1
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

2
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with
perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the
distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and
vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing
of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and
dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of
the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields
and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising
from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the
earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of
all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in
books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

3
I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the
beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and
increase, always ***,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of
life.
To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well
entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery here we stand.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not
my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age,
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they
discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.

Welcome is every ***** and attribute of me, and of any man hearty
and clean,
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be
less familiar than the rest.

I am satisfied - I see, dance, laugh, sing;
As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the
night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy
tread,
Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with
their plenty,
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my
eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is
ahead?

4
Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and
city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old
and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss
or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news,
the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is *****, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

5
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to
you,
And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over
upon me,
And parted the shirt from my *****-bone, and plunged your tongue
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my
feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass
all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and
poke-****.

6
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see
and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the
vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the ******* of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out
of their mothers’ laps,
And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for
nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and
women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken
soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

7
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know
it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe, and
am not contain’d between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and
fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the
mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be
shaken away.

8
The little one sleeps in its cradle,
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies
with my hand.

The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,
I peeringly view them from the top.

The suicide sprawls on the ****** floor of the bedroom,
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol
has fallen.

The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of
the promenaders,
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the
clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-*****,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs,
The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the
hospital,
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his
passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in
fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and
give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls
restrain’d by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances,
rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the show or resonance of them-I come and I depart.

9
The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load,
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

10
Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-****’d game,
Falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my
side.

The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle
and scud,
My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from
the deck.

The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me,
I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.

I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west,
the bride was a red girl,
Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking,
they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets
hanging from their shoulders,
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his
luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride
by the hand,
She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks
descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her
feet.

The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside,
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile,
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and
weak,
And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him,
And brought water and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d
feet,
And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some
coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north,
I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean’d in the corner.

11
Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,
Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;
Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,
She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.

Which of the young men does she like the best?
Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth
bather,
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from their
long hair,
Little streams pass’d all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass’d over their bodies,
It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.

The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the
sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,
They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending
arch,
They do not think whom they ***** with spray.

12
The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife
at the stall in the market,
I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.

Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil,
Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in
the fire.

From the cinder-strew’d threshold I follow their movements,
The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms,
Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,
They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.

13
The ***** holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags
underneath on its tied-over chain,
The ***** that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and
tall he stands pois’d on one leg on the string-piece,
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over
his hip-band,
His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat
away from his forehead,
The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of
his polish’d and perfect limbs.

I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop
there,
I go with the team also.

In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as
forward sluing,
To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing,
Absorbing all to myself and for this song.

Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what
is that you express in your eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and
day-long ramble,
They rise together, they slowly circle around.

I believe in those wing’d purposes,
And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,
And consider green and violet and the tufted crown i

There was a village
Called Ludnica in maps
Quite old and vintage
The population reached 100 at max

It was known far and wide
For it's weird rules
Everyone had to abide
And dress like white ghouls

Half of them were blacksmiths
Working day and night
Others had to submit
And were to be polite

Every once in a while
Another black sheep would appear
Some even hostile
Not understanding why they were there

Then the blacksmiths' work would restart
They chipped away the metal chains
Reshaped the mind part by part
Untill the sickness didn't remain

"Where was this Ludnica?"
You might ask
But don't search for it
Because it will find you at last

AWAKENING

Sleep and slumber, dreams of wonder... weaving,
morning’s vacuum broke the spell
Pitted pillow, note of parting... leaving,
“from your friend, a fond farewell”
Sunrise throbbing, twilight aching... grieving,
daydreams, flashbacks, nightmares knell
Pale phantasms, visions sneaking... thieving,
plot to fill the empty shell

12 DELIRIA

1st Delirium: COLLAPSES

Fractured sky bolts, billows bursting... rumbling,
heavens tighten, turn the vise
Horsemen saddle shafts of lightning... tumbling,
jagged highways must suffice
Ruptured skyways, hailstones crackling... crumbling,
naked pearls of paradise
Toxic tongues of laughter stinging... stumbling,
ocean buckets choked with ice
Droplets drumming, thunder muzzled... mumbling,
washed out whispers pay the price
Smothered blazes, cinders smoking... humbling,
ashes shaped in sacrifice

2nd Delirium: DESCENTS

Asphalt alleys, ashen faces... frowning,
blowing bubbles, chewing gum
Drinking ale from tavern tankards... downing,
moonlit beads of painted ***
Stony stars and sea misshapen... drowning,
humble rivers’ rhythms hum
Apparitions aspirating... clowning,
diamonds dying , minstrels strum
Incandescent candles conquered... crowning,
vacant vapours, cold and numb

3rd Delirium: FATES

Tempest turmoil, tapered turrets... holding,
dungeons, dragons, chains and racks
Wheels of fortune, Tarot temptress... molding,
Hangmen, Towers, One Eyed Jacks
Sand dune castles, cryptic candles... folding,
warping walls of liquid wax
Idols colder, combed and coddled... scolding,
hide in fissures, peek through cracks

4th Delirium: LOST SOULS

Sunken cities, pilgrims peering... gawking,
squinting eyeballs, blazing sun
Janus facing, shepherds chasing... stalking,
friends embrace before they shun
Tearooms steaming, tumult teeming... talking,
lovers listen, poets pun
Broken stones unanchored, quaking... rocking,
slipping, falling, one by one
Beaten pathways, footsteps marking... mocking,
wedged in webs which spiders spun
Circus shelters, big tops tumbling... locking,
people pacing, soon they’re none
Numbered exits, zeros numbing... knocking,
midnight daylight’s days undone
Moon blood shackles, shivers shaming... shocking,
starlight striders streaking, stun
Hushed but harried hermits waiting... walking,
restless rainbows on the run
Pixies, elves, and echoes bouncing... balking,
fading fast when dawn’s begun
Bantum butterflies are flitting... flocking
sometimes conquered, overrun
Hocus pokus, seers focus... squawking,
voodoo wavered, witchcraft won

5th Delirium: INTROSPECTION

Sundown furnace, fires fading... coughing,
dusky dew drops drain the air
Empty chalice, sipped in silence... quaffing,
thirsting shadows unaware
Looking glass and lattice scorning... scoffing,
local loser gapes and stares
Faces covered, dancing naked... doffing,
peering inside, hope despairs

6th Delirium: THE VOID

Tales of taboos, mystic mythos... missing,
windows shuttered, bolted door
Kindled candles, tongues and anvils... hissing,
heavy hammers, echoes roar
Dark deceivers, raven charmers... kissing,
draging demons from the shore
Hopeless hollows filled with doubters... dissing
standing empty - nevermore

7th Delirium: SEARCHING

Martyred monks haunt runic ruins ... waiting,
banging broken bells below
Vaulted hallways, voided voices... grating,
churning Chinese chimes aglow
Granite graveyards, spectres spooking... skating,
blackened bushes, roses grow
****** dwarfs seek mutant migrants... mating,
packing parcels, ice and snow

8th Delirium: NIGHTTIME

Throbbing drumheads, fingers blazing... steaming,
coins of copper, beggars plea
Rusty residues of resin... streaming,
opal amber filigree
Orphan shades in shallow shadows... teeming,
steeping twigs in twilight tea
Cloister doorsteps, Prophets gaming... scheming,
tracing tracks of destiny
Blacksmiths blanching, horseshoes glowing... gleaming,
partially sheathed in black debris
Phantoms feigning, nightmares scathing... screaming,
dusty dreamers drifting free

9th Delerium: EMPTYNESS

Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum

10th Delirium: ALIENATION

Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why

11th Delirium: JETSAM

Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found

12th Delirium: RELIEF

Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony

REAWAKENING

Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores

Prince Simon, Prince Jason and Princess Sophie lived a regal life.

Slaying dragons and battling witches by day, monsters and beasts by night.

Each day brought adventures new, trips on boats and to the zoo.

One particular day when feeling bored, Prince Simon decided to explore.

Down to the basement, he slowly sneaked, quietly to take a peek.  New adventures he did seek.

A rickety old wardrobe he did find and suddenly an adventure sprang to mind.

Prince Simon shouted excitedly, "come quickly Prince Jason, Princess Sophie the Wardrobe holds an adventure new, one for me and why don't you join me too?"

The three children didn't hesitate into the Wardrobe they climbed, "where are we going today? do you know the way? Prince Jason chimed.

"The way is West" Prince Simon declared "to the Wild Wild West in the days that were best, in the morning I have a history test."

Quickly buckle up, hold tight, the wardrobe will soon be taking flight.

No sooner had they entered the wardrobe and buckled up, then the wardrobe began to rock and shake, the wardrobe began to lift and quake.

The rocket started rising higher and higher, faster and faster , picking up speed and going faster and faster.

Higher and higher, faster and faster they rose into the sky.

Higher and higher, faster and faster until they were 30,000 feet high and heading in the direction of the Wild Wild West.  
All three children were delighted, the rocket ship made them so excited.

Prince Jason and Princess Sophie said, " what do we need to wear on this adventure?"

Prince Simon said "cowboy hat, jeans, boots, and vest, that's all that's required for the wild wild west"

"mmm said Princess Sophie what about cowgirls or squaws that is what an Indian Girl is called"

"Well," said Prince Jason "their very similar, a cowhide dress, boots and Stetson hat for cowgirl, a cowhide dress, boots and feather headdress for the Squaw, let's look around and explore what the wardrobe has hidden for us all"

The children started looking and everything they required they did find Prince Simon and Prince Jason looked very fine as Cowboys with their hats, jeans, boots and vest they would fit right in, in the Wild Wild West.

Princess Sophie decided to dress as a Squaw and donned Cowhide dress, boots and feather headdress turned to her brothers to see if she passed the test.

"Perfect" Prince Simon and Prince Jason declared "come join us  now," they both said," it won't be long" Prince Simon stated "until we land back in time of the 1870's in Deadwood Gulch, USA, the Sheriff has a campaign to rid the county of its bad name "

Prince Jason and Princess Sophie were so excited they began to laugh and squeak, Princess Sophie did declare that "her knees were feeling weak"

10 minutes later the rocket had slowed down and was starting its' descent, Princess Sophie got so excited as she spied a teepee tent.

"Look" Princess Sophie shouted "a reservation down below, where Indians are settled and warm fires are all aglow"  

"Can we please stop and speak, I would like to ride a horse and a canoe, I have read stories and I know that's what they do, in the land of the Sioux!"

