Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: So Aziel what's your plan with Frank?
Aziel: Well he is going to help me destroy the Order Of The Silver Knights and in return I shall help him get the Witch who cursed the Forest Of Whispers.
Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: Well I'll give you some valuable information who your looking for is Bethilda N. Lement. She is a very powerful Witch who with her Elemental Plowness is able to obtain what she wants.
Aziel: Well well ...so the Old Hag still holds the grip over the Forest doesn't she
Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: Indeed she isn't someone to take lightly now she is well rounded and knows how to fight. She controls The Tavern Of Doom Dragons. In her possession are 3 fully grown Dragons. Blair the Oldest Dragon Claire The Mother Dragon and Aurora the youngest one of them three.
Blair the Black Dragon Claire The White Dragon and Aurora the Stone/Lighting Dragon. Many have meet their doom entering in her territory Cyclop Human and Vampire Alike.
Aziel: I don't have anything to fear.

~Meanwhile...~

Bethilda Lement: Adreanna I want you to learn more about my Dragons start training with Aurora but be cautious she may be only three years old but she is powerful and robust. Lement screeches then Aurora hovers over the Mountain Of Shen* where the Tavern Of Doom Dragons is located. Adrianna Develve places a strong spell in the Dragon Aurora she finally succumbs to her authority.
Adrianna and Aurora go take down the Golem Of Steel  in the Hidden Ruins Of Odom.* The Golem stands 15 ft high weighs 2,500 pounds. Holding a crest of an almost impenetrable diamond in the middle of his chest. Emanating from the Crystal comes all his power and it's his only weak spot. Then Aurora and Adrianna make an impressionable entrance to the ruins and attack the Golem head on. Golem Of Steel: Here stands the infamous Adrianna Develve...well isn't  this a surprise.  I see that you have grown some and are able to maintain your powers well to face me. I know what you want you want the Crystal in my chest...that will be over my dead body. Audon's Crystal* is powerful enough to consume 1000 Well Trained Witches therefore young Witch you don't scare me. Now as for that Dragon well ... perhaps you stand a chance after all.  Adrianna Develve: I usually don't pick fights with powerful DemiGods like yourself but I  am in desperate need for your Crystal. Therefore, you will hand it over or I'll take it by force.  Golem Of Steel:  Good Luck.
Aurora shields herself with Stone Armor and goes head on collision with the Golem. He dodges the attack and  counterattacks with a strong fist to the  Dragons body and knocks Aurora down cracking part of her Stone Armor. The young female Dragon counterattacks with a powerful lighting blast hitting The Steel Golem in the right shoulder injuring him. Develve attacks with a powerful mind blast knocking down the Golem Of Steel on it's back. The Golem Of Steel bleeds blue blood out of his shoulder blade and runs full force towards Adrianna Develve.  She  dashes the attack and counterattacks  with a Shadow Ball attack hitting him in the chest and expanding all over its body. It's a possession Ninjutsu technique making him practically paralyzed for about 2 minutes till he breaks free from the technique but sustains a considerable amount of damage. Adrianna Develve seeing that the Golem Of Steel is showing a sign of weakness she takes advantage to try to inflict him with a spear of lighting into the chest impairing him and he bleeds out the mouth but as the last resolution The Golem Of Steel punches the Audon Crystal shattering it into 5 individual pieces him losing his life in the process however what he didn't know is that Adrianna Develve collected all the pieces however there was a violent explosion at the site shattering huge boulders of steel and inflicting Aurora gravely. Adrianna Develve  hurries and performs a powerful healing spell leaving her drained of all power. Adrianna Develve hurries to get out of the ruins because they are crumbling down. She manages to recover Aurora briefly from there they fly to The Tavern Of Doom Dragons Of Doom Dragons right when she pulls in with Aurora who is injured from the boulders hitting her body and face at high velocity even the Rock Armor was perforated. The Dragon lands barely with Adrianna Develve who gets the Wrath of Granny Bethilda N. Lement. Aurora breathing heavily and bleeding out the mouth slipping in and out of consciousness ...Adrianna Develve barely getting off the Dragon.
Bethilda Lement: What the hell  happened to Aurora she is in really bad shape. Adrianna your completely drained I see you did good by healing her however, she must rest for about 3-4 days now and fully recover from that gruesome fight with that **** Golem Of Steel. Adrianna are you Ok darling? Go get some rest I see you used the forbidden technique of Soul Healing Transfer. Well now you'll live 12 years less thanks to your little sharede. Develve I am thankful that you saved my Dragon from dying but hell consequences are quite dire.
Develve: Here Granny Lement I got Audon's Diamond however it's shattered in 5 separate pieces.
Bethilda N. Lement:  Let me guess the Golem Of Steel did not want this to fall under the wrong hands for it is a powerful relic. Smart move buying time however, useless due to the fact that we got the diamond under our possession. Adrianna we are going to search the Master Forger Of Relics* who can aid us recover this valuable relic to it's original state. It's said that he resides in one of the headquarters of the Order however, he has worked with Witches, Pagans and Nacromancers before so am sure that as long as we provide the right monetary value to repair the relic he'll work for us.
Develve: Why don't we just kidnap him and make him do the work or he pays with his life?
Lement:  Good objective it may have to work that way for us.
Develve: Im aware that the Cyclop population in the Village Of Chalekathan are not taking your threats seriously well ElderLord Gromm has not paid his fee from allowing them to live and not be consumed by the curse itself.
Lement: By killing him we can set an example of what can happen to them if they don't cooperate with our cause.
Develve: It dangerous though he is a strong Leader with lots of powerful influences. Plus he is a highly skilled Witch Doctor/Shaman able to manipulate the forces of nature. Known to use 3 Godly Deities Aikune Chalekathan & Eion. Aikune the cherubim of the Northern Side Of Heaven. Chalekathan the Spirit God embodiment of The Forest Of Whispers and last but not least Eion the mythical creature with an Eagle face 6 wings and the body of a Lion. Embuted with heavenly essence making him a very formidable foe.
Develve:  We will take care of our responsibilities soon but our primary mission is to talk Ayeiton Balderoux III* the Master Forger Of Relics.
: Whoa had no idea he was The Kings kin.
Lement: Indeed he is now go and lay your head and recover some energy because we need to practice your magical plowness.
Adrianna heads towards the Guest Room.

~Meanwhile in The Forest Of Whispers~
Frank Deltoro gets introduced to Gromm ElderLord Of Chalekathan by Jhino.  He also introduces Navarro Castleworth who is pleased to meet the famous Elder.
Gromm: Hello young man I am the protector of this village which has sustained numerous attacks by Lement's Dragons. Develve also partook enthusiastically with her Grandmother in attacking innocent hard working Cyclops. Making them slaves of the Curse which drives them mad and homicidal attacking friends brothers and family so we had to do the inevitable put them down.
Nevertheless, I pray to Deynave Dion High Saint/Priestess Queen Of All Shamanism to protect the lost souls of them Cyclops who fought the curse till the very end but unfortunately lost the fight and in turn lost their lives.
Frank: My condolences to your friends ElderLord Gromm.Am sure they in a better place now at least not suffering. However, I have a personal matter to score with Lement. She kidnapped and murdered my only daughter 10 years ago she was a...his voice gets trembly and he lightly clears his throat..at the same time a solid solo tear drops from his only Eye symbolizing a Fathers great pain and suffering from such an atrocious act." Gromm regains his composure. I got a personal score to settle with Mrs.Lement due to the fact that she took a piece of my heart and soul she killed my daughter. Develve played her part in the kidnapping of my baby girl 10 years ago she would be 18 years old today if Shaila Dair Sultran were alive...her appointed time to be brutally killed by my hand is coming...Bethilda N. Lement has been suppressing her powers for the last 300 years I believe she has some sort of powerful anti-chi barrier put up extending tremendous lengths so even if she is active in The Forest Of Whispers we wouldn't know how to tell due to this **** barrier.
Frank: So your bloodline comes from the Ancient times from the powerful Cyclop Of Royal Priests/Witch Doctors family Sultran.
"A gentle wind blows and Aziel telepathically communicates with Frank.  Aziel: Frank, be careful where you thread I been informed that Lement's Grand-Daughter Adrianna Develve recently gathered Audon's Crystal a powerful diamond known to give its user Bending Steel abilities and higher sustainability. Adrianna Develve has plans to use the Crystal to fully cover the Forest Of Whispers covering every inch of Forest with the Curse which drives all living creatures with a conscious mad totally subseptable to their influence.
However, to you those must be terrible news so my question is...you been in Chalekathan Village for 1 hr and a half you have 5.3 hrs till daylight removing the Darkness powers you currently control.
Frank: I am aware of this Aziel don't worry I'll take care of business.
Aziel: Keep an eye out Navarro I don't  trust him I don't know what intentions he has...plus he is part  of that shady Tower Of Frejoird but perhaps you can use his hatred towards the Order Of The Silver Knights. He can maybe be a reliable source. Be careful Frank.

~Meanwhile in Aziel Castle~
Isis: Well...Aziel aren't  you such a concerned individual...I didn't  know you had a soft spot towards mere humans.
Aziel: I usually don't...but Frank is different from the rest. He is courageous trustworthy and he put his life at risk by helping me regain all my vampiric power. I am in much debt to him...am having second thoughts on your plans to **** him after he completes his assignments that we have agreed upon. If he makes it out alive after all this...he at least deserves a reward and to live.
Isis: Chuckles at Aziel Aziel looks at the Empress with great focus.
Isis: C'mon I'll just have some fun with Frank I wasn't planning to ****** him.
Aziel: I'll  think about it now leave me be I got couple of things I need to take care of.
Isis: Fine Darling I'll  leave you be. You know you are the handsomest of all the brothers you have.
Aziel: Well now Isis you flirting with me...I doubt you'll want my erected tool up your stash. Don't you remember am a Vampire?
Isis: I'm aware of that. Adventure sounds fun plus I never had *** with a hot vampire like yourself.
Isis: Well Doll that is going to be some other time I am working against the clock right now.
Isis: Fine you *****...I'll leave. However, keep in mind that Im watching you closely. Plus remember I still keep contact with DarkLord for soon your Father will be back in this plane of reality.
Aziel: So I have heard.
Isis: Well I have found some juicy
Information about Uriels wereabouts he is in a Modern Castle in America. Amelia St and Cross. Residency 106. He is a huge celebrity in Russia and Germany. Keeps his bloodlust at check with fresh blood always for him to self medicate. Looking only 19 years old he is quite the chick magnet though not my taste his Gothic Progressive Horror Rock made him quite famous. Got 5 albums however kept his personal life well hidden from his fans. Many fake and supportive accounts claiming to know the real Uriel Governale. Though no one truly knows he is a vampire for certain. I know because I searched the private records and found out that he belongs to a High Ranking Secret Society known as Maximillion Vampire Clan. Which performs innocent human babies to be given as a sacrifice towards Baphomet and Azmodeus* 2 Of the Demon Lords of Hell. Your brother belongs to this hidden organization that operates in the Shadows but their latest project is to revive your Father the Progenitor most infamous VampireLord of all time. Dracula! Humanity will cease to exist if he were to be revived. All they need is a vial of blood from all of the current 8 saints and they have their eye on Saint Lauren Glennwald from the Eastern Side of Germany from a small rural community town known as Hertzentmort. She currently 25 years old is on a mission to collect Papal papers for the Order for you know they are closely tied to the papalcy. However, she got body guards that are Elite Knights with very powerful Anti-Witch spells and very accurate at pinpointing weak points in any battle with powerful Witches. So going alone isn't very advisable.<br>
Aziel: I greatly appreciate your information I'll take a look on what my little brother is looking to do. I'll take care of him. Don't you worry I'll be seeing you later. <br>
Isis: Alright..."She steps towards Aziel and rubs his chest and says...my reward is waiting for me...and looks down his pants" <br>
Aziel:  Now your tempting me to destroy that *****... but here this is what you'll get "he shows her his ****"<br>
Isis: Mmmm I can't wait baby...well that's a massive apparatus you got in there just hiding.<br>
Aziel: Hahaha...right. Soon enough I'll be all yours to play with. No leave me.<br>
Isis transforms to a cloud of dark myst and leaves the premises of the Castle.<br>
<br>
~Meanwhile in Uriel's Castle~<br>
<br>
The Maximillion Vampire Club had a secret meeting in the Uriel's Castle. There where many prestigious and famous guests there and so was the Highest Ranking Vampire of the Club Maximillion Virgil Vann himself. Inside the Castle where also uninvited guests from The Order Of The Silver Knights pretending to be Vampires. His name Michael Neil Stalwart & his partner Aalyaah Black. Both of them infiltrated the party somehow the Order Of The Silver Knights caught wind of shady operations in the occult club and decided to check it out. Michael & Aalyaah belong to Stealth/Infiltration part of the Order known as The Dark Ones. Even the last 5 remaining Dark Priests from the Cathedral Of Skylor* where 13 years ago Baphomet was revived and mortalized to walk upon humans granting favors for a price. Ultimately the price Demon Lords require of humans is their souls to consume them and become more powerful. This 5 Dark Priests where very important in the ceremony taking place because tonight at 3 a.m. they will unify their powers to revive Azmodeus. They were successful on bringing back Baphomet back to life so they are trying to revive another Demon Lord. In Baphomet's revival they used 666 unborn fetuses with 6 babies 3 male and 3 female all born under the sign of Capricorn and all must be 3 months premature. With this requirements met...Baphomet was revived to this plane of existence, however since he was violent and still hellbent from transitioning from the hellish plane to a mortal one he killed and consumed 3 Dark Priests in the process of fully coming to his senses and being able to recognize them and thank them for what they done. Baphomet promised that he would aid them 5 Dark Priests revive all 13 Demon Lords and in turn 2 Of the 5 remaining Dark Priests must sacrifice themselves to the Demon Lords for the strongest remaining 3 get a extraordinary reward.

This day your either caught up in Baal, Baphomet or Bethel.

Since I was a kid they was trying to trip me in a fairytale..
Dragons are Good and alittle magic won't ****.
So far from the truth but some say who's gunna make these scars go away... Well tell me where did the scars come from?
Cause we know evil is bad and good is the truth!
If your caught in a lie dosent that mean that God told you?
Certainly not!
It came from baphomets mouth, so why are listening to liars mouth?
Dragons are real and so are unicorns
But dragons destroy and it takes a sword and one man to overcome him..
Maybe it's me?
Maybe it's you?
I just wanted to show you Baal is what we create for fantasies and selfish ways.
Baphomet is the Devil who lies right in your face.
Bethel is a holy place that keeps truth as it's king and good as it's God.

