Joshua circled the Gethsemane tapestry. No doubt here these species will establish the DNA and molecules for successful genetic derivation in an evolutionary environmental testament to the establishment of pollination in the Garden.

Phylogenetic dogma: The coincidences in morphological and embryological themes will be located in the orchard with a great genetic relationship and evolutionary resemblance. to that of the orchard to eternalize the concatenations of both topographical niches, in such a way as to root the Aramaic in all organic elements and not to provide the great prevalence of an eternal pacifying-luminous discourse in creation that does not perish, but rather is reactivated with these procedures in a new phase that the Apostle and Vernarth will inaugurate by reestablishing the premature hegemony of the garden, as a link between birth and resurrection. From the ratio Nazareth – Bethlehem / Kafersesuh – Getsemani. Of these diversifications, the key to the trees and their adaptation to the environment and the new Methodist dogmatics will appear, to adapt it to the material and immaterial elements as a paradise habitat in Judah with adequate species aware of their own self-preservation and self-evolution at the service by Joshua, Says Vernarth: "In Greek mythology, Ilithyia-Eileithyi is our Hellenic goddess of births and midwives. In the cave at Amnisos-Crete, she was associated with the annual birth of the divine child, and her worship is connected with Aeneidaon the earth-shaker who was the chthonic aspect of the god Poseidon. My divine child has similar "Behold the Fifth Miracle" coincidences both in a cave or stable. Ilithyia is seen with the torch-carrying light for the children to come to the world of the Messiah. Now we will shake the garden from its nascent oil ducts, we will have the salvific light that will flow from the hypos secretion of candlesticks with olive oil, anticipating a new messianic verdict, where we will populate the abyss of the earth as a great similar light that will accompany us in Shemesh philosophy. Sun, witnessing to the Messiah and conciliating ourselves with his instructions as it was in Jezrael and now in the garden". Bern Aramic Element from Bethlehem is felt in the messages from the fields of Moab, after the death of Elimelech and Mahlon and Chilion's children, leaving Naomi alone, Alone among the ears of grain. Lepidoptera would begin to fly throughout the lands of Judah after this distressing event. From the separations of the fields in the hot afternoons, Ruth could be seen in the fields and in Hera firmly united to Naomi, where each fence after another will go into the other in the name of Jehovah. Ruth gathers the corn and ears on purpose with the sheaves among the reapers and overgrown sheaves to make the sustenance of a past life of famine brought by Naomi's cries. Then Ruth, after gleaning the grasses, thanked Boaz, looking into his eyes intently, being able to see in him how to lift the hay and run it to the world of the midwives to feed the newborn children anointed by Ilithyah as well, so everyone will eat the pottage and They will satiate until they are very satisfied. From this land of spikes will come the celebrations of Shavuot and good grace for the stay of the Hexagonal Birthright in Gethsemane. The histrionics and ranchers of these lands are making a great contribution to this phylogeny (with the consolidation of the Aramaic language in the garden). Ruth appears saying: "Look at the field, we are all in it, we have water and enough heat from the Shemesh ignition, to give the spikes to grow here is the refuge of Jehovah who gives us his protection making us an equal part of his children to sustain us. I feel great pride in being respectful to Noemi, she will help me with ears of corn that will migrate to Gethsemane with the imminent visit of the Apostle Saint John. The Bumblebees, Bees, and Wasps will be satiated, they will provide the nutrient food to those who will have to make the communications in the garden. "Blessed is the food that she gives you by harvesting it, preserving it and lavishing it"A great archaeological hereditary axiom begins to be evidenced in this agriculture transmitted from the field to the expression of epistemic-emotional areas that represent endocranial and buccopharyngeal molds of sheep that intervene with tillage and weevils. Here the beloved rhetoric of the weevils will intervene with personal wings from the basic strut of their emotions, attracting signals in the fields and images described by flocks of insects that migrated from this passage in the Book of Ruth in order to relay them with phonetic signals that go beyond the spike that is rather a settlement or a current Kibbutz, to mold or settle archaic civilizations under an idiomatic link that will attend the phylogeny as cephalization of invertebrate animals with those of kind of support,

Phylogeny in Gethsemane: The **** Erectus crossed paths with multiple pieces of evidence of adaptive pro-evolution beings, Neanderthal/**** Sapiens. The children of Israel wrote parables, epistles, verses, stories, and books..., their phonetic vocal tract spoke of storms and environmental factors between heaven and earth "Great noise outside of us, but little silence in us." What is elemental is the larynx that has only pronounced the image that denounces a concept evoking the minimum sound in the different positions of its instrumentalized mega sound. Speaking to us how language varies according to history and the civic-environmental environment, instructing us on its threshold and caste as it detaches itself through aerial effusions from the statement at the laryngeal level. It authoritatively collects the intervals of vocalization and relationship with agriculture in all its dimensions descending through its internal panels but rising through our parietal emotions outside of herself. The little of the air that the world has left to continue digesting temporarily have it to let air flow that is possessed in mechanically inert particles, and not in sanctified prophecies with corollaries of miracles. Inherences have made of a super existence of those who still do not perish by the hand of a monarchical mandate, even the mute swallow air is suffocating and contaminated halves while others redistribute them for those who need to sit at the table to collect the unleavened and share it with what the rest. "Here resounds the echo of my Christic body". That in Aramaic will syndicate much more than the phrasing in its blood, grapheme and phonemes or stylistics that is the commotion of vibrating beyond the deep ground reverberating with the grace of its divine statement". Joshua resists spikes and olive leaves simultaneously disposing of us in his arms as his children, he is a sheep in his arms lactating hydro-milk of sustenance from his creative verb. "a strict fact of preserving Aramaic and not misleading them by turning the pages of history". The Aramaic must be incorporated so that Joshua, after more than two thousand years, can see that He is still here walking from one place to another to tell us that He is still here, only suggestive of your walking, plagiarizing your larynx in the sound of His expression and shepherding. The sheep are quadrupedal..., more mammalian than a man because its statement is always reflected in the bases of its skull for the rest of its offspring as a biblical expression, under all the rainbows of the cherubim, together with the children surrounding them in identical intention. **** habilis–**** Sanctus, which is a process that has a charismatic base and peripheral anatomical volume for the exposed part of the sternum by confusing them with each other, not altering their structural or functional complexity. From the potential of Lepidoptera and winged weevils, the phenotype will emerge that will relate and relativize the mechanics of Aramaic or the Aramaic method of not losing the gibberish because it is divine, as well as it is exalted and laryngeal torque to those who possess Aramaic blood and body, since its motorized mysticism is to devour minimum words with maxims in a whole of ranges and sounds of the field, dialoguing: "Come to my field, here the ears of corn and weevils will speak more than the mechanical potential of Your Voice". They continue through the Ruth field integrating phonemes in small verses that go from the shelter of words and that refer to settlements of which they do not speak only suggest the presence of Jeheová without being present, but if after being with his stomach satisfied parodying activities in the field with his plectrum made a reality in a transgenerational poetic-hydric whole of ancient peoples who no longer speak..., "They only express wisdom in ****** agro-phrases of spikes and olives in all their songs." After walking through cobbled and narrow streets that are now full of runes with Bedouin fumaroles..., it is such a walk through an avid heart of alkaloids and lipids; touring synagogues and evoking an outstanding barrage of pilgrimages without knowing how many more will escort them in our attempts. The walls that protect Jerusalem are witnesses to many battles that have been fought "in the name of God". As well as the ground that speaks for itself, without a doubt the Mount of Olives can be seen from Jerusalem beautifully but not, in the same way, the other way around. The forests whose fruits contribute positively to the economy of the region, in addition to symbolizing strength, security, and prosperity, give hope in the journey of history the same as nothing that tires of the same. The Garden or Garden of Gethsemane, a name that alludes to the olive mill used to extract and process the oil according to the Gospels, The Lord came to Gethsemane with his disciples to dedicate some time to prayer, but since the atmosphere in Jerusalem was one of hesitation and high tension due to the celebration of the Jewish Passover festival due to the context of the political and military occupation of the Roman Empire, Jesus was very saddened and began to get distressed...holding on to the branches every time he felt an olive near his denoted fingers. Etréstles says: "All the physical, exalted and psychic forces of Jesus here stink digging into the organic tissue, experiences that go beyond the intellect..., it is the proper and unequivocal admissibility of military feet walking on the ground after meditation and recollection. From today when the lights between shadows will fill the limits of the orchard with connection, They will have to graze on the Gigas ungulates when the atmospheres have to make the tribune grass grow on their idyllic evangelizer to have it for tomorrow in the meditation of dawn. All the pros and cons will have to get lost with prayer guests that will inhabit spaces that will not intervene in human reason. Meditation with the Cherubim in the hexagonal primogeniture and weevils interpenetrating divisions of time that is obtained at the end of a calm, and being able to offer with imagination the inclemencies of having everything just beginning. That is prayer, it begins cyclically and then returns to the beginning, without leaving us comforted to finish what the circle of lapse of the meditative circumambulation does not enclose. Saint John the Apostle expounded: More than pain and concern, After praying, he regained his strength and courage to face the vine with disappointments and betrayals with the courage of hopeful dignity. But more than this atavistic-anthropological complex it is salvific integrity that the verb saves the term, through the vibratory prayer of sound and perception of words and more with the Aramaic sound that narrows like the streets of Jerusalem, to distinguish biases in praising essence in the elements of noise almost to the harmonic limit of a sound perfecting itself in a psalter or a parable, which emerges from its oropharyngeal fret, leaving without expiation the abrupt change of Hebrew thought and doctrine, together with the external sound emancipating in the perfect cacophony of its inner vibratory howl beyond the ritual that pleases our insufficiencies by having an Abba. He sanctifies and purifies because he is substance and the dawn of a new earth that lies in the garden of prayer, and all the times that they have to get up to grab the Bible and watch as an indivisible interloquy in me prostrated each time I get up and speak with my Abba being attentive to lock me in his dimension. The food that returns and feeds back is the lineage provided with justice to inhabit the body that synthesizes its protean oratory, the food that you go there from a breeze and from revelry puts all its outfits on the tables to sit around is the lament that smells of seeds that evaporate from the hands and the heat of the holy field. The food that speaks of inviting so many to sit next to us is the one who was least thought to be lacking in love and should not be prepared, being the indicated one who would eat everything until he was satisfied, leaving nothing in the compote or in the yeast, because from it the food that satisfies will persist only for those who have the excessive spirit of the famine of those who can be quenched. Gethsemane is a flowery field where intoxicated Lepidoptera and Angels who only have one mission fly; "Give food to those who owe the desire to eat and nothing else because the rest that suggests it is abstention, and this will be procrastination of the verb that ceases to create endowment even wanting it, because all the sustenance of life can cease by risking bread and came more than to consecrate Health! Rather, it is due to the nourished devotional circle of the action of lavishing the circle of Son-Father granting the establishment of hunger-satiety to forge genetic and paternal seeds to recirculate them in the chain of procreation. Eurydice speaks: "My body undulates like a peg towards my beloved Joshua, I come from the figurehead of a ship. I went to Jerusalem to look for flowers that pour aromatic to bring and exalt their words tied to their feet. I was late and I lost my way, unable to find my way back. I only saw that from afar some lights in the northern area of ​​the orchard lit up like olive cyclers exploding in the air in nocturnal fireflies that swarmed together with the Lepidoptera..., they guided me here. But I repeat, when I saw the lights it took me back to when I was little in my distant Greece with Orpheus when he managed to sleep on Cerberus near Lake Styx. But I reiterate..., beyond the lights I have been able to see how the weevils are framing and plotting your words, my beloved Joshua, that the auditors will be able to help the square and interpret for many more than thousands of years, taking us with pre-recipients that allow us to feel their voice and hear it as far away as if it were closer than the olive branch that caresses their face. But I reiterate, I never thought I would get lost, I am even arriving as if I were from the figurehead of my ship, I always wanted to be close to the world of light of the Olivo of Barnea genetics like this one that has led me to meet it" Eurídice heads to the holy place, when it approaches, the Fireflies and Lepidoptera come out to pick it up, they allied themselves with the twisted shadows of olive trees, sharpening in clear harmony with the mirror archetypes of the dark foliage reflecting the green shadows on the wild fruits,

Just eleven days before the ekadashi of the full moon, the phenomenon of the harvest took place, which happens after a year of the abundant harvest of olives and another in which the harvest is small, here the change of nuances and corrugated textures is evident in the countenance of the olive trees without it being possible to think that this phenomenon will necessarily take place on a biennial or triennial basis. It was suspected and was known that the developing fruits would go to this event through their hormones and substances that intervene in their growth, acting as inhibitors of the differentiation of the buds, for which many of them would change when they were transformed into flowers to make them into the wood, from this process it was deduced that alternate bearing occurs when grass and gospel are lacking. The actions aimed at promoting ascending harvests in years that correspond to load, through the care of the planting of meditation and the abandonment of it in the years of discharge contribute even more, to accentuating the vecería in the doubts of faith. Some varieties of olive trees are more frequent than others, so it can be guessed that a genetic component is generated in this phenomenon. On the other hand, there will be the Christian cultivation technique, reducing the frequency of rotation, such as irrigation or the early harvesting of the olive for the tables that need to have it on their tablecloth. In such a way that this phenomenon will help the genetic phylogeny to reinsert lost expired words of antiquity in the emanation of the wisdom of God, through the universe acting as a great Drupa or peach that will assimilate being the amygdala that will allow sent vibrations to nod when they connect with the soil plagued walking and retraced the Messiah bringing us to his land with words in Aramaic of sacred salvation and his ancestry of word surveyor worker; which will allow us to transfer some appropriate spirit possession from him to Patmos when we return. Says King David: "as the Olivar de Barne species of the old husk will serve us for the Morning harvest with its fat percentage helping us to sustain the Shemesh fat of the new Sun to brandish winds that will hide the nocturnal haze of the waning moon. All as kings we have been baptized with oil in our solemnities, also coins traded in Kar to pay their benefits with the allegory of Yotam, in the Book of Judges to choose the king of the trees..., refusing the olive tree because it had to produce oil in the Menorah are the two tiny but large olive branches that illuminate the great temple of life. Now we will need it because the eleven days come before rescinding the cessation of Aramaic as a lost language, rather reimposing it as an entity of its channel with a gesture-light and space that hears or listens in repeated Aramaic oropharyngeal systems, and voices when lamenting in Hebrew happily the passages of the Torah with the same meaning and channeling source of the Pentateuch, to repast in the Barne species and transcend in its science together with its Katapausis phylogeny in the monastic cell of San Juan in Patmos next to Vernarth." Euridice kept giving atomic spouts and impulses at his feet to get to Gethsemane soon. Upon arrival, he insinuated how the Cherubim were pruning the Olive Trees next to the Hexagonal Birthright. Everyone was preparing for the olive tree festival in the Garden. He almost reached the end of King David's itchy speech among the Roses of Sharon, more than the cobbled one that a Cherub was replying to him so that nothing would waste being heard by his listeners on the Prow figurehead. It arrives and carries the odoriferous trans-essences in Astragalus, to begin with, intuitive adoration for each barefoot step that each petal and particle of its essence took, revering the base of the invested Messiah, reaching the perfect triangulation of balsamic acid and thorns with increased Aramaic of reviving the Barne Olive Grove Trail,