Slowly the rocket did descend, landing near the reservation, all three children opened the door, their eyes grew wider at what they saw.

5,000 Indians greeted the visitors with big smiles, and their leader, name of Crazy Horse asked them to join them for a while.
“Stay a while,” Crazy Horse said we’ll make some food, teach you to ride a horse ******* and a canoe, teach you the ways of the Sioux.

Princess Sophie replied, “we can’t wait” looking at the leader’s headdress Princess Sophie sighed “how come your headdress is as tall as it is wide?”

Crazy Horse smiled and sweetly said “I am a leader of these people and I do not hide; my headdress makes me stand out from others at my side”

Crazy Horse led the children to the teepee tent and signalled them to sit on the floor in front, cross-legged.

“We hunt daily for fish and meat, the food you are going to be given is precious and prepared with care, please do not wait, dig in, enjoy, there is enough to share”

Prince Simon, Prince Jason and Princess Sophie dived in enthusiastically, tasting everything, they could, from rice and beans, fish and meat, everything was so tasty and cooked in a *** hung over the wood.

“when you have finished “Crazy Horse declared we have horses ready for you to ride, don’t worry someone will walk with you at your side”

The children excitedly climbed upon their horses, Lakota for Prince Simon, Kamanchee for Prince Jason and Quil for Princess Sophie, they each clicked their heels and off the horses trot.

Just as Crazy Horse promised, each of the children had an Indian by their side, walking and talking about the best way to ride.

After an hour the children did decide that as much as they enjoyed it they had to end the ride.

Prince Simon said to Crazy Horse “thank you for your hospitality but we really must leave right now, we are meeting the Sheriff man of Deadwood Gulch” he said with a bow.

Crazy Horse bid them adieu and said, “say Hi to Wild Bill for me, last time I saw him he was wagon master”

The three children said their goodbyes and walked along the White River to their destination town, Deadwood Gulch.

Suddenly wooden huts appeared and horses pulling carriages, people and cargo shared the inside and Wells Fargo in writing on the outside.

Prince Simon, Prince Jason, and Princess Sophie looked around the town, found a sign that said Sheriff’s Office, rang the bell and entered.

Wild Bill Hickock with his long hair and Stetson hat, looked just as the children remembered from their history class.

“Hi,” said Wild Bill as he rose from his seat, stretched his hand out to greet the three children.

You must be Prince Simon, Prince Jason and Princess Sophie come to learn the ways of the Wild West before your history test.

“Yes” said Prince Simon, wildly shaking Wild Bills hand “we are delighted to meet you and lend a helping hand”

Wild Bill said, “follow me, I am about to take a walk, meet the local folk and welcome visitors to the town, would you like to tag along with me as I walk around?”

The three children agreed excitedly and followed behind, “First stop” said Wild Bill is the Post Office look for the Yellow sign”
“I see it,” said Princess Sophie as she ran across the street “let’s all go inside and meet the postmistress, make sure she’s got what she needs, if she requires any stationary we may have to place an order to arrive with speed”

“Next stop,” said Wild Bill “is the Blacksmiths down the road, if you are lucky he will show you how a horse is shoed”
The children watched quietly as the Blacksmith plied his trade, treating all of the horses to pairs of shoes fit for a parade.

“Last,” said Wild Bill “off to a rodeo we go, you will see cowboys riding their horses and using their lassoes and if your very lucky they will let you try it too”

Prince Simon, Prince Jason, and Princess Sophie were so excited they hardly said a word, watching the rodeo in silence, watching every move.
Finally, Wild Bill shouted from the side, “hands up who is keen to have a ride around the ranch? Try their hand with a lasso and maybe get some lunch.

The children’s hands shot up in the air and all three children gave a very loud cheer, Wild Bill laughed and replied, “Follow me and I will hook you up with three horses for a ride”

For the second time that day the children rode horses, this time in a circle around the corral, keeping time Wild Bill always by their side, they loved the ride.

Last but least Wild Bill put on a feast of a show with rope in his hand he threw the lasso over some cans set up on a fence, pulled the rope tight and without a second glance, felled the tins to the floor, the children let out an appreciative roar.

“That is the end of your day” Wild Bill did say “I am sorry to see you go but you must run along home, you’ve been gone a long time and your mummy will be worried”

The children shook Wild Bill's hand and thanked him for his time, sadly the day had ended and they climbed back in the wardrobe, set the destination to their home a million miles below.

As they approached their home, the roof started to open wide and the rocket began to slow, the ride was nearly over and they did not have far to go.

Very soon the wardrobe landed safely on the floor, the children were exhausted and ran to open the door, out they fell full of excitement and looking for their mummy, headed straight to the kitchen.

Mummy looked at all three children and declared “there you are, I was searching for Prince Simon as he has a history test in the morning on the Wild Wild West and I was going to help him revise for it.

The children laughed and cried, Princess Sophie, sighed, “no need mummy” they all declared “we know all about it, we’ve all been there”

Prince Simon said “Can we just have some tea and go straight to bed, I promise I have all the knowledge of the Wild Wild West clearly in my head, at least enough to pass the test.”

Of course said Mummy wash your hands, tea is ready.

once you've read enough, or what's
called a respectable "bank account"
in literary terms, you fall back
on poetry, journalism and book reviews...
which springs to mind
a comparison between being a violinist
in an opera, playing a concerto or
being a street vendor, busking out
alternatives to the satanic cartwheels
of rubber tires slicing up a defiant cement road
in a busy hub on the Embankment -
i still want to cry every time i
hear bob marley's redemption song
or the other bob's north country blues,
i don't know, it just happens like period
pains, it's a grudge brimming near
the boiling point of water or the melting point
of iron that's lucky for chefs and for blacksmiths...
i am picking up the pieces of an empire,
the british rubble and a world in chaotic chuckles...
as they said of the roman degeneracy...
that ****** fascination with cuisine...
too any fast-food outlets...
no, but indeed, when you've become satiated with
a personal taste for reading, you
end up reading book reviews...
but i don't understand why a dominic would
read a book by a luke concerning drugs and warfare,
as picked up: 'odin's men rushed forward without
armour, were as mad as dogs or wolves,
bit their shields, and were as strong as bears or
wild oxen...' citing Snorri Sturluson...
the missing clue? magic mushrooms.
also worth mentioning: the 1814 Swedish-Norwegian
war... magic mushrooms aplenty...
in 1945 Soviets in Hungary dubbed the 'rabid dogs'
(indeed no " " enclosure, i trust the man's
descriptive certainty, indeed they were rabid
and dogs and there's no ambiguity to be invoked)
swallowing fly agaric...
american pilots in Afghanistan caffeine+
i.e. amphetamines...
Homer's heroes drunk (why is it that when a poet
is company during a war it becomes iconic
and almost glorious to keep the blood-thirst up?
like that idiocy of warring in the Napoleonic times,
a line of men, walk among canon fire and
stand 20 metres apart and just shoot...
like the post-Napoleonic war strategy of killing
civilians, huh?)... as too the heavy drinking
with king Harold prior to 1066 Hastings...
through to Vietnam, 1971 -
51% of GIs smoked marijuana, 28% took hard
drugs (******) and 31% used psychedelics...
****** was high as ****... a Michael Jackson of his day...
the ****** Eudodal... the luftwaffe on Pervitin
(earliest patent for crystal ****) and too
the Panzer men, e.g. a Gerd Schmücle.
sober citation at the end of the review
quoting a soviet surgeon:
                        'women and wine
                         are all very fine,
                         but a real man needs more:
                         the sweet taste of war.'
sometimes i'm in that aspect of things, almost gladly
i'd take up a trunk of wood and bash about
the field - but i realised poetry is a great war
you fight solo, and there's no brotherhood idealism,
solo, solo, all the way through...
but this still doesn't explain why a boy would
read blue material, as above mentioned,
and a girl would read pink material...
a jessica reading sounds and sweet airs:
                                        the forgotten women of
              classical music...
gentrification in the making... why wouldn't a boy
read pink material? too much of a crane driver or
a lorry nomad in him, to simply sit down
and hear a diva with 'oh, what ****!'
citing the Duke of Mantua's envoy that was Barbara
Strozzi play the clarinet?
you know why i'm cynical about feminism?
it's too distracted, it wants to spread its influence into
every human endeavour, positively speaking
it's what woman always boast about:
feminism is multitasking... it has to be relevant in
every realm of thinking... first of all it should focus
on one, and stop this quasi-plagiarism it's doing
at the moment in every aspect of cognition -
i say, the founding mother, the matriarch of
******* is feminism - honey... can't **** all the time,
gotta forage and hunt and build houses too!

her mouth was sandpaper.

her mouth was sandpaper
and she spoke like
a smooth surface,
words scraped into fluidity
like a wooden sphere,
turned over behind teeth ‘til all friction
is lost.
she spoke like the walls of a birdhouse
in the room of a dead carpenter:
pretty unassembled things.

her mouth was sandpaper
and every kiss chafed,
rubbing raw my lips
and tongue
crafting with each touch
drawing blood like
juice from an apple,
like sap
from wood already cut from the tree.

her mouth was sandpaper
and she told me
i bite my lips,
rip at
the inside of my mouth,
cannibalize myself cell
by cell.
bone saws in her mouth.
the only difference between teeth of jaws
and saws
is mercy
(and she swallowed her mercy long ago).

her mouth was sandpaper
and she spoke like a carpenter’s hands:
rough palms,
tough pads,
a utilitarian artist
a crafter of dead flesh.
a mortician for dryads
and kodama.
the art and the artist
in lips
tongue
and teeth.

her mouth was sandpaper
and i brought mine to hers
again and again,
her bitten-rough lips
opening like doors to
purgatory.
less entrapment than addiction -
returning once more to nails and hammers,
hell’s blacksmiths below
heaven’s painters above.
coming back home
to the space between,
to bone saws
and a carpenter’s hands.

her mouth was sandpaper
and her voice was carpentry,
her teeth bone saws
her words
birdhouse walls.
her mouth was purgatory
but her hands
were hands.

her mouth was sandpaper.
i held her hand
and chafed my lips raw.

After sleeping a thousand years fell on my face greater light current Solar. I slept without smiling at the crowds buried and smearing my only bones.

The search of that hubbub, made me celebrate the porous bodies and spraying smooth falling on my fingers, delighting my humble tributes to the beetles that accompanied me to direct my view to the nearby burial vaults me. Some were swollen with a semblance of augury awakeness; like starting today, with the ominous words They moved from today, the paddling of my fleshless jaws.