Wake up!!! For one day we will be on one side or the other...

It's hard to tell the truth and love someone who dosent know Good, but it's easy to fall and give up for a lie and at the end never notice that lies were getting life from you.

Forgive me.

I famigerate without taciturn timidity the straits of a straightened jury-rig of nesiote narrowbacks harping the accordion zest and zeal of the plenilune consuetude of a scrivello infamy sprung into the rows of rip-tide acclaim hamstrung by the decline in fastidious upkeep of the timberlask vesicles that avoid the phenakism of prismatic reformation fundamental to transmogrified simpers of dismal saturnine darkness encroaching on the parallax of realms within the dominion of the Almighty for the omniety of the usucaption of the fruitful prune in the priggish afterglow of a noontide eclipse bereaved of whispering retreat in the hallowed wasms of stiltanimity becoming an entreaty to ecumenical barbs of propriety selected without intimacy to folksy bibliopolists but rugged in sterling tribute to the true vine of the appointed ways of sacerdotal triage among a roughshod vanity of a derelict world marveling at otiose rejoinder rather than true spasms of tragedy flickering in the recessive alleles of a careworn culture. The travesty of Beirut is the bromide of current leapfrogs of sentinel lust and malapert destruction forming an ironclad camaraderie with chocolate-box langlauf disasters wed uxoriously to the penury of the brackish version of the catadromous bailiwick of despotic nescience pregnant with sophrosyne redemption at the cusp of a plaid perfunctory quip of quisling intimations of the sketchy provenance of humdingers of comestion lurking in the plodding prowl of a ribald wiseacre of a beckoned billow of trinkochre welded into a conscientious blarney that awaits the popinjays that sculpt brittle redshort fictions into awakened carapaces of a limacine reduction of impoverished fulmination into the neatly sworn footprints of a geotaxis shuddering with magnetism only in spectacle without the overhailing zeal of vintners who specialize in curtailed wine drawn from Caiaphas and soaked with the muddy turgid Siloam as avenues toward the repentance of asunder becoming marginalized as a whimper of taciturn choleric war receding not even into an audible delope as the masterful chryselephantine assault of cryptic auditions in the theater of effete refuge sink into the pelagic oblivion of a remarkable blister festering into inconsequence as the rebarbative emoluments to tattered travesty hearken a battle-cry yet emanated in the reprehensible bulwark of the gerendum of a poised plastered humility aggrieved with such friction turgid on rollicking magpiety that even the larceny of brutish renegades of triumph sink beneath the brevity of accident rather than the fortitude of globalized turpitude weakened by the improper demarche of fuliginous homeless depredation of innocent bystanders flocking to the harvest of war found in insight rather than the perfunctory bromidrosis of the macroscian enmity of hidden maleficence spawning a credenda that is spayed on arrival in the faineant zoolatry of a spelunkers’ madcap dash to flex the filigrees of turmoil in resentment of the amicable truces of a God who never tempts and a lurking lie that never itches for trigger-happy hapless rebukes because the skittish skirmish of futilitarian repose is a scoundrel of the profligacy of errant weakness blinkered by the humdrum din of deafening semaphores of provocative thornbush on the threshing floor of cowardly imposture president of all affairs of spirit and all renegades of caitiff megalography of forgotten oblivion despite the curglaff of vindictive and never vindicated assaults on the integrity of the birthright of Lebanon to wager a presumptive gamble of trifling retribution for the alacrity of suspicions eloping with forbidden mistresses in the humdingers of flackey rather than the troudasque harbinger of a lunacy impugned by a restive triumphant fallow time seasonable for a litany of pretenses demassified for a liturgy of seances with eldritch commiseration in the saw-toothed serration of selachostomous bravado wielded by likely or unlikely culprits of ravenous ruin shepherded by the guilty cardinal sins of the complicity of explosive vanity marauding on the ruins of a fortress debased by pettifoggery of internal excuse rather than the wrath of provocative ire in the irksome cauterized wounds of the inured to deliver spectacular reticence despite such grievous diacope. Evil gilderoys of maleficence carve the sapwood of the periphery to aimless subversions miscarried by the modern atrocity of glamour memorialized as a sound-byte underminnow of a roaring rhombos rip tide as stocks wavy at the curvature of edgy demarche despoil the denuded wasteland of cultural despondency a wagtail to the impudence of famigerated affronts that deserve a sterling recompense wielded by the onerous and operose burdens of a prone decubitus of aboriginal bread seeded from Heavenly realms dissipating into the roars of blinded conflagration too meek to even exist on the ramshackle hillside of a barnstorm of aggression powerless to encapsulate the nexility of unspoken allegiance to destruction rather than the halidom of consecrated marriages balking at the caulked provisions of a slugabed monolith of craven capers on the recesses of abeyance in the interregnum of a time where famous people communicate with me. How can such a charismatic bravado of lurking presidency stoop to the denizens of usufruct in licentious latitudes on the outskirts of consideration even pretend anymore that the vacuum of effluvium (Gal 6:7) can be mocked and milked into the row of centuries blistering through the calenture of apprisal and heaved awakening as the zephyrs of the Occident meet temporal juncture with the coenesthesia of a hibernating trumpery formed by the turnverein of listless lethargy billowing through fumiducts of siphoned lavaderos of hypogeiody that the underground spasms of cacophony could marvel at the historic emergence of a magnate with the most powerful magnetism of God shepherding the true flock John 10:27 because he is willing to be the good shepherd and potentially die for his sheep John 10:11. Remember, whenever you hear a Queer Studies Radical Feminist bloviate on emasculated sardanapalian posture John 8:44 and even though personified as a masculine titan of bulwarks of immense otiose wilted inkburch shielding the world from true meaning, the maskirovka of the Devil is present in the dark trespasses of personal abandon among the wilderness of many marsupial jackals of martles wagtails to an invictive proclamation of invulnerable sappy sopanaceous filibusters against hefty sinew forged the bony fragments of the charnels lost to brief epitaphs never mourned in threnodies worthy of remembrance that the departed died with us and live again through us whether in Heaven as participant or on Earth as an acting battalion of the skullduggery of the mystique of shimmers of God acting on Man’s behalf 1 Col 1:15-16. That the firstborn of all creation obtains supremacy through the finalisms that I seek as the captain of trailblazing untrammeled roads we are reminded of the narrow and wide gates expanded by the explosion of thought that trespasses into the hidebound ratchet of a reasonable bleat becoming a harsh outcry of justice for Lebanon that they feel so powerless in implosion what could aggrieve potentate civilizations to the precipice of global maleficence in destruction. Swarming for alveolate hominid hominism as an outgrowth of alienation by design polarized spectral dangles at jaundice flamestun by the ordeal of oppositive barnacles to the chryselephantine habituation of a masked menace of Procrustean authority to muzzle the free license of armamentariums of a latent man keen to the kenspeckel visibilia that we might have punctuation in the poised primiparas of a hearkened unprecedented in modern history that the traipse of lapse is no longer the tenure of mindless calculation of authoritarian gabble sentries of a mobilized fleet of embodied human ignorance but a foisted sprite of whangams of apothegm that deserve in their gnomic respite from the phenakisms of a philogeant kumbaya assertive in its treony of radical compassion for those who dwell in tentpoles of revelry bound not to the covenant that sent us into light and sparkling in hidden obsolescence that the fulgurant words of Mount Horeb (Sinai) are both immaculate and without trace of sin because Acts 17:30 declares a powerful truth lost to the twinges of time that issued peremptory governance of my theology but through remission I admit the grievances of septiferous blockades of ponderous plodding nescience haunting the spectral aubades of paeans to a high-flown sun darting through galactic space apace of the velivolant sails of divine wind that come in the spree of recompense authored by the vines to which all roots belong rhizogenic and immutable because the demarches of time forget the marches against the cauterized grime of new-world suspicions of aleatory fickle gubernatorial proclamations that issue reverb more than sprinkle flanged atrocity in the sight of the holy ramparts of an active double-edged God who reminds us of our many witnesses but provides not a single latchkey of escapism resident to many hapless homes of the drunken sing-song rhapsody nullifying the psychotaxis of the motatory miserly Draconian charades of Leviathan grasping the tridents of warp-speed revisionism in a benighted world overrun by mandarist fictions that fumigate a pasteurized control of cultural malcontent in situations of dearth infested by the concentration camps of China that remain unheralded in brumal and brutish indoctrination spared from worldwide outrage by the tribunes that are complicit more in malfeasance than they are celebrated for the herald of heinous bletcherous crimes of abecedarian abligurition anointed in waste rather than refined like unquenched slakes of eternal water so that no man can thirst hungry for the daily bread without returning to the providence of God awakened. Recalcitrant by the impudent quislings of repugnasket flarmeys of advenient flummoxed besieged clairvoyance I bask and beaze on the light that never fades because of the brackish whisk of a barnstorm of allegiance that is contumely to a bromide society listless in inferiority of intellect to my former streaks beyond jejune reiteration of the Jehu mentality against the canine fate of Jezebel and her faltered ministry of ewnastique waged as battalion gore of a trifling musket of an aboriginal swim through the oceanic gaze of peerless eternity squirming because of flagging resolution among the spandrels of incommunicable largesse lolloped extravagantly not just for the spoils of hyped pedigree but also a chamade to Heaven to enlist the purblind vestiges of a crambazzled Earth rejuvenated in adolescent esprit rather than callow eclat against the outrecuidance of whimpered miserly conscientiousness that exists in a shorter frame of reference than the provident dashes through a furlough of time and ancestry to cobble together a lapidary bristling excoriation of the tumescent squabbles of mystique brave enough to rarefy the humid pasteurization of a mannequin kenspeckel still-frame jilt of jostled infamy brusque in its curt envies borne of still-born promenades of a whasper between the youthful ligony and the intrepid soul of a collective warrior debased by the adscititious participant to elegant effronteries of the newfangled intellectual vogue that is the grombang of the tralleyripped hamshackle of ostentation meeting mirrored paralysis in sheepish ewnastique creations meddlesome in their ironic frizz of recursion as I lounge on the habits of creation by intelligent lurches of design that appointed the demarcations of all creatures and the mysterious bridge between the missing links that remain elusive to the flombricks of the misery of epigenetic rhizogenic imparlance of desuetude cringing at foresight littered with the disaster of ravished hindsight blushing at the limpid degeneration of the vapid varnish of benighted ligony rather than heroic strides of stoic-epicurean compromise in the apolaustic pursuit of the one eternal God present in rebellion but never the temptress of mendacity and mendaciloquence because the tug I have on speed is ratifying a cauterized casualty in the spumid betrothed wicked snuffs of extinguished furor for a time beyond barnstormed racloir rugged origination and faulty phenogenesis that escorts mythos into actionable litanies of the awakened breed scoffing at the inkburch of “Electrolytes”-wernaggle that besets the queer fascinations of a warped generation. The pytherian swank of artrench embodied in the recocted rendevation of hypetrophy in hubris swaddled by the reductive dranger polluting the realm of compliant complicant complaints of the ashowel of albatross astroud in the hibernaculum of langlauf rather than the ultramontane fiduciary tether to the estrockentch rather than the laureates of plevisable courage found in truest shades of vinsky not the subhastation of a gaslighted galvanization of purebred classy swivels of opportunism nor the ravenous incubus appetite for usufruct in subversion belongs to the behest of an insular nesiote flexing the flux of subversion as the candid posies of saccharine immodesty become relegated figments of the everlasting age of promised propriety rather than rigid stultimathy of hackencrude virtues of virtuosos that marvel at troudasque wonders occluded by the girlcott of Team Biden and his militarized soldiers of desiccation of trumpery and the faucets unbounded by swanky concealed epithets of regaled rentgourge by a hapless objection of the runic destruction of apothecary leniency becoming of the betokened emblazonry of scrimshank in every perfuncturation but embodiment of character shouldered by every chasm of power erected in demolition of the warped egintoch radicalism of the submerged wernaggles of the hopeless minority swimming with autodimplage few have to bear but the truest flock of God heeds my voice and has the sapience to spare themselves of contumely and invective to hearsay of invictive triumph beyond radioglare swirk to renege the musical providence of the chamades to the asterongue I often take for granted by immunifacient degrees of the foretold encroaching upon the crux of a pivotal and pivoted destiny not distant from cordial providence. The sweedle of epigones for the risctender of obligation to subvert the coryphaeus with the rigmarole of gentincture borrowed from the Gates’ formulaic effleck of perverse warbles of collectivized contrition for abetted cultural pederasty limpid in its achieved objective of the crudenzy borrowed from a lacking impediment to arentrum belonging to the knowledgeable happenstance of the glorified dengonin is a denostram that forestalls the agelasts behind porsters of culture rather than legitimate mainlined contamination of wellsprings of fliction of paranoiac enthusiasm might swim in kinkativy blinkered blind piebald girouettism but never dauntless in sematic entrenchment of robust dilettantism as the swaddled corrugation of time into centripetal ****** against centrifugal modernism that alienates propriety while estranging by vacuous vacuums the outspoken progeny of the surviving age beyond the Jay and Silent Bob travesty that manifests as a glower of menacing Bushian invention to tarnish with ****** mythos the drapes of a defenestrated realism of the flinkers of sheepish indignation against many drakstings of intonorous sclerotic mandibles of crackjaw chockablock annihilation of core precepts and institutions indelible from the face of a quixotic entreaty of a ragged intrusion of ageotropic monoideism above the secular-clerical fidelity of honest witness borne of triumph and tribulation festooning the nativist hyperbole into a useless effigy of mountebank imposture silly in precision and purblind to gallantry. Yet I must kisswonk rather than truckle under such ponderous pretense because of a sertivine certainty in the thickets of prudence rather than the tomfoolery of humgruffin impudence scaffolds me to a post-modern ****** that shanks through prisons of guilt and burrows an interrogation of reality supreme over all complaint that the virtuosity of the Gifted (the elect flock that comprehends my volcanic diatribes against mandarism and stomachs them without sardonic pastorauling insults of passerby vicissitude) will spare many nations of awakened perjury against human instinct in the fitness of nations to denigrate the populist squalor of lurid and livid ewnastique wernaggles of the listless buttress against my formal modesty encouraged in all affairs even in aggrieved humility belonging to intimidation rather than spawned jostles through the rumpus of shunamitism that might rankle a later age.  