Paraps XXVIII

Mashiach of Judah V part

Miracle VI- Gethsemane / Maasefa

In this chapter preface, in particular, the revelation of three fundamental phases of the outcome of this chapter of Judah by the will of the god Aiónius in all real events and not, because the submithology that concerns us is of living relevance and is not experiment. Here Ezpatkul will enter Dóntiakul or prominent Augrum or Oro teeth turningScarabaeidaedemarcating the Vóreios Vóreios throughout the Horcondising region bilocating it in Encinas de Patmos borers, with such frenzy...!, that from there they would draw the strength of the north winds and the Olivos Barnea.

a) The subsequent phase after the Stable in Bethelem (Kafersuseh) will entail the neurochemical conformation of energies subtracted from visions of the stable, exclusively from the roof incontinenti of the intervention of the Cherubim with their four wings like the Lepidoptera (butterflies) incurring an original nexus messianic equipped with pheromonic sensitivity and chemical activation in the pollinations of bumblebees, bees, and wasps to regenerate the species of Olive Barnea consolidated the language and perpetuate it as a dialect of Messiah-Abba.

b) Phylogeny is subtracted from this phase itself as a relationship between species or taxa in general of tree species and wild plants. Although the term also appears in historical linguistics to refer to the classification of human languages ​​according to their common origin, the term is used primarily in its biological sense. The symbiosis of both interactions will intervene in the juxtaposition of "Joshua is born-dies in the interval" when he is born in the stable" but his analogy with Gethsemane and Golgotha, the two "G" will recreate the salvific miracle and anticipation of the Scourge that he will suffer but the Hexagonal Progeniture (Men and animal and insect species) will intervene with salvific action from the caves to rejoin the dry bones of Maasefa humanity. It also saves us from Shibboleth, identifying the members of a group in a kind of password) that appeals to changes in the use of phonetics in terms of difference and aspires to reorder social disagreements, caused by conflicts even of lost concomitant civilizations and their socio-cultural niche patrimonial, therefore from Aramaic as an anticipated signal thread of a beginning of communicative intention and preservation of messianic language)

c) The physical, mental, geophysical, and spiritual elemental energies will mutate the adherence of the Aramaic dialect with the pollen duct generated in the Barnea olive species, creating a relationship of chemical change in them deified in favor of a new "Bern of Vernarth" with the interaction of the isotope that will generate the inclusion of a proton that will mutate the chemistry of divination and connectivity with him (Heavenly Father-Abba in the Garden) in such a way that the methodological lines of anticipation will prosper on the night of the abduction by Sayones before being taken to the Lithostrotus to be flagellated to interpret the power of his gospel.

d) And for a consequent and emeritus synchronization of caverns in conjunction with dry bone Maasefa, triggering the awareness of the awakening of protection before, during, and after the events that occurred at the culmination of his death. This will delve into the three chemical sediments interacting with each other, the Aramaic language enchanting the univocal and eternal root to always have it in Gethsemane, the revelation of phylogeny as a determining entity for the consolidation of the geophysical-animal world, and the transcendent soul that intervenes between the stars of the everlasting creation on Crescent Moon eleven days earlier with Sun-Shemesh astonishingly at the debasement of the human species and all of its feelings of unconfessed loss of existence.

e) Experiencing and surviving indecisions and fears of recognition of exposing and externalizing the calls of caverns have allowed us to escape from threats, but from there towards a reverberation in the same tune of Calvary, in the sockets of a skull sheltering you to serve and look from the optics of shining with the flow of ears of wheat in your dreams. Gethsemane and Golgotha ​​are the set of double "G" that generates endo-trauma in the throat and in its global skeleton bone set wanting to revive the call of the Messiah, from the Neck of Heaven rising roughly up your throat, forever and for the Centuries. of the Centuries.

f) The plectrum led me to write this paradisiacal essay in this chapter (it is the same depressive unconsciousness of having a body already abandoned without a Soul, but in my own without understanding anything), this tends to describe how history teaches us that there are phenomena difficult to capture with certainty, the masque of extra mediumistic sensitivities emerging from where our conscience does not discover what spiritual power does canonically the intuitive divine exponential or the external machine of multiple systems of serial spirits that besiege us and show us their Ether and that rarely can we actually be able to enter them from deep inside from their activation data to our hyper cognition, and their level of travel leading us to abandon our abstraction.

They were all stationed on the northeast *****, Eurydice arrived with her essences full of little birds surrounding her, she could not hold them due to the invasion of these surprising birds. They were all sitting on the stones of the garden, they were all leaning their heads on the Svein Tzora stones. Says Vernarth: "The stone of Gethsemane", on grains and crystals they are soaked with spheres of the stone of the Mashiah. She showed them meekness in the face of the hardness that could be distinguished compared to limestone or clay, full of sedimentary grains that devastate igneous from where some voices of her holocaust were left over, compared to marrying corporeal materiality in the Aramaic syllable embedded in a stripped bustle and silent, of everything and little petulant organic element coexisting in its amorphous figure. This graphs the consonance with the demonstrations of passion for his followers by embedding himself in a stone with multiple and sharp cuts like taking out the atoms in a grenade with his law of 613 grains that are enough to stipule them and to break the lithosphere of the messianic referendum in his sacrificial law. in the lithostrotes. No barrier will stop us to overcome this lithosphere that separates us so coldly from the rebirth of a body that takes root beyond the cracks of Gethsemane since the olive trees grow on the same stones, pretending to be in a mansard. The will of destiny under a stone, admits arrogant worries to startle that "He was there, and his destiny condemned him", but "My Abba, if it is possible for this cup to pass from me; but let it not be as I want, but as You want...", equivalent to telling of stones for all the cups, as long as the will is of the Abba", thus the stones are lightened, and our pride weighs less than the subterranean immortality. Saint John says: "Which is agony, it is nothing more than holding in our dreams the heavy shadow of its burden. The stone does not fit through the interstices of dreams but its image weighing in the symbology of being part of it, more than all hailstorms being the scene of sin near the disciple family and their despondency that runs where a curtain circulates towards the Resurrection. The large drops are large grains of the pomegranate in the Via Dolorosa, being large stones falling from the universe rubbing against the Sun and the Moon, falling on Him as well. Today on this day that he confesses tribulation of an eternal night that he never clarified..., It will start to rain, interrupting itself for days running backward, since several syllables remained un catechized before rising from where the wind of Elijah called him Mashiach. Revered Mashiaj, always close to you jumping from the red sea such a pomegranate as the food of a Father between waves of his sea! Again we are in the celebration of Holy Week and we have thought it appropriate to write this work on the stone of Gethsemane with a gifted scene that was his arrest, caused by the petty betrayal of all the Treacherous in the world. Mashiah, lonely in his full youth of thirty-three years in Aramaic verses succumbing to the arms of his Abba, .. He takes him and wraps him in his arms to defend him from the darkness shedding blood and tears on a cracked stone, beyond the skies that predecessor grenades in his hands revealing will that surpasses the levels of being rescued more times. There is a bitter taste of fruit, of course, but it tastes like a red planting of the dry red rock that is not emanated from anything but that if it brings us the generous hand that ceases pain and affliction, that produces sweet sleep even having wrought iron entering through your carpals and tarsal feet. With the pantomime of our morbidity we stretch our arms on your crucified cross but without awareness of the ******* test of not experiencing the iron in our questioned soul, without crucified skin in the epidemic that the beast of punishment gave to his skin between screams and hoarse cries that if they slip towards him, rather under the acíbar of a hammered heartless glass inert and stone that runs towards the west looking for the voices of his pious mother. The sip of the sunset was ingested in the sadness of my life that begins to be reborn every time it was lost and lifeless without feeling it as mine. I sleep vigil on the flames of the stand in the stones of the fire, and I sleep because others will not wake me up on the edge that cuts my game in flames. What cowardly courage accumulating in a depersonalized spilled heart..., what hours will have to pass without feeling them to date the entrance into his body of burning iron towards the sacrifice and not the sacrifice. "Let it continue here in this pebble with the shape that bears fruit because it will not burst with impatience, but rather with tears of pomegranate grains." What stronger aloe than seven days in a row turning to my usual sweetness sin to finish them abandoned without savoring it. For the first time since I returned from exile, I understand that his Aramaic smells like wisps of fruit and hundreds of syllables that are..., whipped like mega words that smell like his upright trunk in solitude and abandonment. Its trunk like mine is stone of tree bark, of vile whips lost in the frieze of its temple breaking its head bark, weeping its moans in full reconverted hopes of a hidden Ziziphus crown. They are nailed to a purple wisp of pomegranate, defeating the ailment of those who dared to martyr him in the pain that runs through his icy strata..., not sifted even by brave poor people; as it is to say by the voice of the wealthy spirit helping you. "Being prepared and No,

Maasefa Stone Powder: "You are made of stone and you will become stone" were the words of communion in Gethsemane of the stone of the Mashiach's prayer, indicating the expression of freedom and cessation of the oligarchy of belonging to the doctrine of the world of dimensional physical slavery, and its intertwined solidity of stones that the priests elaborated in the catacombs in times of consecration of loved ones towards a centile universe of Orthodox spirituality. Here are the stones carved like the Sanhedrin that met in the building known as the Hall of Carved Stones (Lishkat Ha-Gazith) for this purpose it will be the conservation of ossuaries of the high authorities and common citizens, having the prerogative of the Maasefa that has to consist of collecting the bones of all those reduced after a year in complete secrecy in the assigned catacombs. Through this immediacy of low and recondite spaces grows the vague wandering of precepting in approaching the salvific redemption awaiting the projection of the expired ancestors in the source of eternal life accepted by the Mashiach (Messiah), to shelter us in his illusion in beautiful brotherhood before to be resurrected. The Hexagonal Primogeniture would go by way of making the nucleus of nearby songs of the oratory of the orchard towards an honorable mention of elaborating concavities in the geology of the orchard, so that the alliance of the Aramaic verb of cloistering and devotion of the members in each stony cell, and the explosion of the Aramaic verb speaking infinitely of the Father-Son analogy. In such a way that translucent particles will be spread by the rhizomes of the Olivos Barnea species; deriving to Bern for the posthumous tribute of Vernarth considered Champion of conservation and cenacle of living and extinct organic bones, such as the aforementioned case of the Apostle before gathering as elemental dust of Joshua's Maasefa prior to the completion of the withdrawal of the Garden of Gethsemane. Shofar, sistrum, harp, and cymbals resonate for the wise night and its star sign before starting the excavation works in the nearby veins to conclude the Maasefa. They all sleep together that night touching each other's heels in the matrix phase to start a day with the strength of the stonework from left to right for the allegory of the Menorah that never leaves the magnetized night. They rise at twenty minutes to four to begin the ritual, an hour and a half before sunrise they were in the stratum of purple dawn on layers of divinity tinged with the conscious subtlety of the creator in our levitating being. Its consequences arise before their bodies continue to evolve towards the hegemonic process on the stratum of the nascent mineralogy that was going to intervene, being oratory of the Mashiach or synchronic Messiah. Beneath it, Vernarth would begin to pierce looking for the dimensional spaces of the search for his physiognomic extension adaptable to everyone's and evolutionary memory that separated the entrance of the Shemash and Selene over the glasses waiting to be filled and drunk at noon. Eleven days before the Ekadashi (full moon) began. Thus, in this way, they would sculpt the poked catacomb in twelve simultaneous rocks that were in a perfect limbic diametral circle of the plotline of the orchard with their physical displacements in congruence with the moon and consciousness that agrees with it, like that alert of that fateful night in which was kidnapped. In perfection with the oscillating vibration that is expanding in front of the dorsal cold of the stone analogically when the Mashiach vibrated in physical magnitude and in the absence of alert, more emotional if after talking with his Abba. The tremulous line she encompassed was widely displaced further since she was transported into the Edicule isotope as an element of flight, escape, detonation and resignation, being able to find nature configured in the fuss of a great variety of isotopes of different mass. the one in a large part will exceed in the cumulative gasified reaction, and in cathartic events that will occur at fifteen o'clock on Good Friday when the prophetic events and the mischievous changes of evidence of the cataclysm expire on the cross and hands. The eclipsed sun, storm with depressing losses, and tragedy for a world that will sleep more than seventeen hundred years to the right create the consciousness of being in more than two conscious places, with the minimum and childish aspect of the remaining second that is divided between the before and after the physical and physiological abandonment, beginning a final episode and conclusive torment that precedes a culminating beginning. All this transformation of the enclave and energetic dimension allowed them to synchronously pierce the sedimented rocks that were thus sustained in the timid energy, generating higher will field electromagnetism. Thus, in the sinkholes, everyone was drilling, they would be of the same mass category as the isotopes to manifest the energy and its dynamic charge, such an occlusive energy mass that would explode on the day of Golgotha's martyrdom. Preceding this energy phenomenon underlies the symmetry of the magnetic field created synchronously with words emitted in comparative Aramaic words with reminiscences that must serve in the twelve caverns of the garden in conversions and exchanges of exhalations of bees, bumblebees, and wasps of the curved universe that transits in the explosiveness of the lines that approach the dislocation ratio of the vibrations and their sound frequencies. Globally pollination as a genetic element of the fresh chlorophyll macerated as kinetics in elytra of Lepidoptera with the indications of connecting the clan with the aforementioned electromagnetic energies. The interaction of the fields within the system will be induced between Golgotha ​​and Gethsemane, they will establish here electric charges that will produce gases and liquids that will intervene in the entire lithosphere that unites both portions of soils, this created the interaction of particles establishing the undermining of rocks with basin-shaped Calota de Calavera, due to the geological conformation of the radius that surrounds both predicted areas. From this standard, the caverns will be improvised in the garden, magnetizing the vibration areas that depend on each other. The search Interrelates a magnetic and electrical phenomenon between both zones; the impulse to anticipate the premonitions of the Mashiach is derived, and how he was going to endure such torments towards his illustrious body in such a way as to retransmit it electromagnetically between the transmission bridge of the Garden and admission to Golgotha. This will unleash all subsequent supernatural and geological phenomena during the day of his torment and delicacy that will be glimpsed by decree of an execution damaged humanity exposed to orthodox fanaticism, causing a sensitive correspondence between the transmission of faith and the dogma of attending to the work physical and mystical legacy to protect for successive generations in the species Berna Olivar, ratifying correlation of the majestic and axiomatic cultivation of preservation under the catacombs and unalterable progeny of concelebrations of the eternal relation of a coalition of prosapia united to the shock and conscience of Christian Eternity. This gravitational potential energy will associate the Aramaic multi-effect towards all the attendees to confer, dialogue, assimilate and consent towards a supra lingual organic and historical heritage dynamic channel, on the basis of a monumental act of consanguinity in front of all will, "Here are all alphas over omegas." Creating complex harmonic movements between the caverns of impiety, but with a perfect and renovating equation with the redeemed Prayer in Aramaic towards the universe in quasi-face-to-face degrees, but not verifiable until the ritual of saving prayer is concluded. The chain reaction of this divine particle will be the opposite reaction tax of the active consolidation work area tensioned between the pilasters, Golgotha ​​and Gethsemane, both are started with "G" and if you turn it in any direction surrounding it you make a perfect skull of no more than twelve kilometers, whose distance in a direct line would certainly be crossing the eternal vision through ocular concavities, demonstrating levels of analogy and esoteric analysis. The extended reciprocity and supra value of divine consciousness are latent, from where the emission of the word and the will is born "the Calota or head skeleton" in the sense of reduced material and the corpuscle of antimatter that would come to be where the universes intersect in the elite of direct mercy (one has already happened, but another sphere of the difficult concavity has yet to travel..., only a Messiah will have to cross it when it returns to us again). This Eclipse of the Messiah of the Sun is a dark aspect of anemic light, torment, and three Maries, vindicating itself in this token of superficial passion in the Garden and antimatter rooted in the anti-particle, which evades this great event by lavishing its blessed spiritual figure with a charge of ambivalent theological antimatter; of egregious trust and bipartite univocity but fainting for the dark mercy on Golgotha ​​and light in the Garden of Gethsemane. "His body trembling and the Earth also" Shibboleth was getting up to distinguish members of a group such as the tribe of Ephraim, whose dialect lacked a sound (S), unlike others such as the Gileadites, whose dialect did include it. Shibboleth is a spike and also celebrates the fertility of the wheat crops and all concomitant species of the natural and endemic species of central Judah. And the Gileadites took the fords of the Jordan River to Ephraim, and when one of Ephraim who had fled said, Shall I cross over? The Gilead asked him, Are you an Ephraimite? If he answered no, then they told him: Well say "shibboleth". And he said shibboleth because he couldn't pronounce that luck. Then they laid hands on him and cut his throat. And so died forty-two thousand of those of Ephraim. however renewing when released by the contending magnetic forces that made Virola a whole that surrounds Gethsemane and Golgotha ​​as a magnetized tunnel of great mystical conversion for purposes of adaptability and preservation of renewed fertilizations of bumblebees, bees, and wasps in view of a commonwealth conforming and spreading in all spheres of faith and apotheosis from the pre-act of the Messiah's refuge to the judgment and punishment of his truth. After expunging their scourge in a dazed journey, they will fall with great similarity to the verb "Betrays and Forgives", the Universe in its creation renews everything, because that is how it has been written since the beginning of the Universe and by whoever dictated it." Shibboleth, will reconcile differences of understanding without prejudice and differences of geographical, anthropological, lingual mentions, cultural and divine verticals. "Our informal culture is preserved within village houses by resisting the scourge of victorious death, within the cave that protects us in its infinite mercy and commiseration" Maasefa and The Valley of Dry Bones collide at the appointed time the Svein Tzora, "the flintstones", to kindle the fire of the Messiah. The thunder was such that it made the seas decant for rivers and thunder on the terraces of the houses and fire on the banks of each unfulfilled prayer! Everyone gets up, each one leaving each cave of his ordeal, and goes to the meeting of the Dry Bones. The tradition of gathering the bony componential that has no soul all deviates towards the request of the flesh for its soul. As the account of the Prophet Ezekiel, five hundred years BC There are many outstanding remains of bones, this would resume in Gethsemane for the offspring of the Messiah's son caste, the Cherubim with the Lepidoptera twenty meters from the Svein Tzora donating light and heat to begin the ritual of dim moonlight. It is already a crescent moon and dim green lights shine through the beautiful dim green branches that light up the dry land of the beloved orchard on the face of the wasteland Calvary. The advantageous meats that began to butcher the bones raised the desire to start ultra fast in the oropharyngeal area, to endow solemnity and fulfillment of the prophecy of the sacred language of the Aramaic lingual group in tune with the vibrations of sound waves of the wind in romance with the blows of the fire towards their faces. In this way, the spirit of Jehovah was adhered to reunite the primary words of reunion of the edicts of Bethhelem, with the visions of Joshua so that the stable in its language emits the immortal edict from the very stable Kafersuseh to Gethsemane. Now everything was holy energy in union with the lands that made the compost fertile and his word was fulfilled, The valley of olive trees was reconverted and prayed complacency, everyone tried in the attachment of clan and twilight in the accidentality of the event, the new reason will not deprive of anointing the past-present in the realization of the joy of remains with bones, of laughter with laughter, of a patriarch with veterans, of offspring with their offspring, with the greatest thing than a hand covered with a great spirit over a valley where only distensions and candles should fit in each one of them. with Joshua's visions for the stable in his language to issue the immortal edict from the very stable Kafersuseh to Gethsemane. Now everything was holy energy in union with the lands that made the compost fertile and his word was fulfilled.