Among gravestones of emerald flowers dinosauric, in clear blue autumn, some birds scrub on the edges of the carved stones. Meanwhile, mustards were riding on dry leaves carnations. The white-clad looked up Drestnia slab that closed their senses, remained behind bars with his hands crossed as evolving body To attend a new era of geography and different technology. On his chest he would run the living vertiginous wind up the corporeal hint in the light of Koumeterium Messolonghi; that housed over a thousand years ago, at Etréstles of Kalavrita.

This huge palace and flat, it is nothing more than an asylum, where the worst plague that began with the death of the sentinels of Lucifer, who dropped this place with its beautiful golden layers originated; whose satagénesis emerge the burning soil to ten fossilized cemeteries under the Messolonghi.

He walked slowly dragging my old body, the tenth floor, and that teenage girl's pointed stones would break my nails; as such if they were claws of a mammal trapped by lava from a volcano. In each advance, I awaken in my armor patriotic my last fight, and his tenderness observes how parents tilled by the conglomerate caste, fighting in underground elements.

Etréstles awakening ...:

Etréstles ...: Which of all columns erected is able to open all columns built in the pavilion of these moles without form or color ... just vitalizing lung diaphragm Eólico my daydreams, is who I think would ...?

To all who are runaways and trapped underground Messolonghi, I bring you good tidings ... Auriga with its blacksmiths come from the region of the Dodecanese to loosen the bars you father  Staktos lucid and my mother Vitabión well that in a thousand years, has been damaged her beautiful body. Since my birth in Ayia Lavra, I was being buried for the ninth time in the Ninth Fossilized Cemetery. Whose archpriest with holy oil trickled down my wall, pretending to be a dance of water generated at the bottom of the Ionian. Between the arches of the temple columns running down my mother Vitabión; an outward sacral vertebral bathe in the water of my past christenings. My past lives were providing mandated by the Auriga their previous lives. And your mother ... A day tried the weight of my recycle ... ?!

Beyond you., Comrades of wars, pilgrimages sacrosanct, lush gauzy baths civilization in the Olympic and equestrian fields.

To you. That you lie here, as is my death in my last life in the hands of a Spartan soldier. Pcs., Blood of my blood, I feel inside me speak your need ...

And in the ending Drestnia, which by its sixth rising from here from Messolonghi, between bars sealed thy grave situation for the Hellenic indeterminate.

I had to drink from the Pinosa resin to speak here, with my bony hands to touch the others are like yours ...

... Drestnia, my rib still preserved, I will be reborn placating the domain of collective wishful thinking, which prevents your freedom.

My rib you return to your present life, whose cold, flower seeds skeletonize the perimeter of your life ... Etréstles was with them into the Koumeterium Messolonghi, to about 1800 meters zenith direction.

They were to be the Necromessolonghi Council to define the minutes. -while music with winds adorned arrival-. Just at the moment, came the Auriga with its blacksmiths, they came to liberate Drestnia with its multi conscience. What happiness to Etréstles! He ran through the underground halls, to the oldest Koumeterium, the first fossilized. Where thousands of years ago, with many now-extinct species, Etréstles came to them the resoundingly good news.

While the Council inveighed promulgating the divine Sarmiento spray fields Dodecanese in producing seeds of Markos Botsaris.

Judge…: With my lameness, I have to advocate the reintegration of outstanding Markos Botsaris, that once we free them of the Turkish occupation!

Asurbanipal ...My Sirio reign, full of dynamism, placed on their doorposts the powerful image of South-west wind, in honor of his victorious from Kalidona.

Etréstles brought Drestnia just walking the Council and thousands of harmoniums undermined doubts Manor invoking the hero. They all stand, the Council at its octagonal table with his assistants left empty vine glasses to welcome, to the last surviving female first Koumeterium Messolonghi.

Harmoniums, as Apollonian rubies widen the dimensions of the caverns vaults. She sits and ends the music. Drestnia with some leaves on his shoulders adorned the new scene, which would sit by the new future.

Asurbanipal ...: To you gifts Oh, the universe, you are welcome to this Council, where one day they brought me to praise my contributions from the entrance of Humanity!

But the issue for today will await the arrival of Markos Botsaris as you who have reached this border, thanks to the generous Auriga.

Charioteer…: ***** wax Orion; Eternal fuel, donated them strength to my steeds pairs, that were raised over distant lands, to reach my blacksmiths desoldering the bars of Drestnia.

Blacksmith…: Our eyes closed every hundred kilometers, but Eurydice with your calendar, made the aphelion enclose us this feat.

Echoes ...: Dust ..., Myth ... Dream ... illusion ... have swirled galloping millennia, wearing gray storm...!

What dark words illuminate the hopes, just below, it is well known that there is much to do, because there is more activity on the surface ...!

Judge…: Etréstles, Drestnia ... past, present, or future will speak of you.

You Drestnia ... !, how long dream ..., defied your gothic vision, not move my neck to your neighbors, loved buried in the first Fossilized Koumeterium.

Vitabión ...: Messolonghi lives up to all cemeteries in the world, where they loved theirs near them. But they do not know life here is more dynamic than in the world of their own.

Menopausal women ...My husband cries on my slab because his infidelity caused me a bad venereal, which today has removed me from his life. The cries and cries for my ****** decline, all for being with another woman condemned me.

one curtain rises and leaves Funebrio; concelebrating priest all recent deaths ...

Funebrio ...: Woman when you cry my black clothes, cry black tears ...!

Your husband remains static, with no movement, despite many kilometers to their own devices. Forbidden habit becomes, how tempting. But rebellious Mother Nature pours us their punishment.

Staktos ...: Friends kisses you give yourself, Where have posted ideations ...?

Or yield to scatter everywhere the oscillations they meet other mouths.

Etréstles ...: Everyone I ask do well to prepare your labors. Even so, his desire to hold my naughty please heart in this hour by the arrival of Drestnia.

The judge asks to adjourn for the recess could then discuss strategies for future deaths.

Gravedigger ...Lord Judge at the stepped eastern sector has buried an architect. We could ask your cooperation to Botsaris monument.

Judge…: All in good time. It will be done, does anyone want something narrow ...? -Drestnia raised his hand and asked ...:

Drestnia ...: With Etréstles in the last minutes of our lives, which extortioner once is finished this monument, where our souls will be destined to remain here temporarily ... Messolonghi?

( extract from  Koumeterium Messolonghi, if any want a whole ebook to write joseluisctravel@gmail .com )

www.joseluiscarreniotroncoso.wordpress.com

The blacksmith

He sees what he wants and he approaches it
Strikes a deal with this item
And starts his work on it

'baby you are looking fat' he says, 'why don't you sign up at the nearest gym'
'baby, this make up is a bit much, why don't you cut down on it'
'baby, you should dress like this, I prefer mini skirts to long trousers'
'I don't think I like your friend, she makes me feel uncomfortable, stop talking to her'

He makes all this changes and more to his new item, looking now at the finished product, he detests the works of his own hands, but why, he created this, he made and shaped this item into his own liking, lo has he outgrown it?, like a little child, has he found a better thing to call toy?, like a blacksmith, he'd leave the works of his hands to attend to a new one....blacksmiths are not contented, they strive for perfection, the perfect sword, the perfect shield, the perfect girl.
Little do they know, to be perfect is to be contented.

Pray you don't come across a blacksmith :)

INDEX


                            Foreword

1  Despertación of Etréstles 13

2  Constitución New Government . 22

3  diabolic Intromisión 25

4  Kanti, the Corcel . 28

5  Ante the Council 30

6 Inauguración the Monument to Botsaris . 36

7  Losas abandoned 41

8  Satagénesis and Deidagénesis Four. Five

9   Enviados to Deidagénesis / Lepanto 52

10 Drestnia in Kalidona 56

11 Etréstles returns Lepanto 64

12 And the fourth cemetery 71

13 Top of the flight of Lucifer 79

14 In the crypt of the patriarchs 87

15 Etréstles part Valplacci 98

16 Etréstles fleet in the Ionian Sea 114

17 Near Messolonghi 120

18 A new era begins 123

19 Universal Era breaks 129

20 Goodbye Messolonghi 135

21 At the beginning of a new millennium. 141

Epilogue. 153








FOREWORD






Mi theme concept concerning Cemeteries, has been maintained for many years under a remarkable process falls recoup credibility. Unknown worlds which we do not know what to believe, are usually put into question.

Constantly let the silent fields where lie the dead, but it is not, rather that me thinks so. Undoubtedly, the Quantum Theory indicates a basic unit of the whole universe, showing that it is possible to decompose the world into small units of independent existence. This theory shows that the dynamics in the art is such that, solid objects are in constant motion entramando relations between different parts of a unified whole.

As we believe that matter is inherently sterile, we think the cemetery is in the same condition, and therefore inert bodies are also only turned into a pile of bones scattered.





7

8 Etréstles


My conception of the world of subterranean acting, aims to support the theory of Quantum, because at first glance it seems that under these moles cement there putrefaction and eternal solitude. Well, I, I do not think so, I think there is tremendous activity, above all tends to seek fulfillment in a world that concerns him, and also has the infinite grace of thanks from all lurking diseases that shake us. That is, each inhabitant of the subterranean acting as a Franciscan Noble receives worship existence, and not faints by the destructive effects of all known diseases.

Near the garden of heroes, they are the remains of those who died in this output. It was a legendary struggle for libertarian revolution of 1821 in Greece, exactly Messolonghi. Markos Botsaris's tomb and the statue of Lord Byron great Hellenophile found in this garden.

Once, I was looking for a book, and this was inevadiblemente of oriental trend. I used to remind my teacher, the monk talking Virajánanda Given the processes of time, yesterday, today and tomorrow; all at once were a pure unity. That physical death had to be spiritual satisfaction, so that the spirit can not disconnect your disposable body. Child saw my family to go to leave flowers garden home to their loved ones. But I am noticing that my grandparents were still alive, and then would leave, looking for ways to inhale the smell of the earth to prepare the farewell that someday would come from the dark beyond. It never was painful to see them

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 9


from, because I've always been with them. In addition always our body, which would be living in a merger with vague spirits, to vague minds that do not hold their interest in spirituality as a way of life, tend to make us climb through dark passages of ignorance.