Yentrified morality is a personal flapdoon against the promiscuous pederasty of freewheeling ophelimity and the lurking narquiddity of the traindeque of donnist hedonism to hijack my psychedelic tolerance into an unwarranted and inadvisable sanction into the netherworld of the frinterans of cultural modality that curdact religion into a cosmetic cosmogony rather than a soldiered infamy becoming a beacon on a towering hill growing in solidarity with the pleonasm of existence itself which surpasses crude formulas that already abide by the riches of decorum too much to be admired as trigger-happy fools run the asylum of domesticated irony and the librettos to downfall rather than the wassails of “The Man” becoming more masculine in featured charisma rather than defiled against Leviticus among others who preach belonging to nuclear creed without fission but for true rapprochement to the fusion of the treony with legitimate gripes of unsung complaint among the masculine minority. The traindeque of a baseline complaint aggrieved by the kilmarge carapace of stiltanimity for the hackencrude resentment of the inkburch of illiteracy is a profligate degeneracy lurid in hyped enmity that the envied entreaty becomes the despotic shadow masquerading in shadows blossoming into the full wisdom of the mature sophrosyne heart eager to pour out blessings upon a conservation of recycled epitaphs becoming hearsay in a rebarbative convolution of redacted rigmarole incendiary to whittled henpecks of political engineering but never vapid in their flagging insistence upon an ecumenical toleration of the brooks of modernity and compromise upon which much felicity is aggrandized and permuted against the spoilsport frinterans who encage a dodgy moralism in wilted etiolated jaunty pedigree that espouses the maudlin grievous and ghastly ghouls and sprites that haunt the fictional hobgoblins of the Potemkin Village that finds usury convenient and perjury even more facile for the glib facetious engineers of modalities of hatred unsung by the ribald witwanton “I got a Solution...You’re a ****…South Carolina What’s Up” crowd that never marvels at ingenuity or rarely attempts it in the summit of the climacteric jaundice of hidebound whemmles of ridicule sparring against spartan flagitious wiseacres of genocide of ideation for the revelry of armed missives denatured by raw promotion of the questionable ethics of a flavork of needed slakes of unquenchable desire swarming us with daily temptresses not of wayward women but the disarmed pretense of a lapidary rejoinder to a long expatiation or harangue against hackencrude curdles of rowboat injustice masquerading as sentinel savory destruction of the towering edifice of proclamation. There is great menace in the casuistry of sophist philogeant philocubists dicey with destiny for mincemeat puppetry against sciamachy for the gallionic rise of gammadions in the craven lore of baseline pasquinade rallied to the insuperable causes of tribal shibboleth anointed by secular totemisms of fracture and fricative hisses of lineage that amount to pleonasms of brassage rather than mystagogical mystique of the prestige of human fraternity that shatters paradigms of creed and invites an honest vestige of Noble Savages to roam the Earth yet again unencumbered by lugubrious welters of misnomer and malapropism wagered by artifices of guileless supremacy that is cursory prima facie neglect of even the sororal duties not of sophomoric glib facetious cowardice of backbited backlash of venom militarized for the desuetude of entertained visagists sculpting *****-nilly their version or verdict of decisive apartheid when we should all rally behind the united frontier of the chosen flock in the chosen generation to truckle beneath the pews not of ignorance aggravated by the polluted kilmarge egintoch puritan barbs against publicity choices I now regret (as an emolument to an incredibly euphoric track with a poor miserly message to the enchanted flock inoculated from such diversions) because alighted upon the quenched thirst of salvation I will be judged more harshly as a teacher James 3:1 than the rest of my flock but gifted with the gratuitous salvation carved from the chiselers of ribald infamy capering around with dacoitage and ladronism of the bomans of unsuspecting quixotic caprice I must reckon with the burden of ghoulish shadows on the spectral imprint of my eternal soul relishing in vicarious splendor yet bereaved of quintessential love 1 Cor 13:4 that is necessary for the nuclear conclamation of vibrant hues of resplendent and refulgent providence necessary not from a dynastic perspective but from an aimed providence that alerts dynamism rather than chides with mimes of useless schadenfreude carved from the prestidigitation of the wicked condemned in Galatians 6:7 for the mockers of sanctanimity accorded upon me as gratuity that no man can boast my elite ears and my astute wonderworks of imagination qualified me for prophecy and among the most mesmerizing prophecies registered to fulfillment that the world has ever yet witnessed because the watershed isn’t a bridgewater for the chavish of ignoramus hatred congealed into thrombosis but the narrowed gate enlarges to encompass the swath of man amenable to the flocks that escort me into permanence rather than regale the tridents of a hedonism that elected me clairvoyant at a cost of immaculate splendor registered to the holy clergy of the Sacred Catholic Church and the broader Ecumenical Endeavor that tries to be a seamstress and bridge elemental divides inherent to divided approaches to liturgy which flex their strengths in times of robust fortitude rather than become a subhastation to the vestiges of the pilgrimage to false tabernacles erected by people cozened into charlatan endeavors by the pernicious and persnickety whiplash of Least Common Denominator subversion of widely heralded sentience and sapience enriching the lot of human ambition rather than stoking useless conflagrations of refracturism accorded to the swallock of primposition of the hackneyed hackencrude that swivels with the odious ornery pretense of overtures not to apertures and lychgates of the true abiding Heaven felt on Earth by many Christians whether in sobriety or not without the evil maleficence of a misguided donnism of narquiddity for the grambazzles of aged recklessness aborning on vacant responsibility that is rickety in its magnanimity of absolution because of the ulterior chase for bottom-line top-dollar oligochrome foisted by the cartels that blind true spiritual insight from ever reaching the magnitude of ambition required to shape mountains of revolution among the tertiary squabbles of a conversant Earth open to the troudasque gallop into yield and cloveryield for repcrevel reforms the paludism of the swamp remains skittish about conforming to because objectivism is a renegade of perspicuous light blinkering in hubris and gourmandizing the hinderbaggle of cosmetic pollutions aggravated by the plevisable articles of envy and TLDR politics to “Electrolyte” logic that is a sad recursive wernaggle of the useless buffoonery of humgruffins of tatterdemalion spate rollicking in the magpiety of a timid consentient faltering myth of unanimity among the beleaguered rainbows of many lugubrious tears showering bickering blasphemy upon the mockery of God for the pleasantry of self-aware sheepish resignation that professes only that any form of meritocracy is existentially unfounded only because the beehive elected its progeny the scepter of the ironclad kingdom that wages war against idolatry and serenades heaven with luxury simultaneously. We are all shepherds of providence and there is power enough in collective prayer that we don’t fiddle around with bodewash in mistaken identity but riddle the persnickety blemish of the fastidious critiques of biting sarcasm as a tantamount blasphemy and a criminal repartee of sardonic cloys of inanity foisted above truth. The peevish breedbates who scour my evidentiary pillar of chiseled vertebrae of unbroken bones of solidarity with oikonisus will be sorely disappointed in their truthful audits of my true perception because in every single case it exonerates me from the pulpit of menacing idiots who scrawl random gabble in attempts to sound smart while reeking of iniquity wrought by the gavels of predevoted inferiority of complexion and attitude that gravitates them to an insensate benumbed transmogrified bailiwick of an appalling atrocity of mythomaniacal myths spurned by consensus among those who prize my grandeur above the superstitions of the illiteracy of the rancid rankle of otiose stupidity writhing its own sheepish envy of arbitrary dislike motivated by feminist aggressors waging warfare on turf I already conquered by swaying the intelligentsia to beckon my cause rather than pillory me on a false scaffold of frinteran abuses of the nyejays of bernacle that junediggle in the taradiddle of the nanciful excoriation of my leaden corpse weighed down by the witchcraft of connivance trayning its own delicate myths while avoiding scrutiny for appalling contumely that deserves an audience more suited for fracklings of treony belonging to the trinkochre of the rising alienation and suicides among perverted gay indoctrination that is a scourge on the planet because it willfully denies with its portentous hibbles the regaled wisdom of the culminated age against renegades of apostasy and for the behemoths of true monumental change that sizzles in savory circles among the vanguard only to alarm the Status Quo hijack of my entire endeavors as a covert crusade to use wrecking-ball fashion tactics to cosmetically incisively and insidiously perform a harprick of surgery upon a blameless countenance only for being a thorn to wragatek wragapole slavery which wages war against universal salvation because it gripes with inkburch and circular pleonasms about the most obvious glaring lies and feasts upon the serrated edge of the capers of hatred that frolic in meadows too skittish to enter the barbarian fortress of my forested residence robust in fortitude and glowering with a menacing contempt for runaround psychobabble that obganiates the obelisk of the moribund crusade to make normative ethics effeminate and to enthrone inviolable women’s speech as supreme to any male objections like the Cristiano Ronaldo accuser that came forth 8 months after #MeToo one of the most dishonest campaigns in modern history enthroned by Hollywood elites in gammerstang insurrection against pay-gap ethics done manipulatively with the sapwood of mendaciloquence like Blasey Ford whose physiognomy reeked of maudlin pretense that was so ornery in how obvious of a maleficence the intrepid Abortion Agenda has over the minds of selfish women who prefer ecbolic second-term abortions to the servile gripes of primiparas building new life rather than tearing down the scaffolds of new generations. Hominism deserves its rise because-in increasing numbers-men are derelicted by society and coerced into vapid tallespin enslavement that ridicules itself with the perjury of soul to the soulless vanity of recursive cycles of benumbed narquiddity found in “****** Hero” among other atrocities littering the human fascination with the hinderbaggle of our polluted age verging on totemic blistering hegemony of a few rotten apples corrupting the vagrant ingenuity of the forgotten champion who ushered in a new era of candor in the attempted interregnum of the United States government because I Am Hollywood got the name correct considering how many memorials there are to me in the movie industry. The junediggles of sc-ha-den-freud-e which is as deliberate of a German pun as JUDEn JuDEN which shows the German language is as farsighted as you can get and why many of my neologisms have a German tinge to them. German is an elegant language with botched syntax but a peerless repertoire of vocabulary and even though I love French, the Germans are smart because their language is smart not just because of petty arguments of pedigree which are specious at best. Being dontolesque with  the zenkidu of rengall nauclatic mythos is an artful degree which accords nominal prestige to licentiates while excorifying the obvious metaphors of sunblind logic that scours the scorched Earth of internet diatribes of sophistry and dethrones the Marcie Biancos of the world “Heterosexuality is officially OVER...K Bye” with her 145 IQ and a Stanford Degree in Queer Studies (A professed atheist by her own Twitter admission) with the warped logic to equate a heterosexual relationship for a woman as ******* to patriarchy. For someone that well-studied in literature she sure is a dumb-*** and I will demolish the syntagma of those that root against me for Status Quo preservation in the official interregnum of Saturdays during the Trump Presidency. We need an official referendum on the ideas of termagant illogical anti-egalitarian poison that derives from a deracinated worldview that doesn’t contextualize how powerful language is at shaping thought because if the entire world were Anglophonic every single country on Earth virtually would see immediate dividends in terms of intellectual creativity and limber with concepts and percepts because it is no accident the most successful empire in History the United Kingdom, was favored because of its shibboleths of Shakespearean creativity draped with flairs of the irreverent while gilded by God to be a majestic commonwealth. England and France monopolized a huge majority of history by no accident because although English might be a slightly keener language the French culture of salons of freewheeling intellectual enlightenment gilded the 17th and 18th centuries into absolution despite the Panglossian epithets of Voltaire who was ironically dissuaded from religion because of the All Saints Day 1755 Lisbon Earthquake and Tsunami. We need to be vigilant against encroachments of perceived shibboleths and more keen on an affirmative meritocracy that favors the poor and blesses the meek in their poverty and inspire ambition among them to join the coteries of refinement in thought sometimes harder to achieve with crackjaw lollops in pleonasmic languages that fail to articulate with nexility or forceful wit the true abstractions that govern the pataphysics of the unknown. Language is so decisive over human thought that it is incumbent upon every language to refine its vocabulary to trayne compendious verbiage and trim the hedges of global reform to invite the curiosity of the age to favor all creeds and languages of Abraham and the diverse progeny of a variegated panoply of majestic feats common to all parlance and capacity beyond just the Anglophonic snare because the world needs not a chicanery of blustering churlish buffoonery but an Almighty respect for the consanguinity of all to God’s blessed creation that he inseminated by his deliberate hands to enrich the world with diversity rather than cleave the world with piecemeal skeumorphs of radical propaganda that opposes the modern and post-modern egalitarian streak. One wrong must be corrected, however, the underrepresentation of Hispanics in the media and in film because this grave error is much more pervasive than the ******* LGBT inclusion narrative because these days the lollygags of fashionista odalisques with Obelisks to Baal get more say over the common decorum than the marginalized bronteum of the  rich and vibrant Latino culture which is squelched by the poverty of media and Hollywood representation. Synectics showcases how a henpecked aim at the synaesthesis of culture congregated around our Almighty Father blessed among the nations who adhere to the progeny of Abraham can be more blessed when working together rather than tribal with nepotism and aristocratic in sustained affronts to the elevation of affirmative meritocracy to the forefront of discussion rather than the froward backlash of benumbed narquiddity because the synallagamatic nature of complexity needs to be devolved with industrious ambition to all cultures and the savory flair of the vogue needs not merely a wednongue fascination with an eventual terminus of crudenzy but a sustained intellectual reformation on all fronts to standardize the English language through Hollywood and the Music Industry so that the dragnets of appeal etch a permanent trace into the engraved souls of the true flock John 10:27 are consecrated in divine purpose to reverse the Babylonian Diaspora of confused and conflated purpose that stunts the raltention of humane course and the proper pataphysical syncrisis of an evolved mundane temperament that transcends the circular traps of circumlocution common to the milquetoast industrial titans who winsomely charm with toady gestures the elitism of a moribund philosophy of intellectual thought delegation to elevate the common rhetoric to reach new pinnacles in both tribune and political gamesmanship because higher standards are required even when they surpass some common understanding so that every ambition becomes a conclave for the goal of human unity solidified by the truth of the kerygma and proclaimed to all creation as the culminated synclastic reformation of the idea of indulgence and the propriety of