Paraps XXIX

Mashiach of Judah VI part

Miracle VII- Gethsemane / Meshuva Basics

The kicks of the feet begin. The twelve Giga camels stand up with their paired toes beginning to peel off the fat deposits of the remaining six camels with hoofed nails. They tore the epidermis with their fingernails to spread fat and oil into the lamps of light they need to distribute from the Full Moon in each palm of each component. The moon was in cacophony, it walked everywhere and imagined itself in the court of King David, drowsing in cubicles at the first light of the second sleep in the morning. Undivided they walked in procession through the source of the change in the socio-religious paradigm that kept them united, they were Raeder and Petrobus, Alikanto with a golden mount on his small back, the Lepidoptera, bumblebees, bees, and wasps, they tiptoed silently over the first level of damp wind at dawn, many of them perched on the backs of immune camels to ride with them to the reestablished Gethsemane starting point. In their phylogeny they collaterally impute the taxonomy that belongs to the camelid genus, which is a taxonomic category that is located between the family of Judah and the Middle East in the buried ecclesiastical species; thus, a genus of a group of organisms is propitiated, which in turn can be divided into several species. As ungulates as well as strictly herbivores, their musculature differs from other proboscideans in that the legs are attached to the body only at the upper thigh, instead of being connected from the knee up by skin and muscle, therefore it will be very easy for them to connect with flying insects so that they do not have to kneel. While the six sectioned the tanks of another six, and so they will continue to be stationed and intervened until their superficial wounds heal before leaving for the return to the port of Jaffa. On this long journey until dawn, they must stand on their footpads to resist the final farewell cult of the twelve caves, as they emerge from the placental sites they had developed with the Primogen to empower the vestigial area of ​​the rescued Aramaic word. This will be to grant and scale prosperity by having the signs of vitality intertwined, with each reminiscence of calls and responses of messages for the "Propitius Esto Humanity" that is projected in the secular future. This will be generated by external stimulation each time the intention to communicate with the ceremonial of existence-life-deaths-fullness is presented, thus the voice of the greatest incisive devotional forces will resemble, grabbing or grabbing the smallest voices that can even be overlooked or not understood when the Golden Gate of Jerusalem is inaugurated. From the very top, the Gigas species can be seen walking with six candlesticks, these species cross their artiodactyl locomotion towards a fluctuate on the flames of the candlesticks towards the rock of Mashiaj. While the other camels were recovering from their wounds, they looked with their calm eyes and were very aware of the proselytizing nunciature that channeled the reactions of the Hexagonal Progeniture, thus being absolved of the commitment of the prayers for the new launch with the atmospheric ordering ceremony in Getsemaní with the voices of the Messiah, with the framework, volume, and reverberation to flood with light and sounds in all the geographical areas that have not had a subscription. As the Giants trod the grounds with their hoofed nails, Vernarth and Alikanto, Saint John the Apostle, King David, Eurydice, Raeder, and Petrobus (The Hexagonal Primogeniture), made solemn vows before such an episode. It was not long before dawn and even Selene disputed with other stars of the envelope to shine more for such a great event..., as it is surprising at the moment that everything would seem of stillness and gestation of winged embryos appearing from the top of the Bern Olive trees near the Cherubs. They came with the Mashiaj who brought them new charities..., he could be seen in a deep field in two light bulbs of his white tunic, full of gold and blue lace, with Lepidoptera around him throughout the journey distilling crimson celestial radiosities.  Meshuva white cloak descended through the fronds of the olive trees lit and previously illuminated by the northeast ***** of the orchard, the Cherubim and Archangel Miguel and Gabriel came with decided parallelism by six-folding the interpretations expressed by the Lepidoptera, for the purpose of consolidating the institution of the north side of Gethsemane as a sanctified area of ​​Aramaic prayer and devotion of absolute naturalization of the classification of the Cherubim and Lepidoptera as winged tetras and Cultivators of the phylogenetic transmission of the pollen-orchard on the opening of the gynaeceum of the Olivo Berna, in the Valley of the Olives, and taxonomic choice by hierarchical order of the species and geo-referencing of the asteroseismic corridor of the narrow pass between Bethhelem and Gethsemane. On the tops of the olive trees were the Cherubim and the Lepidoptera, they fluttered through the flowery ramifications intertwined with the Messiah's tunic that came descending with an accent of graceful Torah, then the dawn of pre-dawn fireflies re-blooms on his face..., they brought a million beams of another thousand groups of beams to be born among the first luminaries of the day. The Lepidoptera ascended through an oval interval and in a spiral path through the petiole until the fifth generation of Rapa or Eskimo with forty flowers with four white petals in phylogenetic synchrony with Cherubim and Lepidoptera with four elementary portions to deliver the fundamental membrane that will generate the physiognomy of the Messiah between the transposed ones, and blond, ruddy lights of the Messiah's face with the cross-like texture of themselves on their shoulders of Capernaum dew. The Esquimo or the flowers would grow in clusters of between ten to forty flowers in perfect series depending on the variety, each flower would also have four white petals, a little pulpy facing each other in a symmetrical cross, and the flower will bring in the center an orange-yellow hue of an arboreal sphinx that would be filled with clusters that will transform the appearance of the oil-bearing tree, giving white brushstrokes to the olive grove before stingy gallantry glances. Each flower will supper from its captive pollen for approximately one week, so the flowering phase of the olive trees will turn before a brief duration, but of a messianic lapse with the cyclical lives of their idyllic Syriac Aramean. The female and hermaphrodite caste will bring you the biblical universal pollen with tremulous stamens and surcharged pistils traveling more than nine and a half kilometers from Bethlehem of the "Kafersuseh" to the orchard. Before the majestic pollination, the archangels Michael and Gabriel will invade two percent of the gynoecium of the flowers, giving way to the Meshuva candid cloak, full of white apotheosis petals. Vernarth rushes to the ground and rolls around between the petals filling his entire body and face with thousands of them, leaving many of them transfigured in the oily fruit of the Palate Universe between the ring finger and the index finger with an accent of Purification of the Mikveh, floating like neutron orbit of Life and Micro Universe only to be entranced by the presence of the Messiah in his white robe of petals.  Coming down with Bernese Petals strawberry trees in his white tunic, the Mashiach rushes to Vernarth, takes him, and tells him secretly: floating like neutron orbit of Life and Micro Universe only to be entranced by the presence of the Messiah in his white robe of petals. Coming down with Bernese Petals strawberry trees in his white tunic, the Mashiach rushes to Vernarth, takes him, and tells him secretly:

Mashiah: "Only you..., in each one of these white cells you are..., and in those that you are not in my remembrance, it is reborn as the fruit of the Bern Olive Tree. Over the cup of this species I heard your prayer, I know who you are and gratitude for resisting this lymphoma so nobly, I took it out of your soul when it was confused with the fresh breeze of the grass that feeds the fungi of pain. Immerse yourself in this Mikveh of columns of white petals from Bern, here the voices and words of Aramaic will run in a row to the right to sip white in my thoughts of the Gospel, with your miraculous grace by returning to me John the Apostle being exiled by Domitian. Come to me walking on this unleavened bread with Bern olive elixir and let's drink Hanukkah wine and its vital dawn that boils with each sip of the glandular thymus and your sore chest in between. I am tired, I come from far away, but I have taken this road from Emmaus to lift you up. Arise and come to My Vernarth." Vernarth erects his purified column with the petals emulating the Mikve "Purification", he predisposes himself to the Holy path of the Meshuva "Return to God". So from today Vernarth is born and revives to continue his journey back to Patmos. Mashiah says: "The why of the naive deviation will **** them and the complacency of the fools will destroy them. Your own wickedness will correct you, and your apostasies will rebuke you; Know therefore and see that it is evil and bitter that you should forsake the Lord your God, and the fear of me be not in you." Vernarth says: "We will be loyal and under these leafy trees Bern I will proclaim to the north saying; that we walk towards merciful fidelity and declare all together! We know that  My Lord will heal us of our infidelity, that is why we have come here because You are our Lord God." St. John the Apostle replies: "The lion, wolf, leopard, will **** us, destroy us and tear us to pieces because transgressions and apostasies have invaded in great numbers..., my beloved Mashiach, we have already got rid of the deception and we want the Meshuva back to your ether. of the accomplice desert with the aromas of the flying weevils that the Aramaic lexicons bring us from Kafersesuh to re-graft them into the eternity of your word that crosses the entire universe. The world has sinned against you, the apostasies are innumerable, and we are here to lovingly honor your name. So my people were determined to push me away even though they call them to the Highest, none at all exalts him. I will heal his apostasy, I will love them freely because my anger has departed from them" The Garden was eclipsed by the cardinal points, it was delineated by a Cherub from South to North, for the main border that passed through the zenith where the Mashiach would order the promontory of the dependent rock of the placental rocks that coexist with the twelve inhabitants who had erected them with their eyes closed and opened by the light of Faith. The border that Vernarth and the Apostle nominally saw, was connected with the new division of the world of the stagnant word, and in the new route, it revived in a perfect cross from west to east towards the paleo trill of the Palestinian Eagles loaded with incense and sawdust from the felled Olive Tree for the furniture that they used as input in the lavish boasts of the Romans. The magnetized needle will crack the back of each of the members,"O Kýrios tha epistrépsei se mas, tis rízes tou Kósmou, ópou krémetai ta skoupídia tou" (The Lord will return to us the roots of the World, where its concrete debris hangs). Then this voice takes from the inconcrete state, aligning the excellence of the north of the Messiah, together with the iron of the blood plasma of Vernarth and the Apostle to be magnetized towards the north in the sublime magnetized cardinal. Shemesh-Sun King order of cardinal parallelism is thus established; north: north or boreal ruled by Vernarth and Saint John the Apostle, South: Meridian or Austral by Etréstles and Eurydice, East: East, rising or rising ruled by Raeder and King David West: West or West. In this way, the insects and animals, declaimed the sunrise of the Sun to the Levant before each cup of the Chalice synchronous with the intercession of the cross to the tangential of the horizontal that extends to the west when both phases of the solar cycle are aligned with the departure of the Bread and discharge of the Messiah from his time in the cloister. The Alikantus and Petrobus animals will be ruled by the Northeast and Northwest, while the flying insects will be ruled by the Southeast and Southwest.