Etréstles, the protagonist; It has place at a lineage that marks limits warriors of ancient Greece, since fought with neighboring nations. Thus, generation after generation, he meddles in successive reincarnations that are to be transported in time by different spaces.

Its Vitabión and Regma Mother, father and as Staktos and Esaedt, both from different eras. His monogamous romantic company is coyuntada with the presence of Drestnia; woman who had to pull out of her womb, better said from his rib, emulating the biblical account.

While it is noteworthy that the secondary characters are related to Greek mythology such as Eurydice, and real characters like Markos Botsaris, who was a great hero who drove the Turks. The famous Florentine sculptor and architect Lorenzo Ghiberti, is present in the action, so that his image is immortalized in an eternal cemetery. Similarly we should mention Asurbanipal king of Assyria (667-626 C), the Auriga; the coachman and truck driver where he had his Herreros over time to release the Hellenic descent.

Other memorable as Aristotle, Hesiod, Praxiteles, which are knowledge to every reader of Greek literature. The judge presiding over the classroom

10 E tr é stles


sesionaba time to time, trying to revive the rituals and reject the stubborn efforts of Lucifer, who was trying to have a place on earth, then God expelled him from heaven.

In the chapter of the onslaught of Lucifer, he is accompanied by his minions Heosphoros and Phosphoros; they are the ones who brought Lucifer from heaven to Messolonghi. In addition Mesopotamian demons appear hostile world, these were the Annunaki who were the jailers of the dead in hell. The Etimmu, were the ghosts of all those who had died unhappy. The Utukku lived in desolate places or cemeteries; they are all part of malignancy presence as oppressive form and manner of presence to the exuberance of good all-encompassing.

Kanti Botsaris steed, is nothing more than his superconsciousness, wearing it as a link between the different physical and oneiric dimensions. It should be noted that Kanti is a Cretan horse and belongs to the fallen in battle, as Botsaris.

Eulalia and Zultina, both courtesans who spent their lives together with Ghiberti and Botsaris.

And it could not ignore the Menopausal, puerperal and Enamorada, as they like female members suffer alone beyond the earthly life that had consequences that affect the desolate silence of death camps.

And to finish, arrival at Valplacci, where it meets a world and a rare man in an unknown dimension by Etréstles. subsequently arriving at Patmos, where St.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi eleven


John the Theologian, to regain some of its lost soul by the intrusion of Lucifer. Here manages to discover that there is no need to fight warriors who always talk about physical war, because many of them tend to succumb to the same battlefields. discovering, mind mentor as the best ally to overcome any difficulty, wherever it is that the human race is found, or infra-human.

Finally, Etréstles is discovered in a way that would open a new numeral cycle, to start a new era and a new physical space where the projection Messolonghi be situated; nothing less than Nineveh, Ashurbanipal land where the winds blow, as a priest in his exsufflation it does to remove the demons that inhabit the world.

The "Zero" is the initiator of a new era, from whose base the only means available to the new life that awaits the residents of escombroso Messolonghi, after the invasion of Lucifer appears.

My concept of the cemeteries, while seeking an answer to approximate I think now that enormous efforts are made to understand fully. Cemetery remains for me a scenario of hideousness and terror, seen from the observation point that everyone has it, however, I think that in a strange world where you're not supposed to govern ethics, aesthetics, law , and the professional, economic and social status; It is where more wealth is the multiestimulante vitality, "I think

12 E tr é stles


nowhere inhabited earthly souls, will be able to find more life here in the

Messolonghi cemetery ".


José Luis Carreño Troncoso San Antonio, 1997




1





Wake-up of Etréstles



Dfter sleeping a thousand years fell on my face greater light current Solar. I slept without smiling at the crowds inhumaron smearing me my only bones.

The search of that hubbub, made me celebrate the porous bodies and pelusientos arañosos falling on my fingers, delighting my humble tributes to the beetles that accompanied me to direct my view to the nearby burial vaults me. Some were swollen with a semblance augury despertativa; like starting today, with the ominous words They moved from today, the paddling of my fleshless jaws.

Among gravestones of Floreas esmeraldinas dinosauric, in a clear blue autumn, some birds refregaban on edges of the carved stones. Meanwhile, mustards was riding on dry leaves leaves clavelinas. The white-clad looked up Drestnia slab that closed their senses, remained behind bars with his hands crossed as evolving body


13

14 E tr é stles


to attend a new era of geography and different technology. On his chest he would run the living vertiginante wind up the corporeal hint in the light of Koumeterium Messolonghi; that housed over a thousand years ago, at Etréstles of Kalavrita.

This huge palace and flat, it is nothing more than an asylum, where the worst plague that began with the death of the sentinels of Lucifer, who dropped this place with its beautiful golden layers originated; whose satagénesis emerge the burning soil to ten fossilized cemeteries under the Messolonghi.

He walked slowly dragging my old body, the tenth floor, and that teenage girls pointed stones would break my nails; as such if they were claws of a mammal trapped by lava from a volcano. In each advance I awaken in my armor patriotic my last fight, and his enternecedor observe how parents tilled by the conglomerate caste, fighting in underground elements.

Etréstles awakening ...:

Etréstles ...: Which of all columns erected is able to open all columns built in the pavilion of these moles without form or color ... just vitalizing lung diaphragm Eólico my daydreams, is who I think would ...?

To all who are runaways and trapped underground Messolonghi, I bring you good tidings ... Auriga with its Herreros come from the region of the Dodecanese to loosen the bars you father

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi fifteen


Staktos lucid and my mother Vitabión well that in a thousand years, has been damaged her beautiful body. Since my birth in Ayia Lavra, I was being buried for the ninth time in the Ninth Fossilized Cemetery. Whose archpriest with holy oil trickled down my wall, pretending to be a dance of water generated at the bottom of the Ionian. Between the arches of the temple columns running down my mother Vitabión; outward sacravertebral bathe in the water of my past christenings. My past lives were providing mandated by the Auriga their previous lives. And your mother ... A day tried the weight of my recycle ... ?!

Beyond you., Comrades of wars, pilgrimages sacrosanct, lush gauzy baths civilization in the Olympic and equestrian fields.

To you. That you lie here, as is my death in my last life in the hands of a Spartan soldier. Pcs., Blood of my blood, I feel inside me speak your need ...

And in the postrería Drestnia, which by its sixth rising from here from Messolonghi, between bars sealed thy grave situation for the Hellenic indeterminar.

I had to drink from the Pinosa resin to speak here, with my bony hands to touch the others are like yours ...

... Drestnia, my rib still preserved, I will be reborn placating the domain of collective wishful thinking, which prevents your freedom.

My rib you return to your present life, whose cold, flower seeds esqueletizaron the perimeter of your life ...

16 E tr é stles


Etréstles was with them into the Koumeterium Messolonghi, to about 1800 meters zenith direction.

They were to be the Necromesolongui Council to define the minutes. -while music with winds adorned arrival-. Just at the moment, came the Auriga with its blacksmiths, they came to liberate Drestnia with its multiconciencia. What happiness to Etréstles! He ran through the underground halls, to the oldest Koumeterium, the first fossilized. Where thousands of years ago, with many now extinct species, Etréstles came to them resoundingly good news.

While the Council inveighed promulgating the divine sarmiento spray fields Dodecanese in producing seeds of Markos Botsaris.

Judge…: With my lameness, I have to advocate the reintegration of outstanding Markos Botsaris, that once we free them of the Turkish occupation!

Asurbanipal ...My Sirio reign, full of dynamism, placed on their doorposts the powerful image of South-west wind, in honor of his victorious from Kalidona.

Etréstles brought Drestnia just walking the Council and thousands of harmoniums undermined doubts Manor invoking the hero. They all stand, the Council at its octagonal table with his assistants left empty vine glasses to welcome, to the last surviving female first Koumeterium Messolonghi.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 17


Harmoniums, as Apollonian rubies widen the dimensions of the cavernales vaults. She sit and ends the music. Drestnia with some leaves on his shoulders, adorned the new escenáculo, which would sit by the new future.

Asurbanipal ...: To you gifts Oh, the universe, you are welcome to this Council, where one day they brought me to praise my contributions from the entrance of Humanity!

But the issue for today, will await the arrival of Markos Botsaris as you who have reached this border, thanks to the generous Auriga.

Charioteer…: ***** wax Orion; Eternal fuel, donated them strength to my steeds pairs, that were raised over distant lands, to reach my Herreros desoldering the bars of Drestnia.

Blacksmith…: Our eyes closed every hundred kilometers, but Eurydice with your calendar, made the aphelion arrimara us this feat.

Ecos ...: Dust ..., Mito ... Dream ... illusion ... have swirled galloping millennia, wearing gray Borrasca ...!

What dark words illuminate the hopes, just below, it is well known that there is much to do, because there is more activity on the surface ...!

Judge…: Etréstles, Drestnia ... past, present, or future will speak of you.

18 E tr é stles


You Drestnia ... !, how long dream ..., defied your gothic vision, not move my neck to your neighbors, loved ensepulcrados in the first Fossilized Koumeterium.

Vitabión ...: Messolonghi lives up to all cemeteries in the world, where they loved their near them. But they do not know life here is more dynamic than in the world of their own.

Menopausal women ...My husband cry on my slab, because his infidelity caused me a bad venereum, which today has removed me from his life. The cries and cries for me ****** decline, all for being with another woman condemned me.

one curtain rises and leaves Funebrio; concelebrating priest all recent deaths ...

Funebrio ...: Woman when you cry my black clothes, cry black tears ...!

Your husband remains static, no movement, despite many kilometers to their own devices. Forbidden habit becomes, how tempting. But contestataria Mother Nature pours us their punishment.

Staktos ...: Friends kisses you give yourself, Where have posted ideations ...?

O dais to scatter everywhere the osculaciones they meet other mouths.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 19


Etréstles ...: Everyone I ask do well to prepare your labors. Even so, his desire to hold my naughty pleas heart in this hour by the arrival of Drestnia.

The judge asks adjourn for the recess could then discuss strategies for future deaths.

Sepulcrero ...Lord Judge at the stepped eastern sector have buried an architect. We could ask your cooperation to Botsaris monument.

Judge…: All in good time. It will be done, does anyone want something narrow ...? -Drestnia raised his hand and asked ...:

Drestnia ...: With Etréstles in the last minutes of our lives, which extortioner once it is finished this monument, where our souls will be destined to remain here temporarily ... Messolonghi?