regaled moderation that appeases the common decorum with a shared vested interest in Latin America especially which is besieged by the cultural tenets of obrogated specialization and denigrated by the common myths of warped phenogenesis which should be debunked as a wasm of hypocrisy limited because its callous tentacles lack the charismatic fulgurant equipment of future generations to bear the operose burdens of a quintessential time of harmony united by the hymns for God by God to appease the sentries in Heaven and the celestial realms that exist for our merriment more than our detriment. The sprauncy have the  frikmag to recognize the spuria of apocryphal heresies that encourage kinship above matriotism and shared fortitude for intellectual valor rather than “*** talk TLDR” hashtags abounding on the turf of the insensate wernaggle of clueless charlatans wiggling through life not because they were borne into slavery but because they choose to be Helicopter Parents of “Baby Shark” rather than token mantelpieces of enlivened culture shimmering with radiation of Gods glory as cemented in Colossians 1:15-16 because the firstborn of all creation lives in some form in the ligature of Christ 1 Cor 12:12 because there are so many talents that exist in our variegated world that the mastery of expertise in dominions of conversant fluency will abet the variegated crops of a draped humanity corrugated on its own ironies for the delicate sizzle of beatific felicity multiplying itself in centupled design over centuries to overcome hinderbaggle while realizing the fictions of some drawflark. The strigine world concedes to this upstart rooster maybe considered a parvenu of dearth but luxuriant in riches boundless to all that draw near to the kerygma of Christ and feast on his daily bread found throughout liturgy because we should listen to people like Cardinal Timothy Dolan who is exceptionally astute (perhaps an understatement) to guide us on a regenerative rather than degenerative pathway towards universal attempts at salvation that broach a new decorum bridged by aliens to select chosen emissaries to bridle the fissions of repartee reserved for the forlorn that balk at ambition rather than relish a new era of seditious determination against the determinist fallacy and for the mental health of those coping with autodimplage and sheepish regrets and persnickety articles of remorse because all the world deserves our consolation and desperate attention rather than the trumpery of the circus masquerade of marauding agitprop which congeals into thrombosis of toxicity as the vast majority of Democrats refuse to even hear Trump speak when he is discussing discursive solutions to enigmatic quagmires,for, if more people listened to Trump they would be disabused by the specious claims of his misogyny and white allegiances because his candor is brilliant and despite the prominent advocacy of Biden who has considerable prestige in my memory, we deserve a bipartisan syncretism that unites the world and unifies the country away from the swerve of salacious mythos and towards a rambunctious magpiety of solidarity against the secular humanism of a defunct piety to Marxist feminism which is a crudenzy among the awakened men around the world increasingly alienated by the hackencrude of wednongue illiteracy even trumpeted by the vanguard as panacea when it is a comestible form of poison. We need visionary unity where there was once toxic divisive balkanization of exclaves of limited foresight clashing with new wave awakening to the persecution of illumination itself for not a rigid hierarchy but a flexible structure of inclusion that adjusts to cultural expectancy and modifies the traindeque that strands many in institutionalized poverty especially in Latin America and India and obviously Africa too. The stegophilists of language should herald the aubade of the chavish of redintegration over the squawk of din of squabbles of internecine redacted revisionism beleaguering our lyceums with toxic agitprop even at the highest institutions of learning who balk often at the recycled auditorium of useful thought because their venal tilt is complicit in squelching freedom of thought and our schools should open early so that zig-zag-zoom politics around feldtrounds who are eagerly outnumbered by the patrons who police thought become agentic not with outspoken treacheries but inseminations of intimation to hint at the spectral mystagogical reality we are all members of despite hurdles that beset the hemiteries of odalisques who seek inertia rather than mobilization. The ribald underminnow of transparency is a carcinogen of the rampant siege of Status Quo coarse hypocrisy for tentative flings with cadged cloyed saturnine professions of the landmines of atrocious miscarriage as I soldier on in the causes of the poor and the forlorn to become enriched by the glory that God delivers with munificence so that all might be enriched by the emanations of the true vine and in distaste of error I rebuke the armada of belittled armamentariums of the cantonment of deep-state breedbates boiling over potboiler frikmag that exists as a transcendent obscurantism flowering in decisive times to warp the contextual footprint of a life served in the service of all the oppressed people as a kind of Moses figure raised by the elite and fighting for the criminally oppressed and the ****** of mediagenic hyperbole is dissatisfied by my glowering spectacles because they dismount from the equipoise of the righteous gallop towards ecumenical solidarity at untimely punctuations of juncture superseding the flictions of frikmag dethroning my righteous valor and provident sanctanimity to prowl like predatory wolves the fathers of the casuistry of mendaciloquence to accentuate the stridor of inopportune squalor of the selachostomous regimes of teetotaler totalitarian freebooters who prevent bootstraps from manufacture as they gradgrind the world into ergonomic insufficiency while I provide a Kamacho-like galvanization to the broader world that favors the consanguinity of all animate sentience to the aboriginal vine of the universe that plays with the toyed cadge of oppositive support but lends credence to a more evolved view than the crudity of encapsulated travesties inserted with jaundice against the lyceum of freedom of thought and the celerity of headless horseman galloping in partial interregnum to crown the strobic stridor of the stiver of the steven of contarianism engineered for walloped ringleaders of the renegades of heresiarch sedition in their odalisque oaths to Pagan dieties carved from the sapwood of gullible Illuminati naivety that professes allegiance to the worst whangam ever invented Baphomet and his faked cronies of ewnastique free-for-all diminutive crags in the renown of dawning light becoming cagey struthious structuralism embedded in sclerotic wasms of the wanhope of a nullified message becoming a sacred creed to the attentive while the lilt of the otiose drawl in serpentine convolution a ribald pleonasm of circular circumlocution that provides locomotive linearity rather than leapfrogged slogmarches into the province of the territorial alignment of kinship against the partisan hollertrap and the stigmatophilia of obsessive persnickety popinjay beadledom the last stronghold of the rickety resistence to this Saturday interregnum which presides over the better part of the intelligentsia if not the common pedestrian parlance because hortatory weights cannot be described in any other way than metagnostic flickers of Yellow Submarine vandalism of a pristine living animation of the humane spirit that prizes the plight of the poor and the blarney and blench of unjust opprobrium faced by the institutionalized bailiwick of flictions of gammadion gallionic posture when in fact they register as seismic entities engraved upon my Christian conscience that strictly welcomes the emigrants to truth from whatever consecrated virtue they originate from because all are capable of the same light and the same compassion of a beatified humanity rather than the relish of deep-state castophrenia which belies its own ribald gay mockery on live TV as not a single twinge of ****** attraction overtakes me in matriotic sardanapalian effrontery of a hollow but sadly hallowed vainglory of the hierodules that bury the coffers of patriotism in a sad LGBTQ graveyard of landmines that demonstrate a complete disregard of the nuclear family and should be decried as an outcry against redefined Christianity bolted to unshakable irrefragable beliefs in the constitution of man and women wed together in one monogamous flesh with the occasional cuddle of close tithes to the ******* of friendship as the slavery of sin in Leviticus 20:13 falls to the wayside because this patriotic lewdness is a vapid fatuous derangement that is a new low for the United States attempt to inoculate China from religious accord with the broader world and should be seen as a Chinese maskirovka worthy of the heaviest disdain and I will disavow America if it continues to bandy the tripwires of Chinese boondoggles under the American banner and pretend its pretense isn’t lagging under its own bletcherous abecedarian elementary fallacy of psychobabble oblivion of dark saturnine brusque termagants of tatterdemalion cloaks of the selfsame illusion of a desperation of China to wreck the United States economy and inseminate Florida, Arizona and Texas especially with the Coronavirus to swing the election in Biden’s favor with or without US Complicity to expedite the course of a virus which sees no resurgence in any other civilized country in the world while the heroic Russians, Germans, Israelis, French, British and true American Christians banish the barristers of bad taste as an acerbic poison on the wellsprings of a flagitious flag I would kneel for in the knells of disgrace if the pompous and completely inoculated missives of Buttigieg ******* continue to roam shepherded by deep state elitism to wreck the opportune moment of religious revival for petty reasons of chryselephantine gambit and gimcrack for institutionalized poverty which my ambition is to heal completely by sacerdotal deeds and consecrated prayers in the Lord whose peace surpasses the temporal despair of senectitude and comforts the grievances of the aggrieved because Galatians 6:7 is no more true than the fatuous display of muscular idiots waving American flags for turpitude rather than flogging very perverse Gay men in the streets which might be a more fitting outcome even though I must remove the plank in my own eyes first to see the irony of the detested. The doytin is no longer misguided by the nanciful derision of the vociferous clangor of the venal Gates mafia militia wrecking ball vaccination Bezos crew in Medina which is a mettle I can’t match when you own every citizen in the world in a few square miles of nesiote territory the denizens of conquest besieging religious sanctity with profane outbursts of corruptible linchpins on the public lynch of the strepsis of periblebsis that vitiates commonwealths of supreme sputtering regimented clairvoyant superlative alabaster wealth of the isangelous protectorate of the supreme God that supervises his careworn flock into the storge against the scourge of prosodemic stigma stained in bleeding heart liberal bathed tears of pseudoautochiria of Jim Morrison glaring in the face of the triads that Killed Him in the French Connection ******* of 71’ that outnumbered his hobohemia of loyal jewish bohemians livid in the rhapsody of nurture rather than enfeebled by the unfurled destiny of the Soul Kitchen he foresaw to his own pitiable demise at probably the hands of strangulation because no autopsy was performed. Although repetitive Transparent is a real anthem for oracular mystagogical transcendence a mandatory hymn for the ryseolagnus of the poetic verve of a new wave swooning the cordial progressive of atmospheric oneness with the primordial vine and the vintners that congregate on populated soil to feed a desolate destitution of synoecy or synaesthesis in the syncretic rhapsody of the subfocal ageotropic plenilune yet saturnine lugubrious toil of those that shovel through the albatross of ewnastique recapitulation to the same tired “Its got what plants crave, it’s got electrolytes” wernaggle of the hopelessly dismal inkburch of illiteracy crawling like a Hyacinth House on a vacant graveyard turf guarding the legionaires of rapid-fire zig-zags through a serpentine curvature of the ligaments of fabricated space warped through prismatic lenses of aperspectival time aspiring for ventriloquial enamored rapture upon Earthly parallax with tapestries of refulgent cascading wandering wonder that meditates its own lucubration with careworn tutelage against the wasms of dying oleaginous swelters of redshort opportunistic vultures swooping with Raven’s claws against the odometer of viewership surpassing records in unspeakable wisdom that crowds out the crambazzle toonardical wreffelaxity of the tiresome nuisance of ornery brawn muscled into a formidable triage in vengeance for Jim Morrison’s scripted eviction from Earth either by poisoned ****** or by  Asphyxiation by the French Connection avenging RFK and the cultural revolutions of 67’ in Haight Ashbury and the widespread percolation of treacheries fathomed to the most obvious degree in showmanship that it bristled as an affront so severe that even the patronage of Paris wasn’t immune to infiltration. His threnodies will always be sung with Triumph that the hallowed day of a monumental soul eluding the darkness of purgatory into the welcoming aborning light of the noontide progeny of eternal ataraxia awaited him in the stagecraft tub of blasphemy bellowing ratcheted warnings that not even the palatine grasp of a potentially divine being was inoculated from the deep dark chasm of nefarious skullduggery for boasting so widely and openly of his professed foresight to glamorous to be hidden as the beacon of virtuosity that galvanized a generation to flout the  futtocks of a keelhauled vision of sanitized purblind mortality that the fear of death rarely crossed the mind of the greatest fearless poet of an entire epoch that we may pray that Jim Morrison feasts in Heaven atoned for his sins and is at peace with God now. The substratose congeniality of marginalia on the outskirts of pederasty in cultural miscarriage owned by hierodules boundless in their lurid debaucheries that they might be remanded for being custodians of hostage to a prolific nescience  reaffirming their dying posture in the extinction of sardanapalian coverthrow of repcrevel camorras of ladronism and dacoitage always cauponate in imbibed throes of lewd AstroTurf outrecuidance glowering at sanctity with a bereaved psychobabble divorced from the purebred empiricism of true giants of industry that are almost insuperable in their extortion that their darkness in deeds of Kobe Bryants assassination do not go unpunished at least in Los Angeles. His untimely death as with many others registered on the Richter Scale because Come Clean perverts from Kansas City wanted San Francisco to win to clean the mops of janitorial revenge of the subturbary rickety foundations of a flailing moral compass so wicked in arbitrage that no subreption undetected would flourish among capernoited vigilantes of poached titanism and illuminism scarring the vestiges of enigmatic encroachment upon untouchables daring the frights of the Living Daylights of scurrilous rebukes so scathing in their menacing depiction of negligent bromides of token sacrilege and scarred sacrifice of a scarecrow example of how the prosodemic scourge of befuddled turgid pristine transmogrified heralds scampered away with pseudoautochiria that afflicted Jimi Hendrix suspiciously as well. My support is behind the justice warriors aggrieved by the Beirut explosion because they deserve a vindictive outcome that quells the quislings of atrocity of the popinjay beadledom of the unspeakable tremors of seismotic popples of unrest warranted in Lebanon the homeland of Keanu Reeves a saint among men for his peerless grace and agraceries of the smog of myth evanescence becoming perdurable swings of the humdingers of berated jaundice becoming the prerogative of the revenge of a city leveled to the ground by suspicious skullduggery and I am surprised they lay dormant for this long in their protracted grievance over the ghoulish frights of one of the most unheralded major events in recent memory. We need to highlight the plight of Lebanon so that world leaders are frightened even of intimidated people tranquilized by terror rather than enlivened by the propriety of redacted rejoinders that serve the ulterior mission of a Titanic bravery that never sinks beneath the sumptuary treacle of grombang grambazzle and supercherie of the supercalendar of poignant repined repose derailing an emolument to ecumenical solidarity. Lets highlight Lebanon as an inexcusable trespass worthy of some mighty reckoning if not a riveted war but at the very least a devastated twinge of outrage.