Etymological ellipsis of Ancient Nordic Civilizations: The east-west perimeter is considered as the axis of the abscissas in a geographic coordinate system, the axis of the ordinates would be described by the north-south line, which corresponds to the axis of terrestrial rotation. This composition generates four angles of ninety degrees that in turn are divided by the bisectors generating northwest, southwest, northeast, and southeast. Thus the Rose of the Winds is demarcated by the Esquimo del Olivo flower in perfect harmony with the circumference of the horizon. This will attract the lines that intersect verbally and non-verbally, by the abscissa that delineates the guideline of the Rock of the Messiah overflowing with total generosity to shine in the caves at dawn, to sprinkle them with the rays that they lack due to the supposed static latitude. In order to parody the line of the lethality of the Norse Gods by being tangential to this new alignment of the earth axis and laterality coordination, only through the Apples of Asynjur can they hope to revive until the final destiny of the Gods. This Nordic parallelism goes back to us in the chapter Vernarth Chapter II - Animal of War in Tel Gomel, where Asgard is mentioned, which in Norse mythology is the one conceived on earth, it is a rainbow bridge, Bifrost, which connects it with the paradise. This etymology will cross the genesis of the plotline of the entire Hellenic epic in the first chapters until it is reiterated here in this Messianic epic with the demarcation of the limits in Gethsemane, that marks the guideline that intersects the exact point of the Aramean Prayer Rock for the diction of the words and cosmogonic interrelationships of cultures and the sparkling use of the atavistic language before the year 332 BC and even after, to project with the temporal line of the regressive line of parapsychology after 1820, in the Spanish Revolution of this same work. This demarcation has intertextuality in coordinates of time-history, to make this unpublished Gethsemane map the timelessness of archaic civilizations, which have applauded and venerated all cycles of life and fall under the same precept of cardinal laterality, acclaiming a God who he flowed and created the North whether he lives or agonizes, but if he wants to revive he will have to come to his threshold of quantum departure "The Garden of Gethsemane" to be projected with the timeline of the regressive line of parapsychology after 1820, in the Spanish Revolution of this same work. This demarcation has intertextuality in coordinates of time-history, to make this unpublished Gethsemane map the timelessness of archaic civilizations, which have applauded and venerated all cycles of life and fall under the same precept of cardinal laterality, acclaiming a God who he flowed and created the North whether he lives or agonizes, but if he wants to revive he will have to come to his threshold of quantum departure "The Garden of Gethsemane" to be projected with the timeline of the regressive line of parapsychology after 1820, in the Spanish Revolution of this same work. This demarcation has intertextuality in coordinates of time-history, to make this unpublished Gethsemane map the timelessness of archaic civilizations, which have applauded and venerated all cycles of life and fall under the same precept of cardinal laterality, acclaiming a God who he flowed and created the North whether he lives or agonizes, but if he wants to revive he will have to come to his threshold of quantum departure "The Garden of Gethsemane"



Gaugamela

Palace of the Camelids

The roosters of Persepolis sing again. Its disloyal resonances and deadly gloom came from seventy kilometers from the Iranian city of Shiraz, province of Fars, near the place where the Pulwar River empties into the Kur (Kyrus). The Rooster specters came mounted on the houses of the twelve Giga Camels..., recovered from the remaining six. They came to withdraw to take the path to Jaffa. The House of Camels began as preservatives of the immunity required to be in accordance with the sanitary ellipticals and adaptation to the exit of Judah. They were bound for the hemicycle of the Lepidoptera consorts united with the specter camels Giga and the Early Birds that will give the first row in the game of the Primogen, after seven weeks in Judah. Knowing that the phylogeny of Animalia is of wide versatility of this super being of the desert Animalia that will agree on the departure of all and repatriation of the hexagonal Primogen except King David who will enter the Celestial cenotaph in Jerusalem escorted by the Cherubim. From Tel Gomel came reverberations of sonorizations of the last metallic rattles of swords and howls of Macedonian infantrymen colliding with each other with their pernicious weapons. While these screams reverberate like an anvil falling at ninety degrees on hailed pieces of perspective of the Achaemenides..., their families already had to say goodbye to their family plains, since many lost their souls cracked from inhaled mutilating curses. Today a miraculous event would occur from the high sky a Dorus Hetairoi would fall that came flaming with fire. And from the northwest side, a Sarissa spear fell that intercepted in the immediate vicinity of Joshua's stone-forming neat Cross lit with the brightest star. It was nothing less than the vehement fire of Meshuva that brought with it drops of water from the Jordan with the Image of the Baptist, to make the hierarchical gravitation on the ponies of the Camels that at this point had all the dominance of the plague of the sufferings that They could cause a great impact on the twelve camels due to an endemic outbreak as a result of some leprosy in the surrounding area, causing higher contagions to those who ride them. The panorama was one of total rhetoric consonant with Tel Gomel, "Gaugamela Palace of the Camels". This paradox came to resent the reciprocity of magnificence of these camelids in the perfect analogy with Gethsemane, for this purpose to agree with the ghosts of Shiraz shortly before the great battle of Gaugamela began in 332 BC. C. equating the lands arranged before the plantar areas where these divine species continued to bring the sense of war around sensitized, converted into battering rams of mustangs crossing the auscultated portals of the Garden in an agony of interlude. Over the soft roar of Tel Gomel came maidens in white tulle with semi-cross dresses, serene and chaste from the plain of the Palace of India were the wives who married the commanders of Alexander the Great. They were from the war lineage that also came to concelebrate the farewell of the Animalia and Hexagonal Primogeniture. Today the seven miracles come together in a perfect line of the Apeiron, which of all things identifies this first principle with the "indefinite" or "unlimited." Considering that the constitutive principle of things was the Apeiron, which is neither water, nor earth, nor fire, nor air; It has no concrete form, it is infinite. The cosmos is born, develops, and perishes within that "ápeiron" in Gethsemane. This existential infinity of the beginning of the world is born from this feat in Gethsemane, affirming that only this immaterial element nor any other of the so-called elements will bring the ápeiron nature of the Garden in flames of love from which all the heavens and elements that are in them are generated in Gethsemane renewed towards the infinity of love of Joshua. Now, starting from where there is a rebirth for things, reconstructive destruction is also produced there, giving rise to needs; in fact, they pay each other by blaming and retributing for their injustice according to the disposition of time speaking of these things in rather pastoral terms, these maidens come in their feathered chariots from Sisellas of Tel Gomel for the blessed ones who club the underground of Tel Gomel and Bumodos, among cosmic rinsings of the Apeiron of the Messiah beyond its origin in the Kafersuseh (many births under a single great multivalent spirit among thousands of stables of origin and powers of Dimensional Beams, where the master lord worships from the trapeze hanging from beam to beam). The fireflies, bumblebees, bees, and wasps, resemble the profiles of the hollows and hills that were hidden before the figure of all this nascent profane world, more grandiloquent than migrating and fitting the engineering of the great beams that support the structural sky predominantly on supine and flexion. The World, after decompressing, dragged the linear orographic cords of Gethsemane, puncturing the cords of the rocks and its messianic average lithosphere, in this way it opened twisting in the inertia that toward the rock puckered a fist of guidelines that distilled in later moments and of adaptation of the inertia to adapt with the dynamics of the Aramaic emerging from the mouth of all the olive trees Bern after yawn and slime of trapped dust. Vernarth says: "With my Xiphos I will establish life beyond the burning of wounds, come worms to snack on your meat Hoplites, come now..."I am Hetairoi..." and I usually die several times over the worst pains in the jaws of ambrosia with Hestia but I do not tolerate that others suffer pain beyond my control. In the minutes that the horns of the wind besiege, the living Garden of the jailer will be freed from us, constrained to uncover the insidious and opaque sphere of solitary confinement, that deprives us of knowledge even being embarrassed about the same death and not attentive to it that blooms on the plethoric thorns of Saracen alcohol" On gigantic dimensions, the insects copulate the shadows directed on the shadows of the Giant Camels thus beginning the departure of the Aramaic Huerto converted into the new palace of the Animalia, despite contending pretense of pollen on each particle of the Mashiach's concretions now on the platform of the Palace of the Camelids and on the Holy hummus of the Garden of Gethsemane. The Apostle Saint John says: "anxious urges to go to the other side of the evocation and have to look at other tree species with water from the universe that irrigates the world in the swamp"... He appears sitting on his golden Petrobus cloud with Raeder... Raeder says: "I will go with miraculous airs and terrified of themselves of our own miracles, bathed in the water from the flow and from the head of Petrobus, we will supply water where there is none, but he has no mention, only the instinct of those who need him. I have to hang myself from his Jade Ferrules that carry his web-footed legs. Now is the time to continue at some point in the line of the twelve ungulates after these seven weeks in Judah" Eurydice intervenes: "I will get on the camels and talk with them about why the line that leads us will never separate from Gethsemane. We know that we have to return from Jaffa to Limassol to remove the Mariano gold medallion that was bathed in the bottom, and that Procorus awaits us immersed in the aroma of the Garden. I keep a crack in my heart where a Bern Olive tree grows, and that of its sprouts that are populating the houses of Skalá and the heights of Patmos" King David: "I will proclaim over the baptismal airs, and that the ghosts of Shiraz will raise Olive trees from the balusters of the avenues of Berna, to raise the props of passageways that lead to the heights of Agamemnon creating the kingdom of Mycenae in mythology that will propitiate the sovereignty of all of Argos. This was ingested all of a sudden in the triad of the Hebrew, Aramaic, and Hellenic worldview, to triumph over the excess of external knowledge that they had and will have to be kept in my cenotaph full of wandering aromatic weevils" Etréstles states: "the emanations of the Sun and progression of other suns will always be the adjective that will make us be part of every particle of land here in the Garden, Messolonghi, Limassol, Rhodes, and Patmos.

Also after this episode appears Campaspe, one of Alexander the Great's concubines. She came on behalf of all the maidens and concubines who were betrothed to their commanders in India. The beauty of this noblewoman is renowned. Campaspe says: "We were all going to be Sovereigns, but the face of expiration was always in front of the Commanders of Alexander the Great. The outfits we wore were only black and had scents from Palacios de Gaugamela. The cold that is born from another leads me to possess those of others that are not the ones that bring me here. I was given into the hands of a painter who portrayed me but the true meaning of the warm mustard lands of Gaugamela is in the heat of the wasteful pleasure of the solitude of spaces, there is no greater striking and curative good than the one that has come from Vernarth to Tel Gomel, paraphrasing the sensuality and sadness that continues to manifest here in the hovering hoofed hands of the ghosts of Shiraz, bringing to greater confusion to unite all the forces of the world for all the blood that has not been emancipated or renamed" The gray mist of the Garden on gum resin mourns, the insects moan the test of the triangulated pollen that Campaspe disseminates in its nascent genome, and the twelve camels begin to turn on themselves along with their insulting long and prolonged snores. The hillsides snort in procreation in the whistles of the fresh air disputing the attire of the Bern Olive Trees that ebb from the elongated bands of their white dresses *******. The Mashiach was leaving between the gray strips of naked nubiles. The weevils followed him out of the caves of the previous character of Golgotha, and the Lepidoptera emitted voices in ancient Aramaic similar to the event of Bethany in the hands of Lazarus contracted to immortalities in the shreds of his shroud turning green in the hardened olives in an epitaph never chanted. Gethsemane became a mezzanine scale of Persian architecture, but of a channel of the affront of a high premium measure, Mashiach in each of the four wings of the Lepidoptera and Cherubim, frolicking in the emulsion of the phrases exuded by the aerial rounds of the insects that were compressing the new cycle of language, together with the candle overflowing with pearlescent matches running through the thin flannels of the Mashiach's farewell together with the foamy secretion of the Olive Tree and with the dominant beam of Kafersesuh. Vernarth and the Apostle close their eyes already mounted on the camelids, they take a slow walk on the mezzanine that suggested walking through rocks and desert lands. Everyone was already mounted on each of the Giga camels, leaving Gethsemane flooded with insects, birds, and blades, clouds of Pollen over the fumaroles of the quantum.



Paraps  ***

Ghosts from Shiraz to Jaffa

VII part -Mashiach of Judah Miracle VIII

They leave Jerusalem with the mountebanks of Shiraz, they were ghosts of the plectrum, the wine, the roses, and the fireflies sleight the path of the twelve camels until the intersection with the Cenotaph where King David will stay with the Cherubs of Kafersesuh. They were Epi ghosts that basked in the footsteps of the camelids. They went in the cessations of the bent nails and plants of the areas of the marquee of the other four ghosts that accompanied him. They were tightrope walkers with water wheels of wheel balances with tutelary ropes, some with a stilt of opprobrium from the monetary wealth of Judas Iscariot and the last propelled by a caper that governed all the others on the wings of the Fireflies. Removed from the road that leads to the Kidron valley falls on them all two thousand five hundred years with clay tablets from Persepolis, they were phonetized with the plaintive nightmare of the tortuous poem of Tirazis; which is currently Shiraz in this way these ghosts escorted the Hexagonal Primogen, they were exiled from their ghostly cities for not paying the tribute of obedience to destroy and rebuild. When they began to be with them in the cove, the acrobat ghosts were seething with the desire to prevent everyone from being saddened by the party from the orchard that was falling further and further behind their footsteps, dancing with their pirouettes along the way, telling little stories in their ears. of the travelers. which is currently Shiraz in this way these ghosts escorted the Hexagonal Primogen, they were exiled from their ghostly cities for not paying the tribute of obedience to destroy and rebuild. When they began to be with them in the cove, the acrobat ghosts were seething with the desire to prevent everyone from being saddened by the party from the orchard that was falling further and further behind their footsteps, dancing with their pirouettes along the way, telling little stories in their ears. of the travelers. which is currently Shiraz in this way these ghosts escorted the Hexagonal Primogen, they were exiled from their ghostly cities for not paying the tribute of obedience to destroy and rebuild. When they began to be with them in the cove, the acrobat ghosts were seething with the desire to prevent everyone from being saddened by the party from the orchard that was falling further and further behind their footsteps, dancing with their pirouettes along the way, telling little stories in their ears. of the travelers.