Judge…: General demented wars, take Etréstles the field of Lepanto, because there are stubborn souls who defy the vanquished souls ...

… and as for you, the benevolent Auriga take your soul colors of the sunset, to divide megatons of the Romantics, who along with Ghiberti, on some trunks of beautiful minerals, will anchor his best poems and hiperestésicas forward to outshine their suicides groups.

After the meeting, the attendees are removed, and Drestnia with Etréstles go to spring the celestial napa

twenty E tr é stles


with its golden glow waiting to sail to Tangier and Morocco. In their ships were concurrent, Etréstles woman carrying her ribcage navigation oriented towards the sound of the oars that were the femurs of a Diplodocus itself.

Drestni

I was fifteen when my father was knighted and we moved to an estate near the castle
I began working in the court as his squire. The months speed as I learn. I sharpen swords and shine boots; I listened to the servants stories of court gossip and political intrigue. My favorite though was the court magician who talked about lightning and planets. I knew each constellation in the night sky. I was sixteen and my father was killed. The older ones were afraid of me then. All the boys in the castle met in front of the blacksmiths forge after chores were finished. We fought each other sometimes one on one, other times in piles of bodies and limbs. Black eyes, split lips and broken knuckles were common. In fact a visiting duke once noticed out loud about all the servant boys having black eyes. They were badges of honor of course, worn with pride.
Sometimes we would sneak into the cellar and drink ale. I was a boy without a care in the world until I turned seventeen years of age. One night I escaped the castle with my bow to hunt. A storm came off of the sea, I had not noticed it rolling but it struck with fury. I was lost and soaking wet and the cold was setting in. Lightning flashed and I could no longer see the moon.
Something attacked me. I remember nothing of it except waking later leaned against the castle wall. No marks on my body. I became violent and detached. I shattered the jaw of a boy one afternoon. All the court laundry girls were watching us from the windows, and he cursed my father. I was blind with rage, and it was beautiful. I never felt so alive in my life. I could smell the sweat of the boy as I slammed a right hook into his jawline. I could smell the blood and it's sensual dripping warmth on my knuckles. It took every bit of strength not to lick it from my hand. I dreamed of it that night in my room. It's aroma melded with the memories already as clear as a painting in my mind. Each detail elongated and dramatized with a feral edge.
The dreams were haunting at first, but I soon relished them. I dream of the moon first always reflecting in the lake brimmed by ancient pines. Then I was chasing a deer or a rabbit through the brambles and down old paths that only beasts know. Then, the taste of warm blood in my mouth, the pulsing of lifeblood beneath my teeth.

In my dream I watch the phases of the moon cycling through the dark. Until, on the full moon. I was lying in my bed, hoping for the pleasure of the dreams again. I was warm all at once and colors began to brighten. Then it seemed as if daylight were pouring in through the window although surely it was the moon. I gazed at her. Until within me the locks began to break, and it seemed as if chains were falling from my being. Until blackness, so infinite and complete filled with the most terrible and beautiful visions I had ever experienced.
I could taste everything in the universe and I watched the wind blow through the pines from a tall rock rustling the needles into a symphony of movement and sound. Such beauty I have never known. Then a golden flash between the trees.
An old buck moved through the boughs. I tested his scent on the wind he smelled of earth and roots. Then I am chasing him.
Into a clearing he staggers as I toy with him. He breaths deeply, his sides heaving. I can see his hot breath as a cloud in the cold air. Then his cry, and the spray arterial. The taste of life.

I awaken leaned naked against a pine. Claw marks adorn the trunks of the great trees around me. Deep claw marks as if a bear...
I was terrified
I was alone

I work in the stables. I lock myself away and I feel guilt  for the pleasure of my dreams. As if they were tangible sins.
Then the kings daughter visited me and asked about the foal that was born earlier that morning. She was curt and spoke down to me. My chest was hot. I was nervous that I would insult her and be executed. We watched the newborn stand next to its mother. I thought she was watching me from the corner of her eye, but her next words proved me wrong."How dare you look at me, slave."
She returned the next day, and the next each day she seemed more angry than the last. She and her handmaid wanted horses readied for a ride. The king arrived and I dropped to my knees in fear. "You boy will protect these girls as they ride."
The hole in my chest fills with melted iron, as the young princess thanks her father with a kiss on the cheek. He leaves and my anger is complete. She will have me killed; ****** girls will probably ride directly down a hill and break a neck. Then who shall be blamed

They controlled the horses in a strangely feminine manner. Their sweet purring to the horses made them flick their ears. Their light touch turning the great beasts with ease. Such beauty I had never seen. Their delicate figures like full bloomed flowers and the hanging tassels of silk blow in the wind. Her scent...unmistakable.
She watches me.

The night before the full moon I was slipping into the beauty of the dreams. Sleep pulled me downward, and suddenly a small rap on the door.
I fully expected guards upon the other side. They somehow had found out I was the beast and Would cut my head from my shoulders.
My heart races as the door opens. A shadow slips inside as I crack the door. It pushes past me. The scent...
She stands in the moonlight of the window with dark eyes piercing. Thank the gods it was not a full moon.
I light a small lamp with shaking hands and she slides towards me, removing her dark cloak showing her nightdress. The curves of her body...not left up to the imagination against the silk.
My head swims, and the beast inside me growls deeply. She pushes herself against me, but my mind races to the headsman's axe, to the kings eyes.
I push her away and hand her her cloak. Telling her it was much too late for such foolishness.
I am a slave after all...

I could not sleep
but the dreams slipped in anyway
Like leaves in the wind they twist and float
Pulling me into their strange likeness
I am enthralled by the the scent of a nightdress
And the warmth of a body pressed against me
In moonlight I am bathed
My hands with blood soaked

She does not visit me at the stalls, and I do not see her face peaking at us from the tower window as we wrestle in the courtyard.
Inside me a strange ache at her absence. I drink ale that night and stumble to my room. The door I forget to lock, and the windows swung wide.
So cloudy
I could not stop
The feeling so pure
I could not banish it

She was found by her handmaiden in pieces around the bedroom. Her white night dress shredded and stained scarlet.
Twenty dead soldiers, each with their throats torn out or their heads smash in. As if some bear they whispered...
I was found naked out in the wheat fields covered in blood. They followed the trail straight to me.

*He stands before the king making his statement
Explaining how he was attacked by some beast
Only two months 'ore. He explains how he could not control.
The king shakes with rage. A black cover is brought to hide his face.
He goes quietly to the block and death. His body burned to ash

Crowns embellished
with ebony bewitching.
A sliver of gold
pierces the veil.
Stalemate defined
by velveteen seas.
Eyes of steel incandescent
under the blacksmiths hands.
The finest sapphires inlaid.
A woman in hand
the mightiest of weapons.
Snowy mountains nourished
the victory of Man.
Gravid in mysticism
keeper of seeds
bloomed the Kings strength.

My concept of the issue concerning Cemeteries has been maintained for many years under a remarkable process falls recoup credibility. Unknown worlds to which we do not know what to believe, are usually put into question.

Constantly let the silent fields were to lie the dead, but it is not, rather than me think so. Surely Quantum Theory indicates a basic unit of the whole universe, showing that it is possible to decompose the world into independently existing smallest units. This theory shows that the dynamic is in the matter in such a way that solid objects are constantly moving rasterizing relationships between different parts of a unified whole.
As we believe that matter is inherently sterile, we think the Cemetery is in the same condition, and therefore inert bodies are also just turned into a pile of bones scattered.
My conception of the world of subterranean acting aims to support the theory of Quantum, and at first glance, it seems that under these masses of cement no putrefaction and eternal solitude. Well, I do not think so, I think there is a tremendous activity, above all tends to seek fulfillment in a world of her competence, and also has the infinite grace of thanks from all lurking diseases that shake us. That is, each inhabitant of the subterranean acting receives as a Franciscan noblest worship existence, and not falter from the destructive effects of all known diseases.
Near the garden of heroes, they are the remains of those who died in this output. It was a legendary struggle for the libertarian revolution of 1821 in Greece, Messolonghi exact-mind. Markos Botsaris tomb and the statue of Lord Byron great Hellenophile found in this garden.


Once, I was looking for a book, and this trend was unavoidable East. I used to remind my teacher, the monk talking Virajánanda Given the processes of time, yesterday, today, and tomorrow; all at once was a pure unity. That physical death had to be spiritual satisfaction so that the spirit can not disconnect your disposable body. As a child, I saw my family go to leave my garden flowers home to their loved ones. But noticing that my grandparents were still alive, and then would leave, looking for ways to inhale the smell of the earth to prepare for the farewell, that someday would come from the dark beyond. It never was painful to see them go because I've always been with them. Besides always our body, which would be living in a merger with spirits vague, vague minds to not blame his interest in spirituality as a way of life, often making us climb through dark passages of ignorance.


Etréstles, the protagonist; It is staged one lineage that marks limits warriors of ancient Greece, since fighting with neighboring nations. Thus, generation after generation, he meddles in successive reincarnations that are to be transported in time to different spaces.  Its Vitabión and Regma Mother, father, and as Staktos and Esaedt, both from different eras. His company monogamous sentimental is linked by the presence of Drestnia; the woman he had to get out of her womb, better said from his rib, emulating the biblical account.

While it is noteworthy that the secondary characters are related to Greek mythology such as Eurydice, and real characters as Botsaris Markos, who was a great hero who drove the Turks. The famous Florentine sculptor and architect Lorenzo Ghiberti, is present in the action so that its image is immortalized in the eternal cemetery. Equally noteworthy is Ashurbanipal, king of Assyria (667-626 BC), the Auriga; Coachman, and the truck driver where he had his blacksmiths over time to release the Greek descent.


Other memorable as Aristotle and Hesiod Praxitle, which are knowledge to every reader of Greek literature. The judge presiding over the classroom in session from time to time, trying to relive the rituals and reject severe efforts of Lucifer, trying to have a place on earth, then God expelled him from heaven.

In the chapter of the onslaught of Lucifer, is he accompanied by his minions and Phosphoros Heosphoros; they are the ones who brought Lucifer from heaven to Messolonghi. Also appear hostile Mesopotamian demons of the world, were the Annunaki who were the guards of the dead in hell. The Etimmu were the ghosts of all those who had died unhappy. The Utukku lived in desolate places or cemeteries; they are all part of the presence in the malignancy as oppressive manner and form of presence to the exuberance of good all-encompassing.