A glance towards the innocent
Only you don't see it that way
You put your hatred into others
to make sure they will obey

Use and misuse the human rights
"Oh Baphomet your wicked ways"
The diversions you desire
The perversions sought on earth

Since dawn of time, your presence
brought men satisfying lies
Lust in the holy ****** her eyes
Baphomet a name full of essence

Praised by those who found you
To provide destruction
Hang the skeptics..

Roaming in the dark
seeking life to take apart
Once a creature with a higher purpose
But after your missteps you began to hurt us

Destruction is what you live for
You want us to suffer because of our nature
"Baphomet I know it's hard, you don't know regret."
Try to be logical avoid your hateful thread.
Helping you is like a deathwish;
we know the dangers but we still accept it.

There he stands the creature of deception
In the eye of the beholder, he makes no exception..

when i heard about it,
when i heard of “free art:”
i thought of free bread and wine,
and celtic sirens,
i laughed though... you made the earth
so ******* boring we all wanted to become astronauts.
when art became free we tried to moralise
drinking wine (as a portent of richness)
and eating bread (as a portent of the russian revulsion),
i bought my art.. and waited for the ones who
discouraged it complaining buying their bread “well fed.”
the celtic sirens hung on though, singing softer and softer
but more prone to the acid tongues dragging the democrats into
a hope of kings and village kindred elders,
but i still didn’t hope for free artistry that was akin to circus,
caged the gypsy have i?
i have, but i did not warrant free food or free aquas of variation,
i simplified freeing the demands with the demands freed into excess,
well... if i were kingly i’d still have provided free bread and wine
rather than music and the curbing the excesses of lyricists;
making music free just discouraged all originality, all creativity,
it just became a realism of a struggled acting -
i feel cheated having missed the antics of britannia in
the 1960's and '70's like it was greek and roman without
the epileptics of watching a documentary on trans-sexualisation
of brazilians and ******* disco to gag on an excess of flashy lights
just to sell lipstick... and have these quasi-epileptic shivers
without having an opposing opinion to counter the freely stated & fluxed.
i guess my convulsions were due to the fact that the men
didn’t call it either homosexuality nor trans-sexuality,
and that i was actually looking at two dodos talking, meaning
i was seeing the extinction of the human race through the ****,
meaning i was watching the knights templar idol, baphomet,
realised 2000 years after the crucifixion in that crown of thorn dreams,
perfected in thailand... of all places;
that actually beats the identification of ibn saud as the dajjal,
moving further east of mecca than riyadh and
the assassination attempt within the framework of muhammad’s hadith of ‘no entry’ into mecca by the dajjal.

i.

for the past few weeks i've been doing an experiment,
thankfully philosophy allows such things,
of course, they're deviations from what i'm used to
in chemistry, they're less, what's the word?
spectacular - but they are nonetheless experiments,
and that's the beauty of being grounded in some sort
of science (trinity of biology, chemistry and physics
and that's the limit, beyond this there are only
pseudo-sciences)... medicine? that's the tsarina of
learning: like any tsarina: gets down and *****,
and yes: mathematics is the genteel queen.
philosophy on the other hand seems like a vagabond
in learning, never really pieced together,
never really sentenced to a single direction:
and for that matter, thought can become less narration
that stretches into the sort of philosophy that Sartre
embodied with his novel, and more into thought becoming
experimental...
you might be wondering what the experiment consisted
of... well, over the weeks i've been sadistic unto myself,
it's to do with trying to figure out the modern curse
that's the 3D's: debt, depression, dementia.
                i can't fall asleep without a bottle of whiskey
cigarettes, sleeping pills and music playing in the background:
which would make me a terrible partner, anyway.
   beyond that though, for weeks i repeated a pattern,
i fell asleep to the *hellraiser ii: hellbound soundtrack
by christopher young...
       day-in-day out: as if to pressurise the idea that
the faculty of dreaming could be censored in the same way
that thinking is censored in liberal speech
eroding people's vocabulary, **** included.
     what i mean by that: every day i woke up with 15 minutes
of despair, then the zenith came after i lay in bed
for 4 hours and felt too many leeches ******* at me...
   those 15 minutes of despair were always there,
but then i usually got up and went about my daily business...
i admit that whiskey could be to blame,
anyone could argue the alcohol-is-bad argument,
but arguing as R. D. Laing might have that it's
also a sedative if you don't include social adhesion to loosen
the tension of going out and dancing:
then i don't see the point of saying it's all bad.
         sleeping pills (i found) are not 100% active without
what the prescription states that you should do:
i exceed limits, but then i write during the night -
            create a balance and i'm sure any insomnia
might be made minimal... anyway:
so i've been doing this roundabout experiment,
listening to the above album while falling asleep,
but then yesterday i decided to fall asleep listening to
godspeed you! black emperor's album F♯ A♯ ∞,
and guess what the experiment proved:
  i felt little or no anguish for 15 minutes,
obviously the usual groggy of a pseudo-hangover,
  but that doesn't mean staying in bed for 4 hours
because you feel **** about life 'n' all...
                   as already stated there's what we call
a cartesian dichotomy, that somehow altered mental
states cannot be translated into a physicality -
depression in this sort of language becomes lethargy -
people never seemed to connect the dots that
state the monism of everything having a pairing either
side of Humpty-Dumpty sitting on the ergo fence
asking about a flying omelette... ergo is a variation
of what precipitates... depression = lethargy...
the purest kind of what i know (i have enough psychiatric
literature to redeem myself from what would
be deemed quack-medicine with their quack doctors) -
some say that taking the vitamin B12 supplement
could help you: or that weak digestion is to blame, too.
i would be quack doctor if i was in a position of power,
and since i am not really earning anything from my
"poems", what sort of power can i abuse? trust -
but then again these are thought experiments,
           i first experiment on myself, then note down
the observations i have accounted for.
               so what will my unconscious eat today while
i switch off my consciousness? i was thinking of
the cure's disintegration album,
         perhaps that's why i did weeks of falling asleep
to a horror movie soundtrack, to later move into
neo-prog "rock" and then into 80s goth melancholia...
    i'd say that pop ****** melancholics off...
and such a nicer word for depression...
                   it's not even close to compression and has
nothing to do with aviation or the Netherlands...
     melan, melan: ah! melanism - a certain darkness,
    choly -         condition of darkness...
       and that star of Bethlehem appeared at night...
man of sorrows, well that's just blatant;
           but for all the romanticisation about darkness
and the mysterious moon and all the insomnia,
i still prefer the anti-cartesian explanation of actually
creating the proper answer to what has become
a dichotomy between the physical sciences and
the pseudo sciences, given that ergo is a precipitation
then for the two opposite to become inseparable
depression must be equal to lethargy: which is a variation
of the grander genus (family): metabolism.
               is this the point where i re-quote that famous:
doctor! heal yourself!
                                      well, if there's anything to go by
i have in my mind, given my life a prolonging in a way,
what was it... amitriptyline?
                                         the new ******* for
the respectably prone to citizenship's serenity of leaving
other people to their own demises -
  i mean, look at all the teetotalers: hyperactive bunnies
with too much energy that translated into things like
the infamous pyramids and the doubly infamous chimneys.

ii. the danish girl

i would have never thought that the transgender movement
had such a puritanism about it,
such platonism - nearing martyrdom;
who could have thought?! i only managed to see the film
today... i'm a sentimental ******* and i was choking
on not crying at the end of the film
here was a true representation of an artist,
         there's he (einar wegenar): a successful local
artist, within the confines of Copenhagen,
modestly famous: primarily because of having
perfected a technique and sourced it in a childhood
memory that keeps haunting him,
    thus he keeps repeating it, although with slight
alternation to refresh it, but no photograph to work
from, hence my previous statement:
  memory is the best cinema or arts' gallery (this
is not a universal statement, memory doesn't always
heal, or fascinate or have the ability to revitalises itself
or become the most potent "hallucinogenic" experience);
and then she's there (gerda wegener), also
painting, but more in line with paying the rent
rather than appeal, rich people needing portraits to
hang on the walls of the future of their lineage
        in years to come so someone might boast:
that was my ancestor, who founded the first bank
of Copenhagen sort of stories -
and all she wants to do is be an artist like Einar;
and she keeps coming back from galleries with her
works and they never give the critics any appeal
at being original - they have a suggestive generic
quality to them: precisely because they've been painted
for money. art is cruel in that way,
  when critics reduce producing art like they might reduce
being a cashier in a supermarket on the basis of:
job done... then comes the offense from the artist.
the beauty of this film is the platonism that soon explodes,
the near innocence... i really don't know how
the transgender movement borrowed from this:
all those Baphomet ******* with too many parts,
silicon chests and ***** and what not?
       this is one of the finest forms of defamation -
these days the transgender movement is so sexually
potent it doesn't really deserve what can only appear
as a self-imposed crucifixion...
              this story predates the unearthing of the nag
hammadi scripts, it's intuitively bound to what was
unearthed in 1945...
      einar sees the desperation of gerda, he knows
that he'll simply remain a local artist,
    bound to a square mile of earth, local, provincial
even... what he decides on is best expressed
by Marilyn Manson's lyrics: now i'm not an artist
i'm a ******* work of art.
        how can not this resonate further into the film
if not by this motto:
it is a consecration of a memory, to invert it and
un-seize the moment long ago experienced and now
fuelling art, or the repetition of a safe technique established.
one man's frustration and a woman in a cage:
the potential seen - then a sudden bursting of madness,
the evident anti-cross -
                                  to say he had reached his limits
and she was kept frustrated and under-appreciated is
blatant enough, this self-sacrifice for a woman to
find her subject, was all too evident when she utters
the words that: the student overcomes the teacher,
and that's the whole story,
                       he has to walk into the canvas,
     in whatever way imaginable, and what a better way
than on a whim to escape the dreariness of parties
   by dressing up as a woman, after gerda's model
is late so she can continue a painting and einar
has to step in and wear a few female garments...
       to later realise the Dionysian consequence:
                                  only to the utmost excess, from here.
this could hardly be a propaganda movie for
the transgender movement... the "propaganda"
aspect ends when you hear children imitating this
artistic "prank" in today's society...
      it wasn't a prank in the slightest: but a profound
expression of love between two artists...
          outside of art the whole transgender movement
is still only ***** and silicon **** of Thailand's lady-boys:
that's not reality?        
although i actually did choke with nearing to cry
in the closing scene...
    unlike the Christ story... there was no resurrection.
so hans and gerda travel to the place where
einar depicted the landscape in his revisions,
       and both of them are standing there
        and it's ****** pulverising with so much depth
upon being so little when reduced to a canvas
but because you see the painting first, do you later
see the landscape with more emotion...
     and i thought to myself: gerda will recreate
the landscape in her own eyes, she'll what he saw
and what he gave up for her to paint him in his
transformative (transfigurative) state of becoming
lili elbe...
                     that's why i was about to cry -
     that she could put lili aside, and return to /
resurrect the memory of einar the locally famous
artist... that she would apply the same technique in
painting lili / einar but turn her attention to
landscapes... as if to imply that both of them became
reunited before all the madness of life came chasing them
into extremes.
          to my dissatisfaction? after the film ended
and before the credits started rolling... postscriptum facts
after these true events... she continued to paint
lili / einar as she did, which prompted her to fame
on the Parisian estrade; after seeing that, written down?
tears? what tears... i'm actually thankful that i choked
on them and didn't do an outburst necessarily...
thank **** i wasn't watching the film alone!
     i know that i might have invoked a sense of:
rough around the edges with this description, but i'm hoping
it's abstract enough to make the film more potent:
filling the blanks with images;
still, this was used for a transgender movement?
                                                did he make it plainly obvious
that this was a transcendental transgender iconoclasm?
         it's the platonic element in it that steers this whole
story, away from what 21st century movements regard
as prototype for their ******.

i actually remember when sudoku was introduced
to the west... it went down like a salt beef bagel from
that jewish restaurant on brick
                              lane after a night out drinking...

i never took to it, in the sense that
i might compete doing it...
i mean, there's this story
about the original take that
members (which included robbie
williams) had a competition
concerning: who could
******* the quickest...
      
    that sounds stiff... but then i tried
to lessen the americanism
   since **** can also mean a jamaican
sauce... so no jerking competition...
but then again i was watching
a whole lot of blaire white
videos...
              i didn't even hear the transgender
bit after a few videos
          is that an honest statement?
well.. if you told me she was transgender
would i believe you?
       maybe only until that
trainspotting scene where begbie takes
"her" to the car and finds a surprise present...
  
   i had a moment like that in real life,
picked up this thai girl in the park
took her rome, a few beers and
  michael greilsammer's je me réveille album
later (miles davis didn't work on her)
we were off to to the garden to "talk"
of birds and bees...
           and since she looked so boyish
and wore a very tight sports bra
     and how she did say she was bisexual
i didn't know what i'd find... hmm... ha ha...
luckily i found something i was compatible
with...

that's why i mention blaire white...
            i was fooled... god, but this drivel talk
about pronoun usage,
           for a heterosexual man to understand
transgender truly, in a puritan sense
he's got to be fooled...
               otherwise it's a bit like taking
your car to the mechanic to get it fixed,
but then you go back to pick it up
     and he merely converted it to a flintstone
contraption... mate... if i wanted a bicycle
and peddle, i would have asked for one!

it would also appear that you have
to have sort of conception to begin with,
          moving the whole shabang into a lesson
in grammar? that's a bit annoying...
i like surprises... otherwise it's still just
the templar crusaders and baphomet...
   or what they call the thai surprise...

don't know, never had -
                     yep, not even with a hetrosexual girl...
that bit you are apparently invited to bleach
the hair of...

but she does make the most valid point
about the whole transgender movement -
if you can't make it work, to fool a hetrosexual man
i can't be fooled... that's why
                       most homosexuals turn to
drag, because they know they can't fake it,
so at least they can be flamboyant...
   i can't believe there's so much diversity in
that ****** category, it's a bit like
watching macaws -
  
    i was at a gay party once...
  my cousin is so he invited me and i came
and there was this guy from the previous night
at a gay nightclub that i snogged...
but you wouldn't believe why i left within
5 minutes... i was talking to a woman and she
asked me if i was homophobic / if i was o.k. with it...
em... i'm here, aren't i?
             i felt this great nausea, gave my cousin
his birthday present, and told him:
sorry, i have to leave, i feel sick.
        
   otherwise this whole topic about transgender?
if it boils down to grammar then
  there's no point to someone doing a blood great job
on themselves... which is basically beyond
the point... we know homosexuals are funnier
than hetrosexuals...
     then again i don't know what the transgender
movement actually means...
      