Hydro Saltimbanqui: "I come from Roknabad (also known as Aub-e Rokní), an underground canal that brings spring water to the city from a mountain ten kilometers northeast of Shiraz. Here I have to mend propellers and water ropes to do my acrobatics on the water with general songs from the poems of the Poet Hafiz. When we bite our tongues we repair it with the verses of Hafiz's Koran, there are three hundred creeds, three hundred hectares to irrigate with my wheel the sadness of those who cannot have the gifts of the rivalry of Black Mount and White Mount to overestimate the vividness of the caravan that trembles with uncertain doubts on the way to Jaffa" Saltimbanqui de Báscula utters: "We are Epi ghosts, greened in reverie with tutelary ropes to jump through the trapeze of photometric units of the heavy Almería of the highest Mirror of the Sea. Here we look from the same that will be boarded on the barge that will take them back to Limassol. Curiously, the same ship from Lepanto that sleeps in the swaying of the sea and arms of Anaximander in a new awakening from the lethargy of superstring theorizing, here is the intrinsic speculation of science since this is not only purely empirical research." Anaximander says: "First..., we do not have the agreement that string theory is not ultimately correct and in the future in some verifiable way. Second, we propose a purpose of the order of string theory that is necessary for science and its importance going even beyond the scientific to also project on the metaphysical and the religious, right here in this order of greater what to do attached to the string that leads me to Patmos. Saltimabanqui de Báscula responds: "metaphysical and religious legitimacy, here we are making knots in the tow rope that will inaugurate a new masonry in the verifiable futuristic gaze. Here is the original fiction of continuing to raise the necks of the ants above our optics. We will jump over these two ropes but we will fall on intervals of physical placental caves that were born from the neo-embryo in the Twelve Caves of Gethsemane in a late primordial germinal process. The micro phonetic vibrations will have to raise us above the hunger to continue and leave King David in his cenotaph gored on his hips by the Cherubim marking his holy horns that are confused by the blunting of the cuneiform scratches of his epigram. Between theoretical magic and exotically as associativity of substance causally of poetic song and multiverse, believing in the ghosts of Shiraz, such dreams injected to sublimate Aeneids that lamented in the stones of the bottom, even being independent of their material origin. Multi universes, multi paraphrase for those who have to adorn the word "Rosa with the noble long dress of him to the cliff of Ebdara when Vernarth acclaims his brother Etréstles, he comes with the Charioteer from Messolonghi. Rested and resolved to head for Tel Gomel, He comes with his horse Kanti to keep him company on this crusade. Kanti braved the Cliffs of Crete, and was subservient to Markos Botsaris, 1821 (Royal Hero of the Liberation of Greece in the Turkish Invasion, Koumeterium Messolonghi-Xlibris USA), until in the afternoon he approached from a herd of beautiful stallions to the. This was heard by Etréstles and he seized His horse to have more than a Life from His company, more than a lost lost aroma of His natural mother to reach the indicated one who treasures it". The ghosts attribute quantitative passages before leaving King David, and then proceeding to Jaffa and getting ahead of the ship back to Cyprus; Limassol. They were all hyperkinetic bowls leveraged by the terrain that went on the **** of the histrionic mountebank presaging contours of the temporary filigree that each one made them smile at the carriage with oxidizing wheels, still being immaterial beings but alive in their vapors of portent wading the serous bile that they emerged from the glasses in their allegories. They did not stop their footsteps or their phonetic figures undulating over the caravan that had already passed Jerusalem. The areas, volumes, and lengths were fully covered by the Ghosts of Shiraz, the mountebanks ran along the banks of Ramallah and it was winter, the city received them with winds and inclement weather from the southwest alternating with cold and dry winds from the northeast. The mountebanks went like master geometers to condone the fuss of the caravan by devising a dodexagesimal system. (Twelve Centuries of Ultra Nocturnal Geometry, and Shipwrecks in the Lighthouse of Alexandria).Positioning the number 12 as a base, to measure the times and angles that they needed to avoid the voluminous rains that lashed the caravan. Incredibly, the volumetric position of the plantar legs of the camels seemed like wheels that turned without stopping at any anti-circumferential radius, turning some clouds into a wicket that enclosed them like a quadrilateral of the flock of God in the high semicircle of the waters that pretended to fall as axiomatic staffs in the beard of Euclid tempering his elemental construction. The linear position of each of those who were mounted was a perfect ergonometric based on the Muladhara pressing four purple petals on pressing Vernarth's Achilles heel that was dimensioning the triangulation of Ramallah with the lichens that were housed in his sword Xiphos at the apex jet that carried the dodexagesimal cartography. In the same position, it seemed the Apostle Saint John carried the rosary in his left hand in geometry that stretched across his nose and feet in a thirsty adonis triangle of one hundred and twenty degrees of the sextant widening his spectrum to align with this Primogen. This is how the stars and planets are positioned in celestial spheres with the gravitation of the Olivos Bern revolutionizing curved and flat equations that intuited to go beyond the crossed pirouettes that the mountebanks did all along the road, even further than those on the withered oil road purposely unquestionable systems that the Ghosts of Shiraz intended to establish. Ghosts of Shiraz; These Persian Epi ghosts started from the axiom and ideal abstract entities relating models of austerity and lyricism that fluctuated in the lines and planes of movement of the clouds, with the counterpoint of the plantars of the Gigas leaving marks in the sand like Morse point, Vernarth diluted his bones to settle them near the tarsus and accommodate it at the end of the vertebra of the Muladhara (Chakra of 4 petals) making a sub-technical geometric function to preserve the plasmas of darkness that were also diluted to arrive at night near Jaffa in the surroundings of the isometric fire existing in each one and in two dimensions..., but being born from a common one. Raeder and Petrobus had their rims floating full of dusty and dense mania on their faces with rubber from shards that had been released from one of the stunts of one of the mountebanks when colliding with the basic postulates of the Ghosts of Shiraz, deducting spaces that undulated like snakes. within the isometric fire that dazzled them with white-hot humor of the last drops of the Shemesh codifying in absolute intuitive measure, more distant from any dimension that is Consciousness destroying planes and spaces that multiplied each other as members of another geometric conscious dimension. Arriving at the Ben Shemen crossing, everyone suffers collective hypnosis, the ghosts manage to embodied in each of the components of the Birthright but omit a great factor. They relegated the Hexagonality of the genetics of this caravan, the ghosts not knowing how to calculate the area once they were being intracorporeal within the members, thus having to leave before the last dislocated Shemesh ray threw the ashes of the Gehenna, for this supposed reason of leaving them condemned to recycle the human species for the purpose of reproducing sacred human beings, but being servile to whims beyond the immortality of the miscalculation that led them to Karim Khan's citadel, surprised with their image of thick stone walls and circular towers in the heart of Shiraz. This gave them a warrior aspect contrary to their fame and history: this was a city famous for two thousand years for its culture, with its gardens and its poets, now if in a plot by this beautiful odalisque trick that attracted the guide of the ecstatic and bilocated ghosts, in a bad moment of extradition towards a bad context of epi ghosts not yet defined in foci of apprentices boasting of laurels of weak and doubtful ideas that still swarmed within his white heart, trying to reach Vernarth's as a former Hetairoi commander, today turned into mystical servile. In such a way they are complicated as "Sufi" ghosts, being, in reality, the genetic spectrum of the double ax that carries the double-cut of today..., of the sacrament of Medea in Abdera. Pro says a ghost from Shiraz (embarrassed): "The Universe is a sea that longs for dry shores, without sea, and without other wet longings..., no possible maiden could Try to dry it with her hands of stars... Who calms the crying of the Universe ...even so..., a simile remains floating like a verse among his dreams" "How can I make of my dreams another dimension of the universe if he is silent and does not make me float in his sea...how can I make it possible for the points of his stars to fill the spaces that have revealed him...and that have made circular shores without a sea between fogs" "I walk alone and nobody sees me... I do not wake up in candles that smile and accompany me... between days that turn into mornings on the shores of the solitude of the universe, that nobody embraces him..." "Now the days tremble with almost falling on themselves, they come out alive from their own loneliness of satiety and fullness... of whoever appreciates them in the mist... being able to surrender in attentions in Ben Shemen".

Creating a sequence that bends the heads of the ghosts filling translucent physiognomies between a cold past and super frozen future, from a classic mechanic that from now on would depend on dice thrown by the Third Ghost of time. Here a relativism would be opened to those who want to see the past in the orchard in an unstable particulate present, leaving far from the splitting of both parts of the archetype of today as a subdivided clash of several times that allowed the remaining phantasmagorical specters to be integrated, taking over history on a plural axial axis that prevailed in the time of a supposed number line from a vector aligning itself towards the compass of distance, that shines between both hemispheres of the north and of the minutes that go to the right and the solid-gaseous seconds that almost burst in the walls of their own liberated beings. The four Shiraz ghosts had time differentials before this event with the caravan verifying the simultaneous strut between the two pairs of ghosts between four dissimilar but idyllic ones that made them here at this point be ignored and annulled between two relative nomenclatures of physical structure. The durability and classification of these micro-times of the epi-ghosts would make the database that Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth will accumulate with their eyes closed, each surpassing himself in the debatable areas that concern estimating the occupation of physical spaces in some of them at their consent so that one of them could embark to Limassol. This simultaneous and relativistic multi-active line encloses events and quadratures of spaces in the cinematographic space of parapsychological regression, such a link of physical images slowed down in evolutionary and cognitive memory, passing from the conduit of memorizing events to expectations and their set of absolute figures not pigeonholed but if approaching the universe in prehensile scales of those who value them. present and future more as a pattern of departure to the unique future "today" by space of spaces. This unified three-dimensionality would mark the mathematical space of the attempts towards the future of the adjoining camelids of the ghosts of Shiraz for ownership of time among all with a single identity that cries out for an unequivocal will to rearm, although the winds of the partition that separates The word of God and the believing observer towards the ***** with a believer from a historical past in obscurantism, leaving and entering a new world whose notion is to spend connected and handcuffed in dependent systematization with great causes, although the static feels isolated from the dynamic, asking it to unite with the ghosts and the others, even though they are inferior forces under the line of the generous gaze and parallelisms of the attentive viewer that suggests more openness received, delegating circumstances to all physical, emotional, spectral dimensions and mental-spiritual, flexing the hierarchical emotional states of night and day. They all fall asleep embraced in quilts and lamb saddlebags, making it possible for them to approach the Ghosts and sleep next to them, embracing each other with strength decanted from some frames that hang from their masks, showing the vibration of being favorite children of the Mashiach, absorbed in the Kidron Valley. Quadrupled and cloistered in self-consciousness scattered like an iceberg behind the submissive thoughts that aspire to be tied to more invaluable time. Our Abba has us more tied to an absolutist past and future, looking at his calendar divided in such a way that the day that strikes the shadows of an incisive past always fits so that it always smiles at us in the best light signal of who and with whom repair damage of varied wounds that travel through the times of times always hurt, to and from borders of a remote anachronistic. The ghosts are always tetra fast they are marginalized to the sound of greater acuity, fleeing in Rishon Lezion to wake up a little further from the rays of the stationary Sun that from now on always surfaced in the degraded eyes of the mountebank prowling around the fairs of those who know how to wait, to make a treat under the pretext of Faith and hope that exempts the Cardinal turned into a flower decorated in white. Shvil of the Angels; The fast epi phantom tetras were emaciated they lost their north and could not walk, they were energized by the radiosities of the earth that rules over those who lent divine graces if their feet rested on the tapestry of those who threw their footsteps at them in winter now near Jaffa. The Shvil Angels were angels who were on the route that cordons off the pilgrimage of Vernarth and Saint John the Apostle, they were full of flowery Bernese Olive Trees that served as floral arcades at the entrance to this thousand-year-old port. They were three, when they walked, they always spread out so fast that they seemed to be six but they ended up averaging the quantum of three for each of the components of the Birthright, which from today would be the great circumcision event of the Universe, to make it part of that one day they will have to dissipate the rhombuses of the fragmented beams of light on the way to the sky so high, in the name of the phrases that never tire of looking eternally at the incautious years, which belong to our father through Exo galaxies in the total company of invisibility and cautious time relativity. This beautiful Semitic sea shore indicates and invites us to reach its salty Hebrew waters of Yofi, reinforcing the phonetics that runs madly through the border hills with their hearts in their hands when foreigners appear in the name of plausive phylogeny. That brings them a bearable piece of the farmhouse from the Universal flood, for this is that the ancient Canaanites have to receive them with the table served to entertain them with winter flowers in Jaffa. The Hellenistic tradition relates the name to Iopeia, which is Cassiopeia herself, mother of Andromeda. After Pliny the Elder the name is connected with Joppa who was the daughter of ******, god of the wind. Where Vernarth locked his shield Áspis Skoilé to shine in the bilges of the Eurydice under the pentagons of his shield's bronze layer whenever he approached the Dodecanese when the Auriga descended from Andromeda on the back of an oarsman battered by storms away from his home galaxy. Thousands of years BC its merchants glorified themselves with their baskets full of goods and merchandise for its inhabitants who today pretended to be pharaohs who contributed to the marine corners along the coast that today seemed to open with more new waters reborn from the capers of the swells founding thus the omens of embarking to attack and submit to the omens of sovereignty between Judah and Hellenic lands, to work with noble trees in their armories and utensils of which they traversed an honorable part after the maintenance of the emblem of the last portion of Alexander's libertarian triumph pole Magnus on the Phoenicians at Tyre. gazelle) in Joppa (Jaffa) and later how near this city he has a vision in which Yahveh told him that one should not distinguish between Jews and Gentiles while ordering the removal of ritual food restrictions (kosher) followed by the Jews. The Shvil of the angels distanced themselves from the appetite of this station without reaching them and not making them drink salt water from Jaffa, so they resorted to Petrobus, which a few meters before reaching the port summoned a large number of Dodecanese Pelicans who were waiting for them in great celestial flocks that hovered happily over the sky welcoming them. The pelicans levitate from a risky juggling act on the caravan and headed out to sea collecting saltwater, then they went through the initiatory path of Shvil and reconvert the salty water into sweet with hazelnuts so that they would have holy water to insolate it and serve it in canteens of the temple guards of the Canaanites who were waiting for them to distract them, making them believe that they were other Syriac lands as in those of Asherah that in this act perhaps it would be good for them to sponsor the Hexagonal Primogeniture. But the trails of angels confederated before the noisy crowds and Ptolemaic lemurs that scrambled into the empty spaces that remained. After this grave siege, Vernarth shouted to heaven with the force of Phalangist tradition himself, and hailed heaven for the good of freeing them from their definitive income to Jaffa summoning the Hypastists; elite warriors, and spearmen so that they would hem the portal at her Jaffa entrance for others who were never from nowhere and out of nowhere, only blocking her from her perfect theological heritage and memorial conservation plan upon return from Judah exit, to embark with destiny through the sulfurous ponto that will scald them in temporary waters towards the Cyclades and then to the Dodecanese, succeeding in inhabiting them wherever they were and whoever arrived with foreign promise. At nightfall in its first nubile shadows, the Shvil appears to them with these three angels dressed in ivory white, each one with a book in each hand and in the other a candelabrum giving signs of ultra-interpretive catechesis, allying itself with silica in combination behind the vision of the charms of propagated knowledge. Earth and sky in the second angel washing off the Semitic dew of Jaffa anguished with teachings of sleeping well and waking up, to walk in the lands that wish to seize the senses of those who are called not to be oppressed, behind bars of the morbid and illiterate Panavision of angles of hasty entertainment of the angels when they were called by the Regent Angel, simply relaying information easy to take to their hearts in faint powers and paradisiacal punishments, before falling into a thorny forest plowing their tongues into furrows of afflicted human charges and then earnestly redeem them with the judicious power of Hashem. Vernarth agonizes over the matter of seeing them so tender and so fragile allowing her to gently row towards him. Finally, these three rules of the Shvil Hanael are presented; "talking to them about hindrances stuck in the literary cabal of grateful fulfillments for all". Vernarth alludes to a desensitized subject and is also far from any Sub Yogic disciplinary doctrine. This led him to stand behind San Juan, frightened protecting himself from everything around him, he was seeing in front of the upper left side that Zebedee was, San Juan's own father calling him! Saint John the Apostle says: "Justice allows us at this time to alleviate ignorance if the riddles allow us to only seek the answer, Hashem will not be here..., it will only be an emotional catharsis due to a Shivil or merely ideological passage, which moves our prayers without sense taking us definitively to the coffers that are rearmed one after one after the mistake. We are faithfully interpreted by them but we detest our regencies with the Eschaton when we all try to follow its light of resounding density towards the sky, prophesying to follow it without getting lost in It..., held on its glossary shoulder. On the claws that are released from the dazed angelic prey correcting its wavering vision, unraveling the living presence of damnations or salvations in Eden with your bare feet or hell with no departure time "Inexplicably some Praetorian soldiers of Domitian appear, who would be restricting the departure of the triacontero bound for Limassol, curiously they were the same ghosts of Shiraz that continued to represent such a bad event, just like when he was expelled to Patmos by Domitian in 95 BC, of size was the hubbub produced by the Shvil angels with impracticable ideologies, who opposed such spectral imagery, in such a way that they replaced their figure with that of another fellow Hellenic who wanted to embark for Patmos, the other members were fully incorporated into the ship that cavorted on pirouettes as it carried them proudly to a new ocean. Around the last drops that jumped in Jaffa on the coastal rocks, others appeared when the last divided and scattered drops were going to shine the navigation temples, thus it is possible to board the same ship that brought them from the beginning of arrival from Limassol to Judah, which transited from Lepanto. They reappear in the plenipotentiary chapel offering a ceremony that would return the messianic hindrance to the Angels of Shiraz, to return to their former positions within the itineraries of biblical characters that tend to become adulterated in the game of the loss of consciousness of the Escaton, probably requiring that everyone has to make pilgrimage routes for all humanity confined and liberated by themselves. The Saltimbanqui finally manage to jump on the boat to sail to the Dodecanese but the Shvil of the Angels remained where other celebrities will require them to redirect them to the Shvil Escaton.



Paraps XXXI

Second Hijra to Patmos

VIII part -Judah's conclusion

What can be perceived by the Universe of Judah would be in a Universal Eye of photochemistry within the phosphorescence of the spectrum of the Jaffa bay that magnetized the visible sprinkling electricity, within the visible field of the photon in the same bay, which is responsible for elementary particle guarantor of quantum manifestations of the electromagnetic phenomenon. Carrying electromagnetic radiation of gamma rays over the entire atmosphere of Jaffa, X-rays, ultraviolet light, visible light, infrared light, microwaves, and radio waves, causing the ellipsis of Radio Moscow on October 29, 1929, right there presenting itself from the future to the present before hijra to Patmos.