Kanti Botsaris steed is not above his super consciousness, which leads as a link between different dimensions physical and dreamlike. It notes that Kanti is a Cretan horse and belongs to the fallen in battle, as Botsaris.

Eulalia and Zultina, both courtesans who spent their lives with Ghiberti and Botsaris.
And it could not ignore the Menopause, puerperal, and Inamorada, since they and female members alone your friend beyond earthly life that had consequences that affect the desolate silence of death camps.
And to top it, the arrival in Valplacci was with a world and an unusual man, a dimension Etréstles unknown. Then arriving at Patmos, where St. John the Theologian, to regain some of its lost soul by the intrusion of Lucifer. This achieves discover is not necessary to combat warriors who always speak of physical war, because many of them tend to succumb to the same battlefield. Discovering, so the mentoring Mind is the best ally to overcome any difficulty, wherever it is that the human race you are, or infrahuman.


Finally, Etréstles is discovered in a way that would inaugurate a new paragraph cycle to initiate a new era and a new physical space where the projection of Messolonghi would stand; nothing less than Nineveh, Ashurbanipal land where the winds blow, as a priest in his insufflation do to remove the demons that inhabit the world.
The "Zero" is the initiator of a new era, the basis of the only means available to the new life that awaits ruinous residents Messolonghi, after the invasion of Lucifer appears.

My concept of Cemeteries, they are seeking long an answer that I think I can approximate now that huge efforts are made to understand fully. The cemetery remains for me a scenario of hideousness and terror, seen from the observation point we all have of it, however, I think that in a strange world where you're not supposed to govern ethics, aesthetics, law, and the professional economic and social status; It is where more wealth is the multi stimulant vitality, "I think in any place inhabited earthly souls, will be able to find more life here in the cemetery of Messolonghi".


José Luis Carreño Troncoso.
Copyright all rights reserved

T'was the gleaming dawn that those fairies poked from the veils of flowers and caught on hair were the pedals of the healthy sun. When the age was young and time knew not of itself, the hills were not corrupt.
   The wings of faeryflies and butterflies were tarnished not, but were glode upon by the winds of aimless grace; Thus they were always at Heaven's feet. Racing upon the glorified mountains were the badgers and bears lined in unison, smiling and perfect. The sun bound its rays to the shoulders of grass hills like eyes of Gods upon their children. Stood ***** were housing trees of the nested kind, fertile and lush.
   Lazy and idle slumped man happy and lethargic, hypnotized by that herbal glory that was his natural home. That of a kind that had been stolen in past tales but was revived in that timeless moment that could be lived and lived again alone in the forest to the east. Winged reptiles fluffed with fur dove from penetrating limbs and sung to the distance in inspiration. Perked were the ears of the majestic and gorgeous felines, born of the deserts that were the companions of kings. Not caring to hunt, lapped the wolves and dogs laying with the enemies of ages gone. Now only peace was reigning.
   Books and poems spoke of nothing new for the moment had found itself in heaven. The poets had no magic to convey and the authors nothing to tell, the scientists nothing to document. Thus the dreams of Children and Gods poured like water of the loveliest kind, sparkling with diamonds quenching the soul of the population. Food grew lush and free like fruits of divine knowledge upon that giving tree!
   Ritual and rite spoke of many diverse Deities and contact was non-denominational. Praise rose to the highest and rang of the clouds which were glided upon like notes of bards to which realms beyond one could go no further to speak! This was the realm from which language was born and art was bare in its true identity. This was where the onyx was carven by the Lord's anvil, given by the spirit of blacksmiths, and craftsmen of the like. Within those onyxes was night's essence and dwelling within the diamonds of day was a rainbow of fantasy hills free from decay!
   Giants gave free rides to the ones below with lifted songs of magic, levitating them free from natural bounds! The trees grew miraculously at speeds unknown to time lines perceived but was of time construed as God Speed. Bushes bared fruits of rainbow colors and iridescent visual illusion! Beautiful and bold were the tastes that quenched the deepest of yearnings. Salt liquid would drip from the children as they skipped from haven to haven with baskets woven on crafty mothers said to know of love. Those mothers would lullaby their babies to worlds of sorts known in mythologies of ageless civilizations! Lifted and beaming the children were transformed to angelic entities with harps of berceuses. Emanating were visual paradises transcendent of worldly nature but only known to the angels and the ears that were graced by glory!
   Proud were the further generations of what had been laid out by their tall, masculine birth fathers. Unholy language was unknown but only the ecstasy of heaven poured from lips like nectarous liquor.
   The forests were lined with prairies of diverse flowers sprinkled and gazed upon by moons and suns of worlds magical and beyond! Stumbling, the mossy giants wore clothes of Pan and draped were their leaves over their limbs reaching for love and what may lay beyond those wreathes.
   The soaked floor of druid woods were vibrant and lively. Untrodden paths bore magical potions and herbs that once ingested sung through the guest's frame till ecstasy was found and language no longer made distinct the inevitable unison that those vibrations of time had strung through countless, and meaningless ages. Entered would be a realm beyond form, void and the concept of either. But only would love and the moment of now float like stars of unfathomable material buoyant in the womb of worlds. And sprung from what would be perceived as void came all the heavens and what lay beneath those shaman's and kahuna's ingrown feet.
   Embedded were the children of time, one with nature and naked in themselves and free to breathe what ever purified and holy air that cuddled their outlines like a mother does her child.
   Spoke from ten thousand horns were the tales of Lords and Gods and kingdoms that laid harmonious upon mother earth. No matter how the bard of the local bar was spoken, crazy he would be deemed by men who now hid this knowledge from those who knew not of the possibility. In all languages that soul would speak to all ears ignorant to difference but had love for only the song. And now still the gift of imagination and the boundless feats that it could manifest were passed along like feathers and leaves upon the passing river. Sought and caught were the treasures of language to those who knew of translation. And lullabied were those Gods and Angels who heard of the transmissions.
   But now only the drunken bard lay sloppy and tired beneath that tree that somehow taught him of nature and the wisdom that it held. And off into the distance sprang the vibration of his passing mumblings like songs of nonsense upon that aimless wind.

His courtiers all, were blind,
though their eyes seemed
quiet normal, full of glint

ay, there is the rub,

On his proud countenance,
the king plastered for ever
an expression of thoughtfulness
a make believe, a clever construct,
Wasn't it the curse of the lineage?

"May the powerful suffer
the constant fear of fall,
unless courageous to fulfill
the karma truly assigned
without fear or favor"

Every successive king
would ritualistically burn,
his copy of leather bound parchment
written this in lilting Latin verse.

"*******,what would
the evil genius of the universe
would think of me, am I
just a pusillanimous *****?
the thirst for war runs in my veins!"

Sneering he lets out a war cry
perfectly pitched and phrased
in the tradition of heroes of yore!

It sounds odd even to himself
"No escape from the rut" he murmurs

Everybody pretend not to see
the big ***** in his armor.
who would take arms against
the kingdom's sea of troubles?

The king was in fact a lonely being
fear alone kept him company,
in person of the lord, his man Friday
in an armor that made him seem fearless!

Dame fear was his true consort
the queen only a substitute, wearing crown,
she was truly appreciated
only when she acted as his tranquilizer,
helping his worries galore go to sleep,
employing complex strategies.

Her favorite one for the final lap
was a lullaby that goes thus,
"Uneasy lies the head
that wears a  crown"
in his nightmares regular,
mighty empires crumbled.

So he did the best he can
not anything for love to spread
but to consolidate destructive instinct;
he invented weapons,
went on upgrading it
day in and day out to freeze fear
blacksmiths, knights,
horsemen, cannons, guns
his fear took many forms
and he used them to feel powerful
while trembling with fear.

the punchline sounds like this (according to English psychiatrists), you think i'm mentally ill, schizophrenic more or less, just because my mother is a housewife and my father is a roofer, and i somehow found interest in reading Kierkegård? better ask my grandfather and look at his library and why he bought me the full collection of philosophy books... oh wait... you can't since you're about to leave the European Union... better luck next time; before judging the cover of the book... good luck finding that needle (ego) in a haystack (man is born as many men, under many influences, but dies a singleton, atomic). mother... *******!

they treated me like i had some repressed
post-colonial desires or ambitions to
prance around in my colonial leather boots,
they treated it like global fascism,
i just learnt the ******* language, spoke it
like i spoke it, disguised the accents of my
parents, and still they persisted to treat me
like some red coat, repressing former
glory of the empire... guilty as charged,
frau doktor... if i came here aged 2 i'd struggle
with having a different complex, unable
to relate to my parents with their accents,
i can speak: english in disguise of slavic ethnicity,
i can speak english with slavic ethnicity,
i can speak polish without any regional accent,
i can speak polish like a peasant for jokes -
honestly, if Marx or Engels were alive today
they'd see England as yet another opportunity
to think of something that's ****** up,
and it is... the empowered feminism movement,
coupled with the expulsion of the Jews
and the arrival of Islam... it's a perfect breeding
cauldron for something truly staggering...
eh? you hear that? it's coming from afar...
like an echo rumbling in a stomach...
Mo    tsar             Mo tsar         Mo tsar... tee..........
**** me if another Mozart comes around the bend
(dot dot to prolong the echo, fading),
it wont happen given that, well, ha ha, a section
of Islam prohibits music... yep, under the Wahhabi
act we can't have any music... we can have, as an
alternative the music of blacksmiths hammering, drills,
horse farts, cat burps, and two cavemen figuring out
a camp-side with two flints struck against each other
with some hay... BURN THE SCORES!
BURN THE BOOKS! *the kombucha mushroom people,
sitting around all day, who can believe you?!
- i sit, in my desolate room, no lights?! no music?!
maybe you should just speak
the Adhan in spaghetti mumbles rather than
sing it then? eh? but listen,
i've learned the language not expecting to have to
deal with all that historical baggage that came with it,
but i was treated like some repressed post-colonial
*******... never mind... let it all burn.

Yeah , traveling i think is one of the most soul opening , mind fathoming blacksmiths workshop to turn that ore into filigree framework still.
I learnt the art of traveling whilst sitting still this year,
i would say since around june last year - winter forced me into hibernation and several 4 hour meditations forgetting times limitations - but i left to travel in may and since then well , let's just say we've had considerable renovations..