**** it, let's explain it using chemistry and benzene,
ortho-, meta- and trans- positioning of
                 e.g. CH3 to the benzene ring...
well i was certainly transfixed because i'd kiss
that face and wouldn't knoww what to do with
what's down south...
                                  does that point toward
what's known as the judas kiss?
                       i'm jesus was a much better looking
tran- than he's depicted as...
                
but apart from that we have metaphysics and
orthography...               and yes, benzene.

how did i start writing about this? all i wanted to point
was no. 8861... and have some sort of theory
as to how do a sudoku...
     the convergence of two identical numbers?

   e.g. 8 --> |1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9 | <-- 8

                        or that's how you zoom in
onto an incomplete square and then zoom out
     on an incomplete line...

borrowing from no. 8861

x   x   x                                       x
2   x   4                                       4
7   x   5                                       5
                                                   y
                                                   y
                                                   y
                                                   9
                                                   2
                                                   y

so the above for some reason best describes my
unerstanding of sudoku...
     to be honest this wole "poem" was only
going to be that,
     and perhaps just that - an ode to the very
authentic transgender pranksters -
            authentic... i can't stress is more:
transgender is really that begbie moment:
i understand transgender as a person capable
of fooling a hetrosexual male...
            the rest? let's just say there was an
dummy experiment happening in a chemistry lab;
to me that's the whole point of trans,
     so it would seem
that judas didn't betray jesus with a kiss...
more like a kick to the *****.

   i mean, how else not tell that story?
the most popular man in judea... and suddenly
he's not recognisable that the authorities need
                     someone to point him out with a kiss?
all the rabbis were like: where is he? where's he hiding?
can anyone recognise him?
           i can't see him for miles!
i must be ****** blind or it all suddenly turned dark
and i'm reading braille...
           as i'm sure you known they built
                     the pyramids using sticks and stones.

this is a poem about happiness.
this is also a poem about how great life is, see? here's a metaphor
comparing nature to the faultless
form of a pedastalized lover,
here's a description of the
effect of changes in air pressure
and localized temperature
fluctuations
on physical matter in a given area.
here's a bland truism that
anybody can relate to.
here's a couple rhyming stanzas
about the ethereal shifting of
connecting threads which
cause all life to dance upon
the cosmic stage like food poisoned marionettes.
here's an ode to the wrinkles of
my ******* and
the bits of fuzz that occasionally
find their home in my *****.
here's a sonette to the drop outs
doing better than me
here's a dirge for the businessman
that hangs himself
and a jubilee for his widow
who earns nothing off his death
because he left his entire estate
to his catamite.
I'm writing a symphony in color,
notes of fermenting wood
dogshit and coffin dust.
the violas swoop and drone
the piccolos trill fast enough
to excise your gastrointestinal system
the barotone sax wheezes
and the timpani drum rumbles
(the flutes sit motionless because
**** flutes)
the pianists fingers are bleeding
hes banging with stumps now
his face contorted in ecstatic glee
as if the face of god has parted
the clouds just to scrape his gums
clean with his dietous ****.
and lo faint is the whisper
which climbs and slithers
between the
false,
bash upon life with both hands.
here is life here is death
let me show your life
let me breathe your wretching
like squandered
like roots in the soil,
paint your everlasting cave drawing
in the face of your kitchen
and dance around a fire
let the embers lick your heels
til pagan viciousness overtakes
your quivering form.
gasp it in

Smoldering

Field of filth
Gurgling, gasping
life giving
Life Stealing
Enabling the choice to exist
To fumigate

But please
Look past me
she taught me all I know

Grotesque
An impassioned frown
Stitched with threads of action
I wear the robe of
Blistered goat skin

he wears the crown

Madness?
Nay, gnosis--
remembering how to kiss
the waters, remembering
how to embrace the flames.

**** it, my curiosity is too strong. I take my first steps and hope at the same time, a staff member exits at the same time. To help with my nervousness and attend to me.

Not seeing anyone, no-one at all, staff or patron.

Inside it’s cold, darkly lit and reddish in the background. With no soft or hard light from the sun outside, where humanity can benefit from. It doesn’t look like a church but does have the feeling of a dogmatic overtone and a place for shared and public worship. But I do need a staff member, really not to help deal with my angst. I walked to the front where a picture of Baphomet hangs in human glory. Looked past and saw a sign, ‘office’ with an arrow below it. Finally some help.

This is all on account of freedom of movement and beliefs.

And naturally my angst slowly leaves and I accept at the same pace as my reasons for being here. Plus my intellect had begun to be curious and that must be indulged.

Standing outside the office, it’s closed and enorcaged anyone to sit and pray to Baphomet. I shrug my shoulders and walked back and waited for the general hall.

A moment sitting alone in the hall. A strong acceptance fell over and cleanse my inner world and everything here became beautiful and privately said goodbye to my old life.

Looking at my watch and realizing I had been here for three hours. I wanted to laugh very loudly. I turned around and the only person is sitting here in the hall. A brunette, middle-aged women who dressed so much alike to the middle class. We instantly made eye contact and returned in a polite British head nod. I smiled and waved hello. She looks highly innocent, so to notice all the art here, to know what this building is and it’s intended use. The sight is quite amusing and it’s not a clap at her. I do not even know her.

I turned around and the painting of Baphomet stole my eyesight. She sat next to me. “I’m Carol. This is the third time I’ve seen someone from the public here. It seems they all come at night. I and the staff have started to run out of things to talk about.”

When she stopped talking, I made polite eye contact with her. Her hand is extended. “I’m Ayn.”

We shake hands. “Like the author.” She giggles.

“Unfortunately.” I breathe and go back to looking at the painting. “Have you been a member long?”

“Most of my adult life.” Carol looks middle ages, sweeter than honey and reminds me of a first crush, the girl down the street. “I found it practical and fulfilling. A place to learn about self-responsibility.” She faces the same painting. She sighs. “Glorious, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I must admit. Very appealing, very tempting and aesthetically satisfying.” I replied.

“What brings you here?” Carol asks, adjusting her body to face me. I’m wondering why she isn’t at work.

“I’m starting to believe it’s false hope or misleading information.” I light a smoke. When I first saw the signs encouraging to do so. “It’s vice.”

I breathed out, thinking I just ****** it up for myself or just stepped on the wrong feet. Carol laughs and giggles. “Well, I don’t support that reason to join. But you’ll find a lot of that around.” Carol asks for a smoke. I oblige. “You know, you don’t need satanism to fill out your vice orders. I’m sure there are theatres for that.”

“I’ve tried the **** theatre’s, it doesn’t help,” I replied. Happy she isn’t angry. She’s cute.

“You’re not moonlighting are you?”

I wanted to laugh. “No. I’m a writer.” She pulls back. “Don’t worry about it. It’s romance and despises the media.”

“We got a lot of journos. And you know what they say about the romantic artist?”

I smiled. I knew what she is implying. “They’re most honest people in the world. I can’t speak for the rest of them, that applies to me. I just know what love is and what lust is. I can only find lust and when in love, something pulls us apart.”

“Maybe it’s destiny. I’m happy you’ve taken an interest, but you shouldn't watch those propaganda videos.” Carol stands and extends her hand. “I’m still a woman, so you’ll need to work for my holy parts, but I’ll take you home and school you.” I think about it for a moment. “You know it’s hard to start over alone.”

It’s senseless to think one can live without the other. Firm delicate poetry life. Modern and it goes beyond meaning with words and I guess it means it’s in her. Filtered sunlight. The full context of myself, trying to find one place here on earth to fit in and to go beyond that size. Silver moonlight. But when one fights their own monster, fights against death, respect for trying, but fails regardless. But my own desires is too overwhelming and wanting everything now to be acted. Learning at her place, *** came later. The first lesson, that the devil takes on more faces than God himself. An enigmatic holiness.


DONE FICTION

The perfume of fame is desperation and the insecurity is high on inside one’s soul.

Translate from the metaphysical is in inarticulated words, faceless and the meaning is in the symbols, changing patterns. Few paths lead to personal enlightenment. Devout only to thyself, my own will, thoughts and toiling hands, open to my artwork. Stellar like the patterns of constellations. By accident, I stumbled upon something I should never know about and finally, I comprehend the totality of existence.

I head out west and found myself close to central Australia. I took only two full outfits of clothes and the clothes I wore wearing on my back. No food, just only books, and writing materials. Everything else including the bible had grown proven of no need for me. I set up camp, rented a room to this middle-aged couple, who lost their spark and self-questioned if they even had started with pure love in the first place. It’s hot on a constant thread, it didn’t bother me, I grew used to it and when I’m alone, I worked and read naked. Languish for eternity. Magic in isolation.

My method of writing just writes like what I’m doing now, over the typewriter. From the second edit, through my grammar software on a computer from either the late nineties or early two-thousands and if I’m really hot passionate about the project, I work naked. Like everyone should.

I’m writing a novel about two lovers. Cliche now, but people like it and at the moment with fiction writing. Romance seems to be what I’m good at. Now, the two lovers, man, and woman. The man, a young poet, constantly homeless and the woman, a painter. In the evening heat, meet and the woman runs, not able to embrace love and the man, insecure. Nothing special. You’ll have to read the book once it’s published. It’s where the poets live. Now, this is the current book I’m writing on. ‘When Love Steps Outside’. I got a few pages in this days writing. A knock on the door, it’s her, Sharron. The wife who owns this house.

I stopped typing. I whirled around on my old fashion chair. “Yes, Sharron.”

She peeks her head in. “Good, you’re not naked.” She closes the door behind her. “I’ve got a young lady here, she says her name is Anastasia. You know her?”

“No,” I answered, lighting a smoke and trying to recall the name. “Is she in a suit?” Hoping she is from the publishing house.

“She isn’t. But is dressed very posh. Like a royal.” I told Sharon to bring her in. but not to leave my room once she is here. “Maybe a girlfriend? Afterall you spend all your time reading and writing.” Sharron said as she left my room.

I dusted myself off and attempted to finish my smoke. It’s always obvious we miss.

Sharron knocked on the door and I stood up. “Come in.” My face turned blank. “You must be Anastasia? It’s nice to meet you.” I extended my hand to shale, instead, all I saw was a woman who is beyond the beauty of this world.

She wasn’t replying to the gesture. Looking back now, she seemed a touch scared. Not of me. “Are you the writer on French couple who stumbled upon the pope’s library?” An old book. Anastasia moves around another book with her hands, across her belly. Maybe she didn’t shake my hand on account of that.

“Yeah, it was my third fictional piece.” My shoulders shrug. I turned around and spoke. “I must admit, I’m not as scared as I thought I’ll be. When meeting such a devoted fan. I moved to Sydney almost a year ago. No one here knows who I am.” I begin to sign my autograph. “It’s flattering that you found me.”

I lift up my autograph. “I have read your work and I am not a fan.” She sits on the bed and I realize Sharron isn’t here. “That book, it sounds too familiar to me.”

“Well, I”m sure it’s been done before. Most things have in literature and film.” I sat too.

“I mean, like in my personal life.” She cut me off.

I breathed and lit another smoke. “Look, I am no genius. I’m sorry you like a boy who doesn’t know you exist or you fell in love with your man and learned he’s an *******. I don’t even own a cat. I just write about love. It’s fiction truth.” I took a puff from the cigarette stick and enjoyed heavily.

She shakes her. “No. it’s a combination of past and present, maybe some bad grammar. Your book. It tells the story of my parents.” She takes a photo out the book she walked in with. “Here.” I take a look, her mother is more beautiful than she is. “Do you know them?” I told her no. “I would like to come with me.”

How easy is it to judge things we do not understand? This isn’t a sermon or something to be pretentious about. Not do I wish to look down. Sinners are everywhere and most of them have been drenched over and have a public veil with saints and worse, praised about it. Where Anastasia took me. It’s where evil dwells.

I had sold my soul

I'm a hellspawn suffering, in a world of angels
Perfection and happiness, so never attainable
alienated from the ones I love,
turbulent but forever low.
Dying slowly and bathed in anguish,
emotions I'll never show.

Ballad of the Baphomet's first born, my seventeenth and final poem
soul is forever split down the middle but I always lean to evil, I don't know how or why.
guess that's what happens when you expose a tortured soul.
thought I'd find warmth in love, but you know how that goes

cuz tenacity and optimism, were seeds that were never sewn
I sound pessimistic but happy feelings I've outgrown
in my soul I feel a torrential void of darkness and repressed unshowns
and fire where the demons lurk,
it's no surprise I'm alone.  

cuz no one's a ******* artist, I'm a minority in my household
and in my country too.

always defeated, always retreating
no-one to run too, I have to face my demons
but I lost that fight, my entrails hang from the ceiling
gave them passage to my heart, through the ****** sequins
I smoke cuz I'm afraid of the thoughts i think when i don't sleep enough
like how I'm worthless and undervalued,
the true thoughts I optimistically decline.

I know you love me but I don't love myself
and that's the ******* problem, I got ******* problems
and no way to solve them
except a brain and solemns,
but they don't solve my problems.
Cuz it's in the silence,
that I hear the violence,
between my eyelids,
and that's why I don't sleep I cry.

i have four dimensions, soul, mind, body and spirit
but i'm down to three, cuz i sold my body to spirits
lost my mind, and now my spirit's gone too
nothing but a shell and his soul, is this what it's come to?

goodbye world, I'll miss you dearly
but I'm not right for you, you've shown that clearly
I can't even die in peace, cuz the silence speaks
it has my voice, it says
"Cry to me, I gave you darkness and I can take it back.
Give me your last dimension, and I can save you.
Your soul's already broken, might as well let me fix it
I'll give you the debts the world was owing you, and three sixes
and for future reference you can call me savior."
and I sat there, didn't have **** to say
but I did look him in his eyes
and I said *******; but ask me later.