Ellipsis Radio Moscow 1929 – Parapsychological Radio Regression:

"Radio Moscow went on the air on October 29, 1929. And this, its first broadcast in a foreign language, would be in Greek to be heard by everyone in Jaffa. Radio Moscow bulletins expressed great unease over the recent rise to power of the dictator Adolf ****** in Germany during the 1930s. An unintelligible visionary fumble of daphnomancy was considered, predicting the persecution of the Hebrews and extermination of themselves for which Saint John Apostle immediately tuned in common with Vernarth the instant he was hit by this radio wave of number twenty, nine of Jaffa's exit edict. The visible fantasy of this would make the audio listeners uncomfortable towards the behavior of certain intermittent swings that made the natural light of Jaffa intermingled with luminescence, with the waves and photons in presumptuous duality to dominate Vernarth's behavior when invaded by this flash of prophetic invasion. The Apostle's observation spheres made it faster to climb and try to sustain this invasive radio wave that crossed time thousands of years from the year 1929 to the year 165 AD. C. approximately that it traveled with a great speed of infinite wave to a great percentage of microseconds. All this information alerted the native son of Capernaum, worrying too much about this ethnopolitical situation. Here the microwave was refracted, undergoing a change in direction that collided with the ship, in its floating basal portion, due to the fact that this wave propagated at different speeds considering that the medium in which they were moving was clearly wood, but propelled by a large transmission vehicle through the winding water to the massive hull. Doing and plotting what would make them move immediately to go to Cyprus; Limassol. The speed of the radial wave was parked on the sails and that of the hull due to the chromatics of the water that lightened its refraction through the facets of the sails, and the cap bizarrely acted as an exponential concave angle propeller motor and overheated. A quick brawling radio wave appears in Vernarth's tongue; Says Vernarth: "Anti-Semitism is a matter of ******* benefiting from slavery and vast insubstantial ethnic resources, not allowing to relate the advance of ancient and primitive civil social immigrations that migrate to sociopolitical statuses, already pampered since their arrival in the Rhineland during the Roman Empire. The Jewish community prospered until the end of the 11th century after the First Crusade, having to go through a long stormy period marked by massacres, accusations of ritual crimes, various extortion, and expulsions. Their legal status was degraded and Jews were prohibited from exercising most trades. In the 18th century, Enlightenment philosophers such as Moses Mendelssohn were outraged by this miserable condition and launched a campaign to denounce it. However, the road that led them to Emancipation was long and lasted nearly a century, after which the Jewish community was integrated into society. Their assimilation allowed an economic and intellectual success that aroused suspicion in certain sectors, also giving rise to anti-Semitism with the coming to power of Adolf ******'s oligarch in 1933, putting the Jews on the margin of German society. Extensive persecution was followed by deportation and then extermination during World War II. After the war, the Jewish community slowly reconstituted itself thanks to the support of the German federal government." This time enchanting with lamb's blood coined on its cornices to sprout them for all those who had to endure the enigma of departure towards the straight desert as a property of the radio waves exhibited here as a dogmatic whole dusting in the geometric regime, which testifies to a whole "That the Robe of the Savior shakes all the structures of critical-political thought and brilliance of race." Producing objective intellectual blood, which would join the Social Christian party in Germany in 1930. But every elementary thesis would promulgate the emphasis on the centrality of social democracy, of bringing to Patmos a great task of dividing by time by traversing the timeline providing Joshua's solid One-Dimensional Beams at Kafersesuh, for the protectorate of the holocaust and sacrifice and introduce premises of emancipation and abolition of the subterfuge of marginalized social fields, devoid of interethnic social guarantees and the heel of Semitic roots. This natural property is excepted by the breed of San Juan Apóstol; Zebedee's son consists of carrying this to the most informative substantiality up to Patmos to keep them organized. From this dialectical propagation, great shadows arose, interposing opacities that showed many Jews falling into concentration camps at the exact moment of expropriation of their real estate. Naked bodies can be seen only with dark shadows with small signs of imperturbability on their cut faces, staying in the gloom of Conviction, with some photos of their children in relative proximity to the deadly impression of last death rattles and undermined fading pointed expressions, appearing in the rictus of their wives with narrow condemnatory anguish falling on them from the same Cell of the stormy Escaton, that transcended under semiotic history; the resurrection of the dead, divine judgment, heaven and eternal happiness with God or damnation and hell. Here is a perfect archetypal case of the disconcerting radio wave pouring novelty and satisfaction before the curiosity of the listeners, but it was a "newest Revelation at the same time, being objectivity for the cell of San Juan and for the immanent protectorate", which designates the dimension mundane and temporal opposed to transcendence. Because many Christians have become incapable of conceiving the "other world" as a consistent, real reality, and have transferred to this world the hope of a full and happy life. In this "immanentization" evangelical theologies of prosperity incur both, which see in the Christian faith as the means to achieve material well-being, Vernarth closes a blind when they were already walking on the magnetized corvettes of the sea, without feeling how the sea besieged them,...saying himself: "I keep looking through the hole of my ignorance, and I manage to see the dictators in monochrome displaying their diffraction banners lights, a key to ethnic oppression "in black and white" and the turned ones going through the crack in the trails of the Hebrews with their suitcases and belongings, lost and surrendering to laments united to the Messiah. In holistic combined, centered to the extent of a third screen produced in alternative light and dark bands, in the Lepanto nave when everyone learned vox populi about the radio phenomenon in non-transistorized tubes in frank romance with the old age of their practices. End Ellipsis Radial Radio Moscow. The phenomenon of interferences of a natural nature continues, bringing joy to their ruined hearts, they all sang Christian songs that made vertical lines appear on their faces between both melted cheeks. Leaving them incidence of fasting light to signal as thrones of lighthouses that illuminate the skies of the Messiah's seas, putting themselves before them millions of light-years from the side that now they could see him. The angles disperse and affect the light of the Messiah of the Our Father at twilight, falling on the others like the same conclusive Gethsemane leaf of the Bern Olive Tree. Flowing the light on the matter that sheltered the ship to Limassol, industrial energy was constituted in all the directions of the superficial optics, generating reflections in weak interferences that oscillated like immobile remnants of radio waves still active. This phenomenon made Brisehal appear from the bottom of the sea; the giant of Dasht-e-Lut, approaching to protect Vernarth and the Hexagonal Birthright. Generating a dynamic global hetero internal light in the navigation radius of the ship, in a more parsimonious speed than in a more relative one, frustrated to try to synchronize the flashes of the Xiphos sword of Vertnath Hoplite that allowed him to use it as a sextant, to arrive at the Cypriot destination. In this void of energy by another replaced, a speed imprint of the same void arises with lengths of movement of underwater waves caused by the giant Brisehal, to displace them in washings of the Adonis in accordance with the Sword of their master Vernarth ephebe. Dispersing evaporated droplets from the desert of Dash-e-Lut that remained in the cloacal zones of his ears polarizing defensive crystals from the hyperactive environment, and in force of the Phalangists scourged in Gaugamela who still writhed on the diaphanous immaterial land that continued in heated conflict, until the coexistence of the oppressor ceases. The parallel rotated worlds follow each other unrotated, being disturbed in another dimension mediated by the aware consciousness, which lacks any neutral rationality. They would be only attempts going through crystals of the Faith..., mastering projectile salutes of malevolent brotherhood, immersed in a maximum intensity of breakage and crystalloid rupture, which flows from the Messiah's lens in angles of subaquatic darkness. All of this atmosphere self-absorbs, leaving divine rabbi light tele-transferred into stored energy reaction levels, whose capacity would exceed one billion cubic meters due to the rupture between the chemical bonds caused by radiant energy, dissociating molecules by the effect of sublime light from serious sounds of immanence, and redefining itself as the interaction between one or more cells of mass of light against a molecule nomad target. Also appropriate for the extreme radicalization that marine plants would suffer, which also sailed expelled from the disturbed radical seabed of Jaffa.



Hellenic Existential Hypnosis

Arriving at the central retention of the Aegean Sea between parallels 36-38 of latitude and meridians 24-26 of longitude belonging to the periphery of the South Aegean, an abduction of an amnesic trace of the Alexandrian magnetic period occurs, which made them realize the that they had deviated from the Limassol-Cyprus destination, having to turn degrees to redirect to Limassol. This was exercised and subdued by the Alexandrian period that in its immanent chronology sought to remake an existentialist stance, which descended from the limits chained by the depressive effect of the aura after their death of his sister Cleopatra. This whitish aristocratic parapet of Zeus invaded them not auditing to govern the schizophrenic supply, having to redirect the course to the other side of the Cyclades. Sovereignly Vernarth takes the helm with great Greek breath, creating shields of redemption in arts and sciences of the Hetairoi aristocracy, under meso-urban science-politics replaced by Christian devotion, making the Hellenic language a romantic Aramaic in the potential to prevail the existentialism of the hypnotizing oneiric dream of a silly banquet served by the hordes in all the slopes that transported them between the enigmatic underworld of Panhellenic language, and with re culturization of ephemeral uncrossed lines that subtracted their dramas of disturbing knowledge depriving them of the neuro-motor and adjective of the main return value for the origin of the reconquest of the Triacontero in Limassol. This Hypnosis brought consequences of the Leagues called Diádochos 'successors' of the ancient generals of Alexander the Great, and of the sons of the general hegemons (called epigones,) that at the unexpected death of Alexander the Great in 323 a. C. distributed their empire, disputing power and hegemony over their brothers with various pacts and six wars that lasted twenty years. A political system was then established until the start of the Roman Empire in the eastern Mediterranean in the early 2nd century BC. C. Prone to this contingency, Vernarth turns to Hypnos and one of the thousand children he had with Pasítea, who urged them to cohesion this Hellenic Inertia, quantitatively making the immortality of the image of Alexander the Great to bring each of the ex faithful commanders thus refounding Vernarth his Hellenistic Encyclical, for the purpose of escorting them to Limassol and protecting the lineages and infants who were in their puberty in Greece asleep soon to be an Agoge, after great war campaigns and abandoned agreements as an example of the snowy lineage in his Mother Olympia, and Sister Thessaloniki and children waiting passionately for him. And also in the Empire of Sudpichi-Chile, Luccica with the court of her familiar stoic resistance ingests the opiates until her Vernarth takes her in those arms, from her own and imaginative marshland lagoon gathered at the Itheoi Gods. The disintegration of Macedonia and Greece into subregions catapulted again the appearance of Clovis who says...: the river Lethe in the underworld liquefies your memories, and cleanses your mind permanently. That is the branch of a poplar tree from the underworld, from my father Hypnos. "Lete is not a place where you want to go swimming... but if you change the rudder for your honorable mind". This achieves that one of the sons, among thousands of Pasítea, committed himself to Clovis, to dissipate this existentialist contingency, claiming the appeal of family reunion and imperishable Hellenic constituent ancestry, under the hypnotic and hegemonic phenomenon that polished banners and panoplies in Greece, Macedonia, and Asia Minor. As a subsidiary exception, they will satisfy what was reissued by Ptolemy, one of Alexander's childhood companions of whom some authors venture to say that he was the illegitimate son of Philip II. He wisely quickly seized Egypt and hastened to create an enduring state by declining imperial ambitions that he considered unrealistic. He was one of the main opponents of the imperial cause thus becoming one of the founders of the Hellenistic world. Unusually, the commanders of Alexander incontinent to his excessive dipsomania of glorious hierarchical power, demystified Hetairoi's harangue, generating in it a Hypnotic counter-conception, making these sedative steps to delegate the religious Vóreios Dei..., which had only known how to redirect itself later in the classic tonnage Gaugamela of his great Hoplite Commander Vernarth. This grayish super mass of uncontrolled winds and increased lightning proto idolatrous forms salivated in the same Hellenistic family, whose postulate was to multiply the family over its geopolitical dominations in other nations, unifying them as a family geo-clan rather than in the seas that do not divide the water-land, Rather, they unite moralistic and cultural hydro-parental resources of the world that is a concomitant part of "The devouring cyclone of mythological dignitary entities, and other races that flee from the honest chronogram of historicity and its reconstructive past-present." Square meters of great cyclops mouths were floating in the air, it inspired Vernarth to make the green grass of the sea reborn like plankton that made a compulsive propensity to exalt Chloé's presence; being an Epi Phantom that always sparkled among the nebulosity as a reserve of Universal Consciousness, geo-measuring the Hellenic consciousness with a black bandage over his eyes, so as not to sully more sprouts of green chlorophyll and photochemical mass of the phenomenon, amassing only Cyclops electrogenic beasts that had to burn on the bolts and runaway embers of dissident light to leave in some memorable way, or beg some Sanctus to do his bidding wandering into acquiring the square feet of tiny, almost unidentifiable beasts that appeared simulating the viscous green water of the river Lethe in the contracted underworld. The existential holistic in the ship produced depressive lags, lack of self-esteem, and factors of loss of the ego, therefore each one who pointed with his index, distended from some silos in the hands of opiates that would denigrate the oneiric in those who tried to flee from their own collective weeds..., fleeing from himself, stagnating and freezing in stretches of dreams of gross loneliness and indelible fantasy..., what the extravagant hypnosis sought to occupy in them with its decrees of mortality is a beyond adulterated in some benevolent indications and psychic reactive alertness. When the soft brilliance of the same flash was shown on the faces of Alexander the Great and Vernarth in the six wars that took place with the Diadocos without flashes for twenty years..., only in twenty seconds would Alexander the Great appear on the deck of the Lepanto ship, dressed in a crimson red costume, covering his Hellenic silhouette up to his allegorical half-torso. From here he urged them to culminate the hypnosis in a deep world in an unbreathable statue of colloquial rhapsody..., pay attention to this... everything continues normally, and Vernarth leaves the helm to honor him with a hoplite Khaire and as a congener of Christian Shvil, so philanthropic and deferential as was Ptolemy, and Vernarth himself in Tel Gomel and Bumodos herding greenish glosses to open them towards the new Magno-theological empire. Metaphysical of the profile of the wise dervish that appeared in Limassol as a sapphire rosary entangling itself in physiognomies and rises of hope in the average Gen, when approaching the latent peninsula of Eurydice's gold medallion. Judah was suspended in the Giant Ungulates munching on the bags of herbs that thickened in their Palestinian snouts, the sphinxes of the birds continued to grow with their wings to shelter blasphemies from their prophets, and Judah wailing in the intraosseous of those who traveled leaving Judah, but never departing from the Aramaic cells of Gethsemane lost from Hellenic Existential Hypnosis.

Vas Auric conceived himself judicious before Spílaiaus when observing that Vernarth was leaning towards a practical meeting of a feared Hellenic crisis based on omnipresence, and all the material-immaterial face that is bloodily arranged in ****** foundations stipulating its very Submythological constitution. All that was a trend within the similar horizon that should be imposed with the appearance of Wonthelimar; as a direct seer of practice continuing the pre-ontological process, and why not say it of someone who does not even think and totally excludes himself from its composition or being part of... rather being a ration of the subjective segment and correction similar to the god Spilaiaus articulating its dynamism under the predominance of the concept of the sapphic verse where it puts knowledge at risk, and speculate on each component of the Itheoi gods, possessing themselves within the torrent of theology under ethical evaluation, differing from the mythical leitmotif, as dissipator of contention and beings that think organically of the material ethereal substrate. Vernarth silently concurs and prepares to postulate the anti-ethical Submythological existence; tending to demystify their Ethos or Conduct, aspiring to envision structures of undervaluation of the same, and flaunt visions of what originates from superior and then yearn for the hierarchy that is not imposed, but rather is a consequence of subsistence apparatuses that put essay its longevity and validity in sevenths, missing four to reach Sapphic foundations, and scaling Mythologies that could facilitate being under the position of the Demiurge or poet cultist of verses, perhaps superior to the crimping of any system when a judgment of true root or incautious origin is put. All this Hellenic atmosphere relied on the ethos links between Vernarth and his lord Spílaiaus, after rearranging pre-ontological (vorontologischeas Heidegger says) knowing his skill and tenfolds as he conforms to the ascending tenth of the eleventh of the sapphic. After this, Wonthelimar would appear to be the object of transcendental challenges and interpretations of the world that give rise to the same thing after not being in Spílaiaus' speech with sapphic verses.