Chapter IV
Gordian knot

Greek legend according to which the inhabitants of Phrygia, Anatolian region, in the current one needed to choose a king, so they consulted the oracle. The latter replied that the new sovereign would be the one who entered through the Eastern Gate, accompanied by a crow perched on his chariot. The one who fulfilled the conditions was Gordias, a farmer who had his cart and oxen for all his wealth. When he was elected monarch, he founded the city of Gordio and, in gratitude, offered the temple of Zeus his chariot, tying the spear and yoke with a knot whose ends were hidden inside, so complicated that no one could untie it. According to what was said then, whoever succeeded would conquer the East.
Alexander the Great, supported by Vernarth and a hand impregnated with globules from Eritrea, was on his way to conquer the Persian Empire, already united with both Bi steeds, Fire Hoof and Ox Head, in 333 BC. C. After crossing the Hellespont he transgressed the Sudpichi Stream like a weightless cloak of a Machi Begging to the Cosmos for Negechen for the rickety Rehue, prophesying to him on his hands dismembered of bravery, great assistance of 300 years of Nge -Nge Mapus souls in his furious nose that propelled him with anger; and which untied the Champollion knot with some sphinx uncovering Pandora's allegories from the Valleys of the Kings. Then he conquered Phrygia, where they faced the challenge of untying the diocesan knot. He solved the problem by cutting it with his sword, cutting his head between the eyes, one for each side ..., the South one was from Vernarth with his beautiful eyes saying "I always see light when I wake up and dawn at night to rub the back of my Alikanto always riding with Him in Lid Universal Patriotics”.  According to Curcio Rufo's narration:   "It is the same to cut it as to untie it." That night there was a storm of unburied lightning that symbolized, according to Alejandro, that Zeus and Joshua´s stone were with him Espanta cuculí, genuflecting his knee towards such a Period in his analogy, that he would go through the shadowy time zone of Time and his eroded geo intelligence Both exhorting the oracles appeared before the stormy voices saying: "We agree on the agreements with the solution and its knot avoiding more knots by the hands of empires without a solution."

It alludes to this knot, made of mane's manes killed in battle and sleeping maiden's hair for the hope of widowhood beyond Eden: "both meditates cutting and loosing." That is, it does not matter how it is done, the important thing is that it is achieved. Millions of arrows actually fall from their badly vibrated bows, before this motto that appeared on the arrows, with a single rope cut around it.

Currently the expression Gordian knot refers to a difficulty that cannot be solved, an obstacle that is difficult to overcome or a difficult solution or outcome, especially when this situation only supports creative or own solutions of lateral thinking. "To cut the Gordian knot" means to solve a problem sharply and unceremoniously; that is to say, that discovering the essence of the problem, we will be able to reveal all its implications.

Top Ten Oases:
Just half a day after arriving in Gaugamela, Etrestles from Kalavrita, who came from Messolonghi, joined them; He came with his Kanti Black Steed "Rain of Perennial Fog". They came from Crete where the ultra cosmic powers were transmuted through their noses. That is why Kanti, as he approached the pair Vernarth and Alexander the Great flew leaping and shooting blue fire down his foamy muzzle. His ears sparkled like a Laziko dance of the Mediterranean Dodecanese of the proto Sirtakis of the north wing of whispered compasses. Holy kisses and hugs are halted and uttered, and the Macedonian Saints bowed to Lord Etretles.

Etrestles says:
I come from Messolonghi; of the eighth cemetery and of the eighth day. I get stuck the Dionysian aroma of his intentions when untying the Gordian knot. I was welcomed by the Charioteer in his armored car, after sleeping a thousand years I was reborn next to my face of the current of the greater solar star. The search for that shouting made me celebrate the search for that shouting of you. The similiar hairy body that fell contracted on my wonderful fingers, delighting my humble tributes to the beetles that accompanied me to direct my sight to the sepulchral vaults near their bodie Incorrupt.
Which of all the columns erected is capable of opening all the columns built in the pavilion of these moles without shapes or caves of colors ..., only the vitalizing Aeolian pulmonary diaphragm of my reverie, is who I think would ... To all of us who are trapped in holy Hellenic soils, I bring you good news: Auriga supports me with her Blacksmiths from the twelve rivers of the Dodecanese, to loosen the barriers of You, Beloved Brother Vernarth, and of you, my Lord Alexander the Great. .  Our father Staktos and our mother Vitabión that her lineage and beautiful face have not been corrupted in a thousand years.   Since our ninth baptism in Ayia Lavra, where she saw me be buried for the ninth time. Whose archpriest with his holy oils made him slide down our partition, pretending to be a dance of blessed water for this task in Gaugamela. To all of you. Blood of my blood, I feel your sacred vertebral need speak from within!

Auriga says: Orion's *****; everlasting fuel, will give strength to their steeds, to rise above the great contest, to brandish my undulating Xiph swords, to unsolder the bars of their oppressed souls before spilling the blessed blood of a Hellenic Soldier as sweet syrup for the dying delirium of those who will see the boom of the fireflies decay, baptisms about past lives, deaths about future lives.

Etrestles says: My ****** Vernarth, by the underground caste conglomerate you will wake up! To you. Like me, one day I lay as I was to my crude death in my last life at the hands of a Spartan Soldier. You blood of my blood released my bars to determine my Hellenic situation!

As this happened, I put in an odalisque and blew a similiar flow of ***** into my ear from the numb Vernarth. The waves and waves of paradise caused amazement at the coming duel. Before the enemy more than 250 thousand infantry and cavalry, faked tanks, archers, Greek hoplites, Peltasts, elephants and sophisticated weapons of war. Beyond mercenaries of death sowing the last words of ardor in their hands of faith of triumph, before the Macedonian militants too inferior  to the hordes of Darius in account only of 47 thousand militiamen of Alexander the Great.

under edition, to be continued

Koumeterium  Messolonghi  - CHAPTER I

After sleeping for a thousand years the current of the major solar star fell on my face. I slept, not smiling at the crowds that buried me smearing my only bones. The search for that shouting made me celebrate the porous and fuzzy bodies that fell on my scratchy fingers, delighting my humble tributes to the beetles that accompanied me to direct my gaze to the sepulchral vaults near me. Some were filled with an augural awakening semblance; like the one that begins today, with the ominous words that moved from today, to the beat of my gaunt jaws. Among tombstones of dinosaur floral emeralds, in an autumn blue glade, birds were rubbing themselves on the edges of the sculpted stones. Meanwhile, I felt the mustard leaves riding on the dried carnation leaves. She looked at them dressed in white, even the slab of Drestnia, which closed her senses, remained behind bars with her hands crossed, as if evolving with her body to attend a new Era of geography and different technology. In her chest the living vertiginous wind would run, until the corporeal appearance in the light of the Koumeterium of Mesolongui; that hosted more than a thousand years ago, Etrestles de Kalavrita.

This immense palace and flat place, is nothing more than an asylum, where the worst plague originated that began the death of Lucifer's sentinels, which he dropped on this place with their beautiful golden cloaks; whose satagenesis the burning ground would rise to the ten fossilized cemeteries, under that of Mesolongui. I walked slowly with my old body dragging me, by the tenth floor, and that the adolescent pointed stones would break my nails; as if they were claws of a mammal trapped by the lava of a volcano. In each advance, the armor of my last patriotic fight would awaken in me, and that of its moving to observe how the parents worked through the conglomerate of castes, fighting in subterranean inclemencies.

Tease them when they wake up...:

Etrestles ...: "Which of all the columns erected is capable of opening all the columns built in the pavilion of these masses without shapes or colors ..., only the diaphragm of the vitalizing Aeolian lung of my reverie, is who I think I would...? To all those who are on the run and trapped under the soil of Mesolongui, I bring you good news ... not in a thousand years has her beautiful body been damaged. Since my birth in Ayia Lavra, he saw me being buried for the ninth time, in the fossilized Ninth Cemetery. Who’s Archpriest with his holy oils slipped across my partition, pretending to be a water dance engendered at the bottom of the Ionic. Between the arcades of the temple my mother Vitabion ran through the columns; to the outside to bathe in the sacra-vertebral water of my baptisms past. They were my past lives providing with the Auriga their entrusted previous lives. And you Mother ..., one day you tested the weight of my recycling ...?! There you, comrades of wars, of sacrosanct pilgrimages, of the enormous steamy baths of civilization in the Olympic and Equestrian fields. To you, who live here, just like my death in my last life at the hands of a Spartan soldier? You, blood of my blood, I feel your need speak within me...? And in the last Drestnia, which for its sixth uprising from here from Mesolonghi, between bars sealed your tomb to indeterminate the Hellenic situation. I have had to drink from the thorn resin, to speak to you from here, with my bony hands to touch the others just as yours are...Drestnia, from my still preserved rib, I will be reborn by appeasing the domain of collective thought and Willful, preventing your freedom. From my rib you will return to your present life, from whose cold, the flower seeds skeletonized the perimeter of your life ..., Etrestles went with all of them towards the interior of the Koumeterium of Mesolongui, towards about eighteen hundred meters in a zenith direction”

They went to constitute the Council of the Necro-Messolonghi, to define the minutes. --- While the music with its winds adorned the arrival ---. Just at the moment, the Auriga arrived with his blacksmiths; they came to free Drestnia, with his multconsciousness. What happiness for Etrestles, he ran through the underground pavilions, until the oldest Koumeterium, the first fossilized. Where thousands of Years, with numerous species now extinct, Etréstles came to give them the good news loudly!  Meanwhile, the Council attacked the promulgation of sprinkling the divine vine of the Dodecanese fields, in the seedling of Markos Botsaris.

Judge ...: With my limp, I have to advocate the reintegration of the outstanding Markos Botsaris, who once freed us from the Turkish occupation!

Ashurbanipal ...: My Syrian reign, full of dynamism, will place on its jambs the powerful image of the South-West Wind, in honor of its victorious exit in Kalidona.

Etrestles was just walking Drestnia to the Council, and thousands of harmoniums undermined doubts of the lordship that invoked the hero. Everyone stands up, the Council at their octagonal table, with their assistants, leaving the vine glasses empty to welcome the last surviving female of the first Koumeterium of Mesolongui.

The harmoniums, like Apollonian rubies, enlarged the dimensions of the cave vaults. --- They sit down and the music ends ---. Drestnia with some leaves on her shoulders adorned the new stage, where she would go to sit for the new becoming.