6% alcohol content
In the bathroom binge drinking
Again Beer,
Cigarettes have always been a vice and
Bourbon Blitzkrieg!
My friend once ****** on a statue
of The ****** Mary but
Blood is not suitable for children cause
Macaulay Culkin scares the living ****
outta me and I
Desperately want another kiss
from that baphomet I met in Brooklyn
SHADABOOM!
“English *******, do you speak it?!”
Marsellus’s soul was in that briefcase but
He don’t look like a ***** praying to
birthday cake, Praise the Lard!
Whiskey tastes sweeter with honey and
another night down, another **** in my mouth
In case of flame(er), beat him.
Off with the good book because
GodisdeadandsoamI

The world's greased, watch your step or you might slip and fall off of it,
Serpent in the garden where you're walking, show cautiousness

And nothing really grows there in the shadow of the Pyramid,
Of our plutonomy,
But honestly,
from the top the image probably isn't that vivid

That we're rats in the labyrinth scolded for eating cheese,
That we're lepers on our island rebuked for our disease

Once a pigeon ascends with doves, all in the name of peace,
The thin air is too comfortable, to return him to the streets

Hypnotized by a box framed with Rose-Colored glass
While The Owl burns bright and The Baphomet laughs

the ontological basis, comparatively
with what the people think when too many
politicians exist due to centralisation
of government, with so many parliamentary
members paid a wage yet still so aloof
that they have no eagerness for local
governing of things: we all know the Orwellian
metaphor of pigs by the trough:
cabbage and porridge, we all know the joke...
but when the zeitgeist of the populace is
plagiarism and ******* you must surely
admire politicians... they feed the people
facts slowly, instead of feeding them
carbonate ***** of wheat to bloat the chickens'
stomachs, they feed them breadcrumbs...
politicians delay matters so much so that
conspiracy theories arise...
for indeed people are not so much critical
of politicians, but of the number that emerges...
esp. those not schooled in sophism,
but rather schooled in unnecessary observance...
there is more to observe on the streets outside
the palace of Westminster than there is within in...
the lawn Mohican on Churchill's statue
with a pink lipstick around his face
and Caduceus revised Baphomet on his walking
stick... how i prescribed myself headphones to
create an artificial cerebral buzz-maker
each time i hear the blood sizzling fizz...
without everything being too quick or too immediate,
politicians are delayers of things...
they want the schoolroom banter to take place,
they're the ones unafraid to make and poke fun at
each other, sophism is intended for that...
philosophy takes offence too easily, hence it's
dangerous, it's limited to public engagement
because it's intended for individualisation of circumstances:
whether you end up homeless on a street
or ordained a palace and a crown;
you can't describe philosophy in five minutes
in the same way that you can't limit politics into
the same confinement... zoologically speaking it's
necessary for a lion to be kept in a cage as long as he's
being kept in it as a glutton who frequently sleeps
because he's well fed and doesn't dream of lamb-shanks
but instead of  being Simba (a Disney character)...
politicians delay and provide dietary requirements
of what the public ought to know... they're
like dieticians, they give you a dietary scheme of things,
because so many of us are prescribed duties
it would be madness to suddenly tell you:
Martians visited us last December, we need to
throw away our workman's utensils and go and pray
to them for free food and unlimited electricity;
in this sense i can't disrespect politicians,
i just think that an excess of them in Parliament is
what's fuelling a public disgruntling...
but the thing is... the politicians that people are disgruntled
about are not those in the mainstream, they're
not from the centralised "celebrity" batch of politicians,
they from local governments, and their presence in
the centralised house of commons is really disgruntling
to the public in most respects...
either way, admiration for politicians slowing it down,
disrupting the sharing of facts so that we
can accept our functions without anarchistic boredom
being awoken like some Godzilla...
in terms of facts i want to be a Columbus,
on my own initiative... i don't want to be a ******* turkey...
wanting to be a turkey breeds conspiracy theories...
in a torture chamber you just here: 'but they fed me this!
but they fed me this!' 'and you were stupid enough
to mistake facts for propaganda? catch the surf, ******!'
wanting to be a Columbus means you don't care
to own a plasma television and a Ford Mustang.

Death affirms and is the term of life;
flesh and firmness, egg and *****, the means.
Breath interred within a Word and light,
deftly perched perpetually in-between:
born to discontinuous distraction,
borne through a contemptuous nadir;
     but in a moment, all's destroyed,
     and in the beauty of the void,
the helix and its hollow core appear.

Baphomet the emblem of Its power,
sacrament the reverence revealing
devilment to Wisdom yet to flower,
absent comprehension of Its meaning.
Pan personifies the All unbounded,
flouts the misconceptions of the seeing:
     Hermes the unmaskèd death,
     Aphrodite's basking cleft,
the androgyne transcends within its being.

O - not called "the little death" in jest,
Gnosis vaunted in the ebb of Lust,
though is Not, the know'r of Life and Death:
know that All It Is is what thou Wast,
Its continuity the end thou seekest
in contemplation, ***, and wist for death:
     Thanatos, eternal sleep,
     Eros, infinitely deep,
Generation poised to manifest.

glide the sharpened blade
of a sacrificial knife
up and down my wrists
then up to my throbbing throat

so similar this seems
remembering her fingers
glide across my skin
as we became like the Sabbatical goat

neither her nor I
were either inside or out side
we were as Baphomet
and we did float

brush strokes, of our blood
used to paint the figure we were becoming
something worthy of worship
as our nails dug into eachothers sides

Oh, I could feel her ferocity
trying to get inside of me
Oh, though she could only follow me
as I follow her-like the moon and the tides


her soft lip, whispered something to me
up against my warm throbbing neck
as her hips continued to sway like the seas
and she said something to me that put a shake in my knees,

"I love to feel your heart beating
deep within me, like a serpent's in me
now feel mine on your lips
can you feel us?
Can you feel
when our souls kiss?"

I had to hold on tighter to her
as she did to me
as we spiraled away
into certain bliss

our bodies were no more
nothing but ecstasy we became
boom, bloom, eyes like blackholes
and like nubulas, we came

and there we drifted
within what is us






I am not sure if she ever came back down
her presence now is like a winds gust



so I sit here
with this sacrificial knife

teasing my belief
in tangible life

finally, I get a smile from her
as she stands in front of the sun
an so innocently says,
"Ooh, that looks fun"

"It is,
it's better than pictures."

"Even a mirror?"

"Yes, even a mirror"


"How do you do it?"

"Just breathe, and remember."

"But, what if I bleed?"

"All the better, take a sip and remember."













"We were dead, weren't we?"

"Yes, my love, yes indeed."

An owl of fine repetition,
Coaxes me with ancient persuasion.
His allure of virtue, facile in nature,
Reaches the darkest corners of pure being.

The simple white noise masks my thoughts;
Screaming so loud
The euphoric sound cannot be fought.

The masses flow towards the falsity of ease,
But simple is a contradiction
And erudition blossoms from anomaly,
Which the white owl cannot see.

Imperceptible to those beguiled,
And deaf to the enthralling calls,
Seduction cannot overthrow me
And Temptation remains illusory.

I shy away from no fabricated Baphomet,
Facing desolation and veracity.
Exposing myself and my entity,    
My eyes cannot be shut.

Am I seduced by contumacious ignorance?

She was a crazy catholic lady
With a crucifix dangling from a chain round her neck
Cheap Jesus pieces in her earlobes and
On her fingers, twisted against her wrist
The symbol of Christ's suffering and death
Molded in less than precious metals
To show allegiance to the cause
To prove membership in the club

I told her I was an alien
From a planet I pointed to
(Which was actually a star but she didn't know any better)
I gave some obviously typical dry science fiction name to the orb from where I came
A red planet,heated year round by hell fire
And the coup de grace
The people from my planet worship Satan and God

She took most of what I had to relate in comparative stride
Until I got to the part about worshipping the debbil
Then she began to moan ang groan about second thoughts
But second thoughts weren't part of my plan

"It's lunch time ,guys. They've got liver and onion on the buffet and it's going to be delicious"

"But O Holy One. We are not carnivores. We are Here to feast on all the bugs that have made themselves comfortable.

O Holy One did yet another double take and saw me bending down seeking out insects.
What she didn't see was Neolithic alone In the grounds area planting gummy bears and gummi worms and other insect  like critters. Insects like you .

When the arbolic lady sits I the grounds shelter she can't help but spot some of those cray college pestle shoot firsrms inside their belly
Just looking for tha pillowcase. ( that's where it was)

Catholic lady stared into that uncanny stew I did, too, and all the aliens with perhaps we shouldn't have been so cocky at first we soo began to respect the wagonmaster

One last gesture for the catholic lady
She sat across the room obviously devising plans of what to do when we got home
Home sweet himi took a magic marker
And drew a huge upside down pentagram acroo the whole of my palms
They didn't look like tats that were inked for fun or for hell
Theft tats. Were reminders of to WHOM you belonged.

I opened my hand, turned around and waved. It at her, a beautifully drawn Baphomet head smack dad center of my so realistic it looked like it might slide off of my skin and back to the loving arms of Boris Karloff.

The gummi bears were delicious
It was hard to pretend I was chomping a nasty X Y or Z, which were made an entirely horrendous smelling concoction for their entry but had almost become disqualified when it was found that she harbored secret  ideas. She's willing to talk about them on the phone.

Now he's here 5:00: o'clock early making soft, simple subliminal suggestions lull in conversation and I don't think anyone is individually off the hook for this nonsensse.

Catholuc girl saw his pentagram palm and almost had heart attack as well,I don't want to di early of hreart disease so I  hope it's some good old marihuana that gets us thru this hellish lost weekend


He didn't want to go stay with his parents but he did anyway dragging corpses behind him and begging the "old boy" to show him again how the **** never goes down. He heel used, martyred, confused

Catholic girl told my whole routine to the doctor. He thought it mildly humorous but felt obligated to be with
Her, she sufferers and her mind really reeled...she thought I ate bugs for dinner, what else was I telling the truth about?    Casting Crowns couldn't stay for our encore. We didn't expect them to,

SET LIST
10- "Mama ToldMe Not to Come" Three Dog night
9.- "The Pusher" - Steppenwolfe
8. - Goodnitr, Wake  Up Stonef" - Blind Society
7. "Madonna and the pope, swinging from arope" - my brother's least favorite band name
6. "1/3 of the Beast" the Beales
5. - Let's make this a short one
4. Dive hound ***** fu ka someone's in the house... I'd daddy, but your gun durum I'm only five and I don't know what thr g be this -

My true feelings are obscured by pure bitter intellection.
My brain is the main heretic of my soul.
My thoughts… I know them well.
To each his own cognomen but yet I am confused.
Auto-Da-Fe…
But that won't work.

When I try to fathom I break.
And when I behold myself I shake.
No matter what I do, I will be held beneath the rest.
Because a sane person would help himself.
What's worse is that I know better but yet…
Perfidy…
I used to trust myself.

That’s why I write.
That’s why I write in a way that leaves all doubt behind.
Because that's how I clear my mind.
My condition hold's a banner that reads "Don’t Stop!"
But my conscience feels the need to make me be a better version of me.
So I will stop. Eventually…
Procrastination turns into never.

I am on my death bed now.
Toroidal chains erupt from thin air around me.
They tighten their grip around me in lento.
I hear a crescendo.
My sense of hearing finally decodes the glass that just fell from my hand.
I don’t see a grim reaper or Baphomet anywhere.
That gives me a little solace…
The end is near and once again, after all this time,
All I can think about is…
"What if?" ...

Is there anything purer
than the gaze of a dog, laying
across your lap or curled to
the motion of your legs?
Feeling their heart beat
on your calf, ‘protect me’
they say, ‘as, in turn, I protect thee’
They sigh. Warm breath on cold nights.
Amber eyes if shone
directly at them.
Growling at something in
The corner; a moth or Baphomet,
but whats the difference in their gaze?
Loyal to the touch,
Loving to the heart,
Linked to the soul
And then;
they depart.

Vanguarded by thrones,  

I am still  

into the wilderness.  

For the serpents,  

they thrive into the darkest souls.  

Dismantled,  

I wish for reigns to come.  

Without power to invade,  

I am no lord.  

(How I wish I were never in a dark descent.)  

For the disciples of the knight,  

they would never come.    

My blood rides the doom,  

Baphomet’s head is on the run  

as I drown myself into Thy scape of aether.  

I thrashed myself the **** down  

and then I ran onto Thy strongest fort  

as I wrote an eulogy about you  

whose life has been overtaken by eagles with decapitated heads.    

WE SCREAM / AS SERVANTS IN REVOLT; / WHO DO YOU THINK  WE ARE—————————    

0384-2 38948248-23 4893840  403853-839 SYSTEM EXPERIENCES MALFUNCTION    

93084 23049702    

I have always loved  

the world I built on my own  

for you used to live in it

as an apprentice of the serpents.

“Your eyes were the only witness to my ****** up past.”

Those were your

last words

And now where are you?

29834328293 842938482948 4898 SYSTEM IS GENERATING A NEW PROJECTION

BEHOLD

FOR THE WARLOCKS

AND THE HELLRAISERS

ARE OUT TO GET YOU

ON A LACERATING SNOWSTORM IN THE NIGHT OF THE YEAR 2002

38402903849208

I would wake up to blackgaze tunes and kvlt growls everyday and then mentally punch myself in the gut

and your reflection would appear on the mirror conveying that you’re relieved I’m now a pacifist without violence and guns.

A libertine at heart, I could never grow up the way anyone has ever wanted myself to be

that the world is also writing down elusive conundrums that scream at me as if they’re telling me to suffer louder.

And despite the fact that you said my songs were disastrous and blackened crust repulsed you,

it was always you on the front row on my gigs, screaming out loud that I was the only overlord you would sell your soul to.

****** and severely injured, I thought the night you died was my night

where I could finally stop being a servant of the discordant world

for I thought you took me along with you to the transcendental world of death.

Oy vey, what’s left is only the fact that we’re now worlds apart

and the recording of your shoegaze rendition of my last song that you have always described as disastrous.

My flesh is saying that; 1. Thy art is believing in the power of disbelief.

and 2. You dying as a servant has made me feel more enslaved than when I wasn’t on top of the world.

Winter Valkyrie, that’s what my last song’s called.

You loved it; you loved me; and that’s how Winter Valkyrie was born.

Once I was drowning in a belligerent dark despair and I asked you what my existence meant

and then you started singing your favorite part of He Is by Ghost;

“He is

he’s the shining and the light without whom I cannot see.

He is

insurrection, he is spite, he’s the force that made me be.”

Just, who am I?

Ever since that day I started calling you Winter Valkyrie

and together, we sought for roads to the altar where we would rule and destroy.