The statement of becoming will be the cause of the gods of the Itheoi after the physiognomy that will spoil the Vertical of Gaul in the very genesis of Wonthelimar. Undoubtedly there will be chilling events of axiomatic transfers and metempsychosis that will be elucidated from the helminths that Spílaiaus will spill through the bark of possession. This mysterious orphic enchantment will be billed by Wonthelimar from the separation of Valdaine emerging alienated over the mountains of Ardeche, transmigrating euphony and reduced justifications that were united with the Helminth reminiscent and reincarnated by Vernarth. Perhaps it was a verme-worm that was classified on his arm moth-eaten in elongated elder veins to parasites of certainly commendable colonies and vehement and lyrical idiomatic apogees. The balusters will continue to be amatory componential in Vernarth for being composed of Heidegger's plinth and imagining oral linkages with the patronage of his eternal mother Luccica who will awaken as always in all presumptive psychophysical and atoning Zionisms with eloquent perspectivism and millionth re-trance, consisting of the putrid ***** arm of his Abrahamic split physics, dissociating in his body, separating and alternating with the dexterous spiral Aorion bracelet existing between the armband of Sagittarius and Perseus, liquefying in indissoluble modular stratagems for three bodies, plus the one that accompanied them dealing with their posthumous individualities in triplets. Singular unconscious metempsychoses brought their dexterous arm picking him up repeatedly from the discursive hives of Wonthelimar, to convince them and tell them that they had not seen the Hexagonal Progeniture for some time, unimpeded that brought him from Ardeche in lasting ensembles and concerting grays senses looking at the valleys of Valdaine in pilgrimages towards the expectant Patmian plains. Its expiration was reborn from the appendages of the water lilies that were seized by embedded lumbar powers, and mentalized in related memories that subsist in digressive reincarnations and longings, re-advancing with revived intelligence to indoctrinate themselves with the elevation of an emetic absolutist consciousness free of greater breaths of judgment is constant waste and reciprocity of cabinets, which were started from an initial discipline already transmigrated,The transitory glow of Exomis hung over some stones that were close to the Perivrachiónio or metal armband that multiplied in the three brazils of Vernarth, Wonthelimar and finally Spílaiaus that was bordered by the Acacians and Nothofagus that were covered with water lilies and peduncles cordoning off the livestock, full of thrones to conquer them almost after having lost calculations of the plasma that was innovated from a Hetairoi by reformulating itself from an incendiary bullfighting essence to its deltoids by detonating hatred in its croaks. All this clairvoyance was veiled for the clothing of the Exomis that was automatically placed in transition when the leaves of the deciduous led him to temporize in Wonthelimar in tender attachments. Distorted would be achieved with ****** healings next to the brave tributary, leaving in the vanguard and with starts from all the carriages that took the condemned to Halicarnassus to be truncated together with infallible Canephores in disgrace to their executioners, browsing all the oak branches of the Wonthelimar joint that had been sheltering from its head, sticking to ancient ruts of souls in pain over the sleeping Nyons. the brawl symbiosis of the Megaron was exhibited with the "M" united with two inverted "Vs", Wonthelimar conceptualizing himself on the eve of early buildings and phobias fragmenting into numerous odes in Thessaly, which were already beginning to re-agglutinate attracted from a majestic image of Hellas, under the pretext of Hellenistic consummations as a vocational and primitive institute race of Alejandrino Magnus derived a few nautical miles to board towards Patmos. The ship crossed the sea conceptualizing itself as the most universal being that revived in the Triacontero, appearing among all the waters as a nubile surf that spoke to each other with words Mageireméno Kefáli Votánon, "Head cooked with herbs". Speaking in primitive erudition alternated and swells with forty feet in territorial Argonauts making similar corvettes like the Gulf of Tarnetino, possessing distant comparisons with sixty miles of the base that colonized Wonthelimar for new sources when encrypted in the Megaron. They persevere leading the Immaturas Polis that would be documented in Patmos and in town halls of the assembly with ****** ceased battles climbing to a great height from the cogitative of the Megarón temple and Theater of Epidaurus, under three shadows of adjoining water lilies and the Spilaion Apokalypseos.

As will be seen in this demonstrative synopsis of the hemicycle Theater of Epidaurus working in the stars for the nations of Asclepius together with Wonhtelimar, that is how migrated melodic sessions and Parapsychological palmistry sounded with burdensome marks of intervenors expectorated in vast when impelling on the Koilones and softened bleached bleachers where each one was shouting to all the winds the advent of all the auditoriums absent by past and future generations, acclaiming lives in salvific voices. Here Spilaiaus from his stomáchi or visceral will point out the stinging nettle that he will invariably scheme whenVernarth continues to weave the plot of transmigration to the CartesianUnderworld as an apocryphal late Aristotelianism, mechanizing the existential dualisms of Hades with formulas, psychotropic and geometric tricks, granting them permission to bequeath habeas corpus theologies, coexisting in the first instance with Etréstles de Kalavrita, who would establish the term of definitive transmigration of Alexander the Great so that the Diadochos andWonthelimar would contend the final and disciplinary action of revocation of the high arrest, trans humanizing the sovereign as a Macedonian next to the hexagonal Primogeniture finally very close to Saint John the Apostle andVernarth in the vicinity of the Megaron Spilaion Apokalypseos. Spílaiausinvokes: "Neolithic alloys, they corresponded to the Medea and Hypnos eras, among all of them being aerial, visionary and northern lights that traveled to my redoubt to sprinkle them in river waters on the night of Agios San Ioannis.From here the Kanthillana with Greco pilgrimage, portentous gusts where the wind is amazed when entering the concavity that is lost in nature of time and qualitative content, unusually being an organism of outburst and cytological drama together in trickery and radiocarbon tricks due to vicissitudes, and actions that have dated my radiation from the radioactive carbon in these caverns and insulted carbon spaces fourteen in more than fifty million radiometric years. From here, my Vernarth, everything becomes insignificant and all the levels of expression slide down the armband, differing three levels from where I have been able to hear the truth of your sound kingdom, which emits gestures that are neither music nor harmonious directions in any worldview where it should place everything that no one can perceive by the senses of nature more enormous than any resurrected mortal. This is how the Itheoi genres are a drastic irrationality that is responsible for restoring forgotten beings, almost Hellenistic humans who speak through languages ​​of their gaze, and museological splendors of which they only reprimand metaphysics as an understanding of the Void such as the Judaic Kli or Hellenic Kenosis, which goes evidencing immersion by transferring futile understanding and hermeneutic pontificate times of Kantillana and Olympus, Patmos and Horcondising. Thus all beings when referring to Vernarth will be nothing more or less than the same in the company of the science of a future that will eternally coexist with the constitutive past of an active present called "Submythology" everything that does not contain parental relationship in koilones and of his greek spiritual stratum, It will be kenósis and Kli of parental pairing with the significance of erratic mobilities in what is interpreted as sporadic mourning, given the universal change, therefore, atmospheric. In the second Trilogy, the Triacontero goes through the Othónes of Naupactus, to Limassol. The ship was attached to the Ziziphus of the Moshiach's crown back from Jaffa, Walking the deck of the ship getting exasperated to revisit Kourion. As the adrenaline subsided, he crashed the port side keeping them in retinas of spheres of fire that came out of the ponto, enlarging such crapulous spheres that they had traveled to the sea through the Kouris River, but been kidnapped by Brisehal who assaulted them and put them on his back esplanade to swim to the peninsula of the current Akrotiri where the ogre carried him as floating globules to inhabit the sands of Cyprus. A tremolo mortar and sinewy essences of the Falangist faction will be established. Together they walk through the arena with Brisehal, being able to observe that it was coming from above and from a great Alikantus glide to meet him. Now, this trilogy of distinguishedAnimalia superheroes was made up of who would escort him to listen to the legions of Greeks from Mycenae who besieged Kourion. When they walked along the edge of the beach, several artists crossed in front of them carrying Avant-grade instruments in their hands, accompanied by miners and forgers of goldsmiths. Everything says to prosper in the Aegean and Greece for a new Paraps ***- Forests of Hylates, Gold Medallion Second Hegira to Limassol. Spílaiaussensible in his necromantic arts would be immersed in an absolutist language of relatives to welcome Vernarth, shelter him, and feed him after Highs and Lows that commemorated all the possible truths and falsehoods that he had to avoid from the final Prolegomena or final speech of the Trilogy, aiming to be located in the highest part of the Kanthillana to face its Greco-American world lineage in wetlands or taigas that would move great cycles of the Caucasus with the Meltemi towards all the grasslands and steppes, bringing vast multitudes of gregarious Hoplites to live together by the floods of the Paleolithicstragglers, to go back to the sinister prehistory that is based mainly on the names of the towns with writing they gave to the "barbarians" who invaded them. Zeus-God (Jovis in genitive) that is, Zeùs patér in Greek, Jupiter in Latin, Dyauspita in Sanskrit. He is opposed to mere demons or secondary gods (Sanskrit devas, daeva Avesta, Lithuanian devas, Gallic Devo, Latin Deus-divi), who derive from the "luminous sky" (the day = dyu,dyo, dies, diei). He will make the sacrificial background of the coming euro-American scene, thus creating the liturgical syncretism of survival by venerating all those who dwell in soulless bodies in the latitudes of Kantillanaand Olympus. From this gregarious candling emanating primary physical forces of submithology; in which man (****) lived. Man is mortal (Marta-, martya- in Sanskrit), son of the Earth-Mother (Mata-prithivi in ​​Sanskrit, Gê-méter in greek). This dualism, only outlined at the level of the primitive into-Europeans, gains consciousness overtime when the mature age of evanescent humanity (Jaspers' Achsenzeit) is reached. In discrepancy of mythological root antagonism, it is bringing chronological and obituary rhythms that will live to delight us with their own gesture from Hellas and Anatoliamainly to Patmos and Horcondising, Sudpichi, Chile. The conductive cycle will have a great impact on Spílaiaus, dimensioning itself in Aristotle, regenerating the first signs of infra spelean humanism in cultures that have nowhere to lodge their vast parallel heritage in more than a distant pre-classical and classic threshold, procreating the only dissolute world striving aggressively in Vernarth Hellenic's Trilogy II.
Messiah of Judah
Mateuš Conrad  Aug 2018
stalker
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
kate beckinsale & anne hathaway
can speak
the name... matthew all
day long...
                 and right into the night...
i'll try to fall asleep...
must be an Oedipus complex
sort of thing,
   in primary school my school
friends thought that my
mother had the visage for
   sandra bullock...
   ha ha! good luck to the men fathering
daughters!
          you ever find it easier
to pet casts, and cage tigers?!
              **** me...
my shatten is soliloquy central...
           i drink to excess and
listen to excess erotica latex ****
music...
      and then? do nothing about it...
i like cinema...
                         **** me...
a fetish for leather that extends
past a ******...
    i would have asked her sincere self:
can we drop the ******
so that i might attire myself
in gimp?
      she evidently replied
a no with her 19 years of existence...
oh... under-baked apple pie
my dear...
            ha ha!
           no, i have more cherries
to pick, i''m beyond stalking some famous grimace...
you are here           .



and i?



                                           .              am here...

who needs the excess of
quasi-journalistic coverage anyway?
    
           that transitioning harem
of rock stars...
     like Kafka said:
i'll be waiting for something
i never had,
and missing it,
            by never having touched
a peek behind the curtain...

   i'll wait... for what i could never have...
and within the confines
of what i could never have,
          i'll settle for what i can already, have.

kate beckinsale & anne hathaway
can speak the name matthew
all day long, and i won't mind...
        
      would i be the one following them?
train-spotting....
         taxi counts...
                 ******* crows that
croak mid-flight count...
           the number of canadian geese
in b-54 formation
migrating come mid-autumn...

          geek without the cartoons...
push me...
   keep pushing...
     i want the shove
and the ****** wording of auto-suggestive
courting of -
                           courtesy...

              thank you...
i'd rather stalk my own shadow...
looking out for the plot-line of
an eased out **** doing the olympic
gold medal dive into
the crapper pool,
via analyzing the shadow of plop
pop gold...

        zero splash...

                a ******* harmonium
on the neck of a Polish teenager,
traveling on a Warsaw tram
      to reach a girl who...
              was counting petals,
and the worth(s) of considering
the concise surmount of love...

             yeah... next time?
i'll be the one used to invigorating
the stance on stalking
one's own shadow...
             why?
because i fidget...
i get all jerky...
                  the hype instigator
movement...
   ******* a woman
like a piston of a car's momentum...

               does it really matter?
i thought the Madonna-***** complex
wasn't a man-"thing"?
   if man owns the Freudian Oedipus
complex...
  does man also have to lend in his
strap-on dictum for the
Madonna-***** complex?
   so...
              that's not a wholly woman "thing"?
she's doesn't own that
complex?
   it's man's fault?!

             i know the Rastafarian Putin
isn't rasp -
but you know that Israeli ******
are better than the Russian ones...
so the story goes...

               which kinda explains...
impotent with women trapped
within the Madonna-***** complex...
with Bulgarian prostitutes?
a limp **** only, and only when
i forgot to trim my ***** hair,
my Eden...

  i have the Oedipus complex...
am i also responsible for
the Madonna-***** complex?!
really?
                        you sure that women
are not supposed to attend to question
this trans-schizophrenic,
   squint / split /
           dichotomy?

                   prior mothers,
that prerequisite motherhood
with the basis of ******* themselves...

   the Madonna-***** complex
is outside the realm of the male constraint /
castration of rules...

   i already mentioned it...
i couldn't be circumcised...
   protruding veins, that met at the zenith
of the *******...
if they circumcised me...
        i would have bled to death...
the, "crime" of ******* is
a lot easier to handle...
   if you haven't been circumcised...

because?
   circumcision is a motivational tactic...
you are... technically... not allowed
to ******* once you've been
circumcised...
  
               you're free, to *******...
if you haven't been circumcised...
as a male...
            no problem...
problem of ******* comes...
when you persist in the act...
but you don't actually possess the excess
skin, that might allow you
the prime, solipsistic act...

    ergo?
******* is worth a justified critique...
ONLY, and only IF...
you've been circumcised...
sorry if you have...
           notably because?
your priest isn't a rabbi...
and there's no fiddler on the roof
matchmaker song
to boot.

oh no, there's no problem with the act
of *******...
  but there is... if you have been
circumcised...
  why?
    during ******* i used to pull my *******
back...
  and **** with an unsheathed
****...

      but in private?
the ******* was rolled back on,
to counter the imitation of experiencing ****
***... with a clenched fist.
By the East River and the Bronx
boys sang, stripped to the waist,
along with the wheels, oil, leather and hammers.
Ninety thousand miners working silver from rock
and the children drawing stairways and perspectives.

But none of them slumbered,
none of them wished to be river,
none loved the vast leaves,
none the blue tongue of the shore.

By East River and the Queensboro
boys battled with Industry,
and Jews sold the river faun
the rose of circumcision
and the sky poured, through bridges and rooftops,
herds of bison driven by the wind.

But none would stop,
none of them longed to be cloud,
none searched for ferns
or the tambourine's yellow circuit.

When the moon sails out
pulleys will turn to trouble the sky;
a boundary of needles will fence in memory
and coffins will carry off those who don't work.

New York of mud,
New York of wire and death.
What angel lies hidden in your cheek?
What perfect voice will speak the truth of wheat?
Who the terrible dream of your stained anemones?

Not for a single moment, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,
have I ceased to see your beard filled with butterflies,
nor your corduroy shoulders frayed by the moon,
nor your thighs of ****** Apollo,
nor your voice like a column of ash;
ancient beautiful as the mist,
who moaned as a bird does
its *** pierced by a nedle.
Enemy of the satyr,
enemy of the vine
and lover of the body under rough cloth.

Not for a single moment, virile beauty
who in mountains of coal, billboards, railroads,
dreamed of being a river of slumbering like a river
with that comrade who would set in your breast
the small grief of an ignorant leopard.

Not for a single moment, Adam of blood, Male,
man alone on the sea, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,
because on penthouse roofs,
and gathered together in bars,
emerging in squads from the sewers,
trembling between the legs of chauffeurs
or spinning on dance-floors of absinthe,
the maricas, Walt Whitman, point to you.

Him too! He's one! And they hurl themselves
at your beard luminous and chaste,
blonds from the north, blacks from the sands,
multitudes with howls and gestures,
like cats and like snakes
the maricas, Walt Whitman, maricas,
disordered with tears, flesh for the whip,
for the boot, or the tamer's bite.

Him too! He's one! Stained fingers
point to the shore of your dream,
when a friend eats your apple,
with its slight tang of petrol,
and the sun sings in the navels
of the boys at play beneath bridges.

But you never sough scratched eyes,
nor the darkest swamp where they drown the children,
nor the frozen saliva,
nor the curved wounds like a toad's belly
that maricas bear, in cars and on terraces,
while the moon whips them on terror's street-corners.

You sought a nakedness like a river.
Bull and dream taht would join the wheel to the seaweed,
father of  your agony, camellia of your death,
and moan in the flames of your hidden equator.

For it's right that a man not seek his delight
in the ****** jungle of approaching morning.
The sky has shores where life is avoided
and bodies that should not be echoed by dawn.

Agony, agony, dream, ferment and dream.
This is the world, my friend, agony, agony.
Bodies dissolve beneath city clocks,
war passes weeping with a million grey rats,
the rich give their darlings
little bright dying things,
and life is not noble, or sarcred, or good.

Man can, if he wishes, lead his desire
through a vein of coral or a heavenly ****.
Tomorrow loves will be stones and Time
a breeze that comes slumbering through the branches.

That's why I don't raise my voice, old Walt Whitman,
against the boy who inscribes
the name of a ******* his pillow,
nor the lad who dresses as a bride
in the shadow of the wardrobe,
nor the solitary men in clubs
who drink with disgust prostitution's waters,
nor against the men with the green glance
who love men and burn their lips in silence.
But yes, against you, city maricas,
of tumescent flesh and unclean thought.
Mothers of mud. Harpies. Unsleeping enemies
of Love  that bestows garlands of joy.

Against you forever, you who give boys
drops of foul death with bitter poison.
Against you forever,
Fairies of North America,
Párajos of Havana,
Jotos of Mexico,
Sarasas of Cádiz,
Apios of Seville,
Cancos of Madrid,
Floras of Alicante,
Adelaidas of Portugal.

Maricas of all the world, muderers of doves!
Slaves to women. Their boudoir *******.
Spread in public squares like fevered fans
or ambushed in stiff landscapes of hemlock.

No quarter! Death
flows from your eyes
and heaps grey flowers at the swamp's edge.
No quarter! Look out!!
Let the perplexed, the pure,
the classical, noted, the supplicants
close the gates of the bacchanal to you.

And you, lovely Walt Whitman, sleep on the banks of the Hudson
with your beard towards the pole and your hands open.
Bland clay or snow, your tongue is calling
for comrades to guard your disembodied gazelle.

Sleep: nothing remains.
A dance of walls stirs the praries
and America drown itself in machines and lament.
I long for a fierce wind that from deepest night
shall blow the flowers and letters from the vault where you sleep
and a ***** boy to tell the whites and their gold
that the kingdom of wheat has arrived.
In response to a sardonic essay written in the recent Saturday Nation by Proffessor Ekara Kabaji, wryly  disregarding the position of Kwani in the global literary movement within and without Kenya , I beg to be permitted a leeway  to observe that any literature, orature, music,drama,cyborature,prisnorature,wallorature,streetorature , sculptor  or painting can effortlessly thrive and off course it has been thriving without professors of  literature, but the reverse is not possible as a proffessor of literature cannot be when literature is not there. Facts in support of this position are bare and readily available in the history of world literature, why they may not be seen is perhaps the blurring effects from tor like protuberant irrelevance of professors of literature in a given literary civilization.
A starting point is that literature exists as a people’s subculture, it can be written or not written like the case of orature which survive as an educative and aesthetic value stored in the collective memory of the given people. The people to be pillars of this collectivity of the memory are not differentiated by academic ranking for superlativity of any reason, but they are simply a people of that place, that community, that time, that heritage, that era and that collective experience. Writing it down is an option, but novels and other written matter is not a sine qua non for existence of literature in such situations. This is not a bolekaja of literature as Proffessor Ekara Kabaji would readily put, but it is a stretch towards realism that it is only people’s condition that creates literature. Poverty, slavery, colonialism, ***, marriage, circumcision, migration, or any other conditions experienced as collective experience of the people is stored or even stowed away in the collective memory of the people as their literature. Literature does not come from idealistic imagination of an educated person.
Historical experience of written literature informs us that the good novels, prose, drama and poetry were written before human society had people known as professors of literature. I want you my dear reader and You-Tube audience to reflect on the Cantos of Dante Alighieri in Italy, novels of Geoffrey Chaucer in England, Herman Melville and his Moby **** in Americas, poetry of Omar khwarisim in Persia, Homeric epics of Odyssey in Greece and the Makonde sculptures of Africa and finally link your reflections to Romesh Tulsi who grafted the Indian epic poetry of Ramayana and Mahabharata. At least you must realize that in those days literature was good, full of charm, very aesthetic and superbly entertaining. This leads to a re-justification that, weapon of theory is not useful in literature. University taught theories of literature have helped not in the growth of literature as compared to the role played by folk culture.
Keen observation will lead you dear reader, down to revelations that; professors of literature squarely depend on the thespic work of the people who are not substantially educated to make a living. Let me share with you the story about Dr. Tom Odhiambo who went to University of Witwasterand in South Africa for post graduate studies in literature only to do his Doctoral research on books of David G Maillu. Maillu is a Kenyan writer, he did not finish his second year of secondary school education but he has been successfully writing poetry and prose for the past three decades. His successful romantic work is After 4.30, probably sarcasm against Kenyan office capitalism, while his eclectic, philosophical and scholarly work is the Broken Drum. Maillu has many other works on his name. But the point is that Dr. Odhiambo now teaches at University of Nairobi in the capacity of senior lecturer in Literature. What makes him to put food on the table is the effort of un-educated person in the name of David Maillu. Dr.Odhiambo himself has not written any book we can mention him for, apart from regular literary journalism he is often involved in on the platforms of the Literary discourse in the Kenyan Saturday Nation which are in turn regular Harangues and ripostes among literature teachers at the University of Nairobi, the likes of Dr Siundu, Proffessor wanjala Chris and Evans Mwangi just but to mention by not being oblivious to professors; Indangasi and Shitanda.
No study has yet been done to establish the role of university professors on growth of African literature. One is overdue. Results may be positive role on negative role, myself I contemplate negative role. Especially when I reflect on how the African literati reacted on the publication of Amos Tutuola’s book The Palm Wine Drinkard. The reactions were more disparaging than appreciative. Taban Lo Liyong reacted to this book by calling Amos Tutuola the son of Zinjathropus as well as taking a self styled intellectual responsibility in form of writing a more  schooled version of this book; Taking Wisdom up the Palm Tree. Nigerians of Igbo (Tutuola being a Yoruba) nation cowed from being associated with the book as it had shamefully broken English, broken grammar etc. Wole Soyinka had a blemished stand, but it is only Achebe who came out forthrightly to appreciate the book in its efforts to Africanize English for the purpose of African literature. Courtesy of Igbo wisdom. But in a nutshell, what had happened is that Amos Tutuola had taken a plunge to contribute towards written literature in Africa.
One more contemplated result from the research about professors and African literature can be that apart from their role of criticism, professors write very boring books. A ready point of reference is deliberate and reasonless obscurantism taken Wole Soyinka in all of his books, Soyinka’s books are difficult to understand, sombre, without humour and not capable to entertain an average reader. In fact Wole Soyinka has been writing for himself but not for the people. No common man can quote Soyinka the way Achebe’s Things Fall Apart is quoted. Achebe wrote Things Fall Apart when he had not began his graduate studies. However, he did not escape the obvious mistake of professors to become obscure in the Anthills of the Savanna, the book he wrote when he had become a proffessor. This is on a sharp contrast to entertaining effectiveness, simplicity and thematic diversity of Captain Elechi Amadi, Amadi who studied chemistry but not literature. He does not have a second degree, but his books from the Concubine, The great Ponds, and Sunset in the Biafra and Isibiru are as spellbinding as their counterparts in Russia.
Kenyan scenario has Ngugi wa Thiongio, he displayed eminence in his first two books; Weep not Child and The River Between. These ones he wrote when he was not yet educated, as he was still an undergraduate student at Makerere University. But later on Ngugi became a victim of prosaic socialism, an ideology that warped his literary imagination only to put him in a paradoxical situation as an African communist who works in America as an English teacher at Irvine University. His other outcrops are misuse of Mau Mau as a literary springboard and campaigning for use of Kikuyu dialect of the Gema languages to become literary Lingua Franca in Kenya. Such efforts of Ngugi are only a disservice to Kenyan literature in particular and African literature collectively. Ngugi having been a student of Caribbean literature has failed to borrow from global literary behaviour of Vitian S. Naipaul.  Ngugi’s position also contrasts sharply with Meja Mwangi whose urban folksy literature swollen with diversity in themes has remained spellbinding entertainers.
The world’s literary thirsty has never failed to get palatable quenching from the works of Harriet Bechetor Stowe, Robert Louis Stevenson, Shakespeare, Alice Munro, Octavio Paz, Pablo Neruda, John Steinbeck, Garcia Guarbriel Marguez,Salman Rushdie, Lenrie Peters, Cyprian Ekwenzi, Nikolai Gogol,I mean the list is as long as the road from Kaduna to Cape town. Contribution of these writers to global literature has been and is still critical. Literature could not be without them. Surprisingly, most of them are not trained in literature; they don’t have a diploma or a degree in literature, but some have won literature Nobel Prize and other prizes. Alfred Nobel himself the author of a classical novella, The Nemesis, does not have University education in literature. What else can we say apart from acceding to the truth that literature can blossom without professors, the Vis-à-vis an obvious and stark impossibility.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.   classical music is so outdated, when it comes to exposing children to it, for them, to then, later in life, reap the benefits of "increased" intelligence... oh look... they took down xenomorph's satan's presence video... the one with all the great artwork, including exponents of Goya and Dürer, and... Adolphe-William Bouguereau's masterpiece: Dante and Virgil (the onlookers)... shame, really...  because who said that children can't keep count, when listening to psy-trance electronic music, attempting to keep count, rather than understand violin, brass, or woodwind melodies? not me... there's an upper echelon, of music, sure, it's a hyper-inflation of African drum culture... but it's there... and, like me... some ******* just need to be pulverized by the beat.

problem with the alternative to rolling tobacco -
akin to chesterfield brand...
    when compared to golden virginia?
the tobacco is drier -
                  you need to squeeze it between
your fingers, to get some juices flowing...
and i've heard a lot of ******* in my days...
but that rolling papers,
are somehow different to the cigarette wrap,
as the reason why...
   a rollie will die off if not smoked,
but a cigarette will not?
     it's not the papers...
   it's the to(e)-ba(h)-khh-khh-co(e)...
high quality rolling tobacco is fresher...
slightly moist...
    akin to golden virginia...
   but a brand like chesterfield?
   dry like **** about to give you
          an imitation circumcision...
you actually have to squeeze the ****
brown **** to get an adequate
rolling technique going...

never mind that though...
  **** me! i've been looking for this scenario
since time immemorial...

(current year, England...
   when was it permitted,
for a neighbour, to tell another neighbour,
where, and when, he can smoke
a cigarette on his property?
when?!
         i have the neighbourly decency
to not walk ****-naked into my garden,
subsequently scratching my ***,
and then jerking off anything
but chicken in full view...
  but where, i can smoke a cigarette?
this is England...
             i compromised -
   but she can't have, the *******, night!)

ah... the su doku observation!
i've been looking for it for years...
   no. 10,044

0  0  0  1  2  7  0  0  8
0  8  0  5  6  9  0  2  4
0  0 ­ 0  4  8  3  0  0  7

     the common problem with
people solving this puzzle,
is that they start thinking of...
   fractions: namely?
   only two alternatives, rather than three...

i've seen my father's notation
sometimes, 1 / 5              i.e. or
    9 / 3
                      etc.
in the English, catholic, teaching methods
concerning basic mathematics of
Pythagoras - you were required
to find, 3 points...
  to draw a straight line (just to make sure) -
well...
        unless that third point
a liquor store, going AB      BA...
      sure...
              but drawing a straight line?
never mind

0  0  0         0  0  1    |  0  0  8      via      (  x  )
0  0  0   i.e. 0  5  9    |  0  2  4                 (  y  )
0  0  0         0  0  0    |  0  0  7                 (  z  )

i needed a matrix answer... and i fiddled
one out!

( 5  9  9  5 )
( 1  1  1  1 )
( 9  5  5  9 )

              there simply can't be an alternative
to where 1, is supposed to be placed
on the grid...

0  0  0         0  0  1    |  0  0  8
0  0  0   i.e. 0  5  9    |  1  2  4
0  0  0         0  0  0    |  0  0  7

i've surprised myself -
       which is even more gratifying...
than i'm slightly tipsy -

0  0  0
0  0  0
0  0  0           (what's that?
                     spatial coordination,
for said, example).

have to coin a phrase for this discover...
ah... the su doku third coordinate,
of a straight line... #howlin'wolf'sblues:
could been a spoonful' of sugar...
ah... **** never gets old.
Ye flaming Powers, and winged Warriours bright,
That erst with Musick, and triumphant song
First heard by happy watchful Shepherds ear,
So sweetly sung your Joy the Clouds along
Through the soft silence of the list’ning night;
Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear
Your fiery essence can distill no tear,
Burn in your sighs, and borrow
Seas wept from our deep sorrow,
He who with all Heav’ns heraldry whileare                            
Enter’d the world, now bleeds to give us ease;
Alas, how soon our sin
Sore doth begin
His Infancy to sease!

O more exceeding love or law more just?
Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!
For we by rightfull doom remediles
Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above
High thron’d in secret bliss, for us frail dust
Emptied his glory, ev’n to nakednes;                                
And that great Cov’nant which we still transgress
Intirely satisfi’d,
And the full wrath beside
Of vengeful Justice bore for our excess,
And seals obedience first with wounding smart
This day, but O ere long
Huge pangs and strong
Will pierce more neer his heart.

— The End —