But now here I am only searching for roads to my own demise.

Remembering you, you have always said my songs were disastrous as a denial because you

thought that you didn’t deserve all the songs I dedicated to you.

Nevertheless, Winter Valkyrie,

here and now, my hands would not rest from creating distorted crusts from my guitar if you

just won’t wake up from your death.

I’m thirty, within myself, owning myself, to match my inner world with reality, you’re more middle age & still trying figure yourself out, a turn off, smack yourself now. To my Muse, I see dead people with talking heads. Forever youthful I am. Brought myself from the dead, it’s okay, I see & hear, like the butterflies, I bleed poetry & it’s amatuer now. Peeked inside your soul & feel my cripplying hands. Never be free, blinded within yourself, accept, life is over & not even forty. Word to William Blake, this is too easy & earth still has no Queen. Dynasty in the arts, forever lost humanity in repetitive behavior. In double mysticism I keep on display, you’re always in regret, avoiding to live, keep your heart close cause no-one cares. I’m writing these lines, your trapped in self-delusion. Never reaching platinum status. I’m packing secrets for blackmail, bending over backwards, even if you’re snapping your spine. If Baphomet wills it, your soul is dying now before death. I’m feeling no pressure, flinch, street wars, I’ll be snatching your necklace, pawning all your jewelry. Used, dried, let your thoughts be in riot within your mind, suffer now, burden to everyone you meet. Clutching your heart, everything you want depends on my will, time moves forward, perpetual stuck, hex to move back in each second you draw in a breathe. Mundane, cause there is nothing of substance behind closed doors, full of fashion to use as veiled, everyday person & common like the wind. That was a boy you’re willing to give a heart to, opening soul, where should of been a muse. A nightmare to white parents, being a house that allows for no swearing, a problem child in adulthood, talking back, zen you’ll never had. Your house is broken home & never sing for the moment, no one hears & if they do, it’s in hope to get into your pants, cause it’s too easy. I guess the world is a *******. Talking of hate, instead of being great. Never to rebirth. People turn on you, because you exist. The world is on the edge of your eyesight, never seen. Your full of **** too Jones, that was a ***** who hit you. Moments of recapturing fever isn’t life. Moment to moment, mood to mood, swinging thoughts isn't the pendulum. Hopeless. In truth there is always bitterness, harsh terrain, rough landscape, scars & teardrops. Deprived you’ll ever be. Dried between the legs, never to bear. A desolating story, best chances to sell yourself to a novel. No sad poetry. Weeping in the twilight, realization that people notice & never to lend a helping hand. Still unsigned, having a rough time, sitting the porch, busting random lines, let us commit to Baphomet, maybe a sacrifice can ease your distraught soul. Carnal ripening, can’t relax on this grind, I love my natural highs & I’m popping like Angels in the light of the sky. Guns hidden, in war I don’t waste time, I have rebirth under my comment, so I’m super-rich, it’s a preface to Holiness. You’ll be next to dead poets in the genre of the unknowns, it’s destiny, accept it now. Afixed to failure. Throwing this shade is all too easy. Hoping to finishing. Coming up, if you’re willing to write, you were respected, might win some smiles, or some frown, you’ll always be unsigned with no hype, just a *******. I let you slide for so long & all I feel now is nothing but hate, **** your value of any kind as person, Ray’s got a case of Ak’s, with no safety on & no acid for dutch courage to run up n your lawn with mad guns drawn. You missed your boat. Hermit in modern Australia, just a loner in self induced isolation, I never fold or holdback now, look at your track record, never to learn, just a slave to life’s allusions & depressed because the allusions are yours of tragic made hands labour. I can't believe I’ve stepped to your level to pull this & make it public. I ain’t going to eat, ain’t going to sleep or close my eyes to blink, until a heart combines with a soul, than to the mind & explode harder than a supernova rushing to a planet. Pollen death. Times up, close your eyes. I was too much for you, because you’re too little for me. I wouldn’t hold my breath, I’m not lying, I don’t even have to ask, I already know. An entire existence is beyond blasphemy & writing this is not even amateur, let personal demons smoke you like rolled ****. You’re just too old. A symphony for hell is your very cries. Who has the last laugh is the Outlaw Mystics, using your life as a toy for their experimentals. I’m a slave to my own will. You’re a slave to fantasy. This ends when flesh is being burnt on the cross.

https://www.amazon.com.au/Killing-Philosophy-Reflection-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07F9QVCW4/ref=sr13?ie=UTF8&qid=1538122712&sr=8-3&keywords=darcy+prince

christianity acknowledges its prime lesson
only when laws of the land are in place
and effectively disposed of,
easily done when the culprit in prison
lazing about, easily done there
like john paul ii, to forgive once in the zoological
jurisprudence enclosure, easily done there,
but outside?
my prime culprit who harmed
sat with me during english class shoulder to shoulder,
who chanced a poetic expression
at the end of secondary schooling,
who i played a happy birthday on the guitar:
who’s mother i could have adored as my own,
who i would have waited for hours on end
till our meeting...
but alas that wasn’t to be...
the prime suspect inflicted me with a fake mental disorder...
one i was trying to be rid of over these past eight years,
the woman who craved so much love she encountered
in the poker discard that she only could enclose the one
given by first stripping the man’s caution of the ******,
to later ingest anti-pregnancy pills,
ask the man to buy an engagement ring...
and then stop taking the contraceptive pills
in order to feed the lie of the pills’ placebo...
the friend of childhood, the lawyer decided to
outstretch and become a judge...
of not noble origin he now stands in his profession
outside the bird cage hearing law...
with his own encounter now solidly expressed
by dodging bullets that might hit him but never do...
so is my ode through?
nah... i have an insolent crowd to deal with...
the mockers and magpies
like it was a yacht i had in my hand or a diamond...
******* and fast cars are not the only worthy reward...
the last time i’ll trust a woman
it’ll be my mother speaking her epithaph with assured death...
then i’m through...
but i hope to drink myself to death... like a true writer would care
to mind a legacy...
i don’t mind... i have “morally superior” stoners
franchise on the smoky ****...
they resolved the matter by calling all alcoholics
the stella artois crew...
throw in some metabolic facts and you tend to forget
alcohol is a calorie intake...
the homosexuals couldn’t take it...
even the homosexuals broke down...
all the trans-gender fancies gave the homosexuals legality
and a step into sanity...
it’s odd, years of stigmatised homosexuality
gone within years... acceptance speeches,
heretosexuals siding with the arguments of homosexuality:
trans-gender is too much, even for us!
baphomet rose up in his chariot with **** that
could not be milked unless pouring of celluloid
and gave birth to minature barbies and kens...
but what really breaks my heart is the sheer anonymity
in the mechanics of democracy...
voting in democracy is like *******...
in the x-booth... and then the quick exchange of power
lasting five years... it seems no one is responsible anymore...
quickly implemented and as quickly signed off
without a legislation of worth signature...
i had this dream last night...
i was making love to this ****** girl (someone has to,
as burroughs said: you in for sloppy seconds
or the starter of chaotic emotion when acknowledging
a sexuality of the otherwise hermaphrodite teen mind?),
then i started to paint with blood soaked phallus on a wall
and then started urinating blood on the wall of emerging graffiti...
in the other room people were shouting: but she’s only a child!
but she’s only a child!
then a girl and a boy entered the room i was in...
and from their hands placed in my hand
four necklaces... ****** mary medallions
that placed, in my head, were heavier than expected.
in reality i tried to use my phallus as a scalpel on first attempt...
so why mutilate the girl if the ****** curtain can be cut?
such are the times that it has never felt more
ridiculous to allow women the freedom with the rich male hares
and the subsequent freedom of settling down
with some dumb schmuck ******* when the fun becomes tedious
and the biological clock echoes like the clock
in the croc's belly on peter pan island;
the last time i spotted a noble swan
i also spotted a drunk pigeon taking a **** on nelson’s head.

Throughout history
in a Diasporic condition
and through the pagan
goes
another Jew sacrificed to the flesh
the World
and the devil.

Not in hiding
but seeking
redemption;
the purge--
only comes
after death.

For the next generations renewal?
Woe unto those limits of human freedom.

Let those seeking salvation convert; or let God present a sacrifice completely consumed by fire: burnt offering.

While Jesus suffered still...
those elected to **** Christ; as Judas was also chosen.

Compelled to sin,
by obligation,
on the cross of the Baphomet.

Where flesh is offered
as sacrifice
to that lord satan,
guiding them,
to hell on earth.

While having you hope
for Rapture.
As the Jew takes the place of the Church and Christian.

I reach for the Cross
aiming for the heart of the vampire
and brain of the zombie -- pogromed of glory.

Have your way upon the World especially ******.

© S. Wesley Mcgranor

Blue paint for him
I think he'd be red when he reads this
Sulfer tightens the air
In a celebration for yakuza
hierophant dont **** my vibe
A brainless information shrouds us
baphomet wont **** my vibe
Except the darkness sometimes, they whisper....

i've found a way to exhaust the internet,
in a sense the term exhaustion
is evaluated as non-engagement,
or an engagement  that reveals nothing
but revokes everything; it's a strange utility
to possess an access to; it used to be so much
fun once, now a game of  switching channels
constantly like an angry smack addict
race-walking for the next fix aiming at a canoe
snorted - shove that up your ***
and you'll get bonus points in candy crush saga,
i **** you not. i know, weird, the slogan
WHEN THE INTERNET USED TO BE FUN -
you're talking to someone who experienced
the internet's playground / kindergarten...
it's too real now... it's too artificial limbs attaché,
i missed the dating apps being included,
i missed the point of virtual profiles,
first encounters, i want them to be like
mountain climbing, not like a psychiatric
evaluation testing a trampoline you can do
rodeo girl antics on without suing the organisers...
the ****?! the internet is still a viral infection
in terms of how to manage it - we know it's
a yellow-pages of some sort,
but why reveal all there is to you in profile,
when you hardly looked sideways to endeavour
the profile assertion of the face staged in photography
(i.e. sideways?);
the basic trades are slow to pick it up as necessary,
hence the stress on mandible limbs -
the puny evaluators are gagging on the enterprise,
it will make slim literate efforts of slogan
into FAT EXISTENTIAL RUSSIAN NOVELS -
2 hours pondering a tagline or quote
of an advert like pondering a trademark pondering
a Renaissance masterpiece painting... 'andy Andy
your 15 seconds is up! your competition
is the scientific goldfish myth of a 3 second attention span!
go!
     'andy Andy won't go... he's still
     faking originality on baking beans and canning them
     like sardines... Boston Mohawks they call them;
     it all ends up a ******* dress attire
     party anyway - what they're doing
     in Iraq at the moment is what western
     society is doing passively yet aggressively
     in the west... the psychosis of the crusaders
     with Baphomet... Hercules with **** and ****...
     not one sane Greek sculptor would
     mould such a faking of homosexuality
     as the ultimate depreciation of
     **** ut **** magnetism -
     or hetero ut **** magnetism -
     the desecrating of the past in Iraq
     is only subtle to what Unesco missed
     happening internally in the European
     soul... i fear the rubber-band stretching
     of retaliation hanging by Damocles' thread:
quart divergence (c, k, q, s);
you don't mind my opinion, mind the children
coming from such niches.

i went from being 77kg
to being 115kg,
add that to your Newtonian
concept of gravity via
jenny dinski;
comrade Kane rather
than citizen, and we just about
buried Stalin next to the
new age mummy of Lenin;
so hoorah ******* Ra: an iron eagle
to boot, pecking the hairs of
Jesus' rubric of the monkish crowns
of abbreviated hairlines, receding,
or if not receding then encapsulating
a chanced oasis; still the monks though;
and given the Templars... trouble,
either militant Islam revisionism
or Baphomet idolatry to counter
homosexuality.

This illness in my mind is terminal.
There is nothing that can cure it.
It speaks oh so nonsensical.
It’s to be honest, quite hysterical.

Well.
I shot myself in the end
Whilst lamenting in my bathtub.
The hysteria was just too much
For my shattered heart to handle.

The judge declared her​​ the winner.
I whimpered in defeat.
I didn’t even place.
Maybe I’m just not that unique

Or damaged enough for poetry.

The metallic taste of blood
As I drown in senseless grief​
Tells me I’m not good enough.
To get back on my feet.

Her flared trousers tell me.
She has a great sense of style!
My black eyeliner.
It tells others I’m a coward.
A lamb ready for slaughter.
No Baphomet or Muhammad

Just a lost girl.

Locked in a vault of failure.
Being served defeat.
Getting grimaces from the waiter.

It’s th-the illness.
It’s forming cracks in my bonce.
It’s preventing me from winning.
From ever being at the top.

Y’know what?
She may always win.
With her pale moon skin.
Her suction cup stomach.
Her body so thin.

But me?

Just another **** failure, aren't I?
Laying dead in a bathtub.

The Baphomet at
the bottom of the bottle
said he'd drown if I
didn't drink.
He said he'd drown me
if I tried to throw him out.

for scores of beings in existence in this lonesome hive as chemically comforted bees with many queens

for slaves who enslave the enslaved in the illusion of time perpetually counting down an esoteric clock of immortality

for dreamers still sleeping and sleepers counting sheep contently humming the sacrificial lullaby while ignoring the world at their feet

Listen to me!

for moloch and for baal and for lucifer and for horus and for baphomet and for satan they have you singing their heretical praises of christianity

controlled by the illuminations of an omnipotent flat screen TV force feeding you expired symbols all moldy with blasphemy

sexualized by the iridescent rainbows of the pedophilic Disney, ****** by Donald Duck in parental apathy

enraged by the deceit of the politically correct who suggest you obsess over unimportance and label obliviously

blamed when your grain burns at 180 degrees as a systematic shaming in the name of psychology

killing our expression by beheading creativity with an adderall laced guillotine

killing our knowledge by slitting the throat of wisdom with a callous false doctrine

killing our happiness by asphyxiating joy with a shopping bag all the while mocking

killing our legacies by ****** communities with the cold hard ***** of corporations

killing our togetherness by drowning human connection in the electrified oceans of a delusiinal social media

killing our faith by infecting our children with the spiritual disease of viral anti-christianity

Holy holy holy!

...the zombified mindset of this somnambulant society

Holy holy holy!

...the ever present sepearation from Love being free

Holy holy holy!

...the sleepwalking lemmings are cursed by their greed...