Asurbanipal ...: To you Oh gifts, of the Universe, you are well received at this Council, where one day they brought me to praise my contributions from the entrance of Humanity! But the topic for today will be awaiting the arrival of Markos Botsaris , just like you who have reached this end, thanks to the generous Auriga.

Auriga ...: The ***** of the wax of Orion; Eternal fuel, gave strength to my peers steeds, to rise above distant lands, to arrive with my Blacksmiths to unsolder the bars of Drestnia.

Blacksmith...: Our eyes were closed every hundred kilometers, but Eurydice with her calendar, made the aphelion bring us closer to this feat.

Echoes ...: Dust ..., Myth ..., Dream ..., Illusion ..., they have swirled the gallop of millennia, dressing the Squall in gray...! What dark words illuminate the hopes, only down here, well known is that there is much to do, since there is more activity than on the surface...!

Judge ...: Etrestles, Drestnia ..., past, present, or future will speak of you. You Drestnia ...!, What a long dream ..., you challenged your gothic vision, so as not to move your neck towards your neighbors , beings embedded in the first fossilized Koumeterium.

Vitabión ...: Mesolongui honors all the cemeteries in the world, where their loved ones go to see them. But they do not know that there is more dynamic life here than in their own world.

Menopausal Woman ...: My husband cries on my slab, because his infidelity caused a venereal disease in me, which today has eliminated me from his life. He cries and cries for my ****** descent, everything for being with another woman condemned me.

A curtain rises and Funebrio comes out; priest who concelebrates all recent deaths...

Funebrio ...: Woman when you cry my black clothes, black tears cry...! Your husband remains static, without movement, despite so many kilometers of his free will. Out of habit, the forbidden, the tempting is done. But the rebellious Mother Nature pours out her punishments on us.

Staktos ...: Friends who kiss each other, where have you deposited the ideations...? Or do you give to scatter everywhere the osculation that satisfies other mouths.

Etrestles ...: I ask you all to prepare yourself to do your job well. So too, with your prayers, I wish you to hold my mischievous heart at this hour, for the arrival of Drestnia.
The Judge asked to adjourn the meeting, so that the recess could later discuss the strategies for future deaths.

Gravedigger ...: Mr. Judge in the step of the eastern sector, they have buried an architect. We could ask for your cooperation, for the Botsaris monument.

Judge ...: All in good time. Way to go, does anyone want something to narrow down...? --- Drestnia raised her hand and asked...:

Drestnia ...: With Etrestles in the last minutes of our lives, who will pass away once said monument is finished, where will our souls who here in Mesolongui remain temporarily ...?

Judge ...: The insane generals of wars will lead to
Etrestles to the field of Lepanto, because there are stubborn souls that defy the defeated souls ..., and as for you, the benevolent Auriga will take your soul of colors of the sunset, to divide the megatons of the Romantics, who together with Ghiberti, on some trunks of beautiful minerals, they will anchor their best verses and hyperesthetic longings to overshadow their collective suicides.

At the end of the session, the attendees leave, and Drestnia and Etrestles go to the dock of the celestial napa that with its golden shine awaited them, to set sail for Tangier and Morocco. In his ships were the concurrent, Etrestles led his ribs wife towards a navigation that guided the sound of the oars that were the femurs of a Diplodocus.

Drestnia ...: When I am next to the liquid lake lord, I see the need for me to grieve ..., I have a sorrow that I want to be part of you.

Etrestles ...: In Kalavrita, when I was an infant for the fifth time, my father would read me tender stories, and I would ask him if they were from a famous writer, to which he replied that they were from an ordinary man.
The stories were about some spells about pain, one very mundane connected with something transcendent. An example is the Toothache Spell ...: “It dates back a thousand years to. c., the Assyrians attributed toothache to beginning in the Universe and ending with a toothache...:

After Anu had created the sky,
and that heaven had created earth,
and that the earth had created the rivers,
and that the rivers had created the canals,
and that the canals had created the quagmire,
and that the quagmire had created the worm,
the Worm came crying to Shamash,
shedding his tears before Ea ...:
"What are you going to give me so I can drink?
"I'll give you a dried fig and an apricot"
“What good will a dried fig and an apricot do me?
Lift me up, and between my teeth and gums allow me to reside ...”

For having said this, Oh Worm, may Ea punish you with the power of his hand!

Treatment ...: You have to mix second grade beer ..., and oil; you have to recite the spell on the medicine three times and then apply it to the tooth.

You see my Drestnia, you will see that it is possible that I have a spell just like my father gave me, and I can heal you of that pain. For you, that day will come when we will part, and the spell will be to bear the pain that will be beneficial for both of us. My rib is my sorrow, hence my last hope with smelly acid gases, I erased the invitality of you behind the bars.

The blood flows deep within it's wondrous paths
and recalls the depths of this my soul
For within this article of flesh and of bone
Is contained the threads of the eternal Past.
As I master of the forefathers come forth
Crowned in their animalistic glory
heightened by their evolutionary growth
Hence, I become their grandeur, their perfection
Of all, yes all their physical Characteristics.

For here within flows the blood of the ancients
Of Celtic Kings and brooding peasants
Of high priests, Bards and drunken old loafs
For I am the blood of my father's and more
For I am beyond their recall;
Established for the uniting principle of body, of soul
Under direct observance of cosmic law.

And when i dream whether fantasy or fact
some prevails from those ancestral vibrations
while others, far separated through
time and space
Calls upon and funds the primal essence.
No matter how deep the passions flow
or to whom is given the perceptive
guide
neither is accepted within the throngs of the master
Whether giving or taking, adsorbing or projecting.

It is none other than the illuminating essence of man
caught between reason and all that lays forgotten;
For these do the ancestral cults of the old ones proclaim,
and true, they hold our roots deep within
How could they not, if I am of their blood, thought and form!
Of tribal beats upon skins of sacrificial cries
Of elders, priests and God-kings vanquished
and in the depths of my perceptions of them
I evolve along similar lines to what they foretold.

I perceive here today, within and without
the pools by which swarm the matter of human clay
formed upon the potters wheel of karma's evolutionary song
and passed on from generation to generation that tune,
whereby one sees within the child the Father, the Mother
and therein the words of Father times ancient song
That echoes upon the consciousness of reality and sublime
The very first thoughts of Ape-man to his horizon.

It is that cycle that never ends,
Its circumference extends throughout all time
And unites them all within the first ones breath.
It is called the circle of the ancients
Cast upon the molten rocks of tradition
and ironed out amongst the blacksmiths of civilization;
and when its Orbs cease to move and the blood ends its flow
When our horizon fades into mere thoughts.

At that time, in that space, upon that concept
then here too shall the ancients be, with you, with me
Facing that future, that silent moment
when existence ends and all prevails
To a single deep profound thought.
Gentile, Jew, Aryan, Asian, black or white
all void, save for that single breath
that proclaims throughout time into eternity
"I O'Man, I O'Man, I O'Man."


Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Give me your wounded; I can heal their ills.
I spin miracles like tailors spin thread.
I cure bleeding, sneezing, quaking with chills—
believe it or not, I can show you the dead.
Very few can handle the magic I spawn—
I bend the rules as blacksmiths do metals.
My power is strange, running dusk to dawn;
it’s gained from people, pencils, even rose petals.
All it takes is a wave of the hand:
I swirl words on paper—an artist mixing paint.
Not witchcraft, yet some pieces are still banned;
each and every writer isn’t a saint.
Some claim our magic is fading away,
but really we’re thinking up more words to say.

He always carried a straight razor in his pocket and wore chip on his shoulder like some twisted reward .
I noticed his hands shaking as he set the bar the scars of time had changed him.
Gone was that Cavalier charm the boyish sense that had lured so many to him before.

We made eye contact yet spoke no words between us I simply called the bartender over to order another round sometimes there's no need to ask.
Been a while hasn't it?
He asked in a voice I could hardly recall.
Yeah it has I replied still never diverting my eyes from the bar.

There was no need to ask and I knew full well  not to invite the conversation to begin.
With him it was always a hustle a shark always have to keep swimming it's just its nature.

We sat there to strangers known only in title as friends.
Both in are separate corners, both to caught up in our own ******* to care about the other.
Too many miles had separated us now only scorn and ridicule forged this moment like iron to a blacksmiths fire and hammer.

The time passed slowly as the old jukebox played hanging as heavy as the stale smell of smoke in the air.
He always wore that chip on his shoulder a badge of honor for none to see.
I took one last look into the mirror's reflection and had to question.
Just what the **** become of me.

I am like Dog,
The cobblestone path near my palms
While I breathe in the dust.

Wooden Homes surround my prayer
In a summer morning village
This is the early empire
Peasants and blacksmiths.

My mind expands and Enlightens my spirit.
A blue sky with a morning moon
It slowly arcs and bends the Earth around my fingertips
and space around me around the life within me

Purple star light energy of alien life,
Green Amazonian River and Leaves,
Tribal Paint and Pelican Breeze,
Shimmering black sand sifting in the wind.

Love, Light, Red Heart, Opaque and Colorful,
Bold Deep Vibrant and Lovely,
Hopeful Gazebo, Bubbling Stream, Streetlamps and Snowflakes,
Gloomy and Dark.
Hills in the background with the moon right above,
Show me the way,
To my heart.

We are march to the blacksmiths
Blacks in thick black and deep black clothes
We come to mourn against lawless smit
For aged dark days and noisy nights.,
beneath gray sky

Their envelope in our mailbox spews blackmail
That they plan to transfer power by bed
We refuse to swallow such corruption ***
Now we will fight for generations to come

Should we say the uniform saved us
No! But yes! That blacks spoke in uniform
can’t you see the strong bass in your black
Ignite your coal that light be born.

The night does so little to appease my discomfort,
tremendous darkness; “here, hold onto these nightmares as a last resort.”

Whimpers only server to wake memories and practical mistakes,
kind eyes and a crowded heart, a good person this does not make.

You, the dry grass - my intentions the burning and the falling ember,
there’s magic somewhere there between us, the key is just trying to remember.

Innocent eyes lead me to believe in vintage dreams that die,
I picked the perfect poison, it’s no longer a matter of choosing sides.

I salvaged suicide; burdened and buried beneath another’s lies.
One soul crushed, it was never enough, between the waves and tides.

I’ll try my best to pick up pieces of myself that I left for dead,
I tried everything that I could to paint a picture with words instead.

I’ve encased repressed disasters, situated, ‘in case”,
a well placed stab in the dark, is still blindly swinging in place.

Retreat, I say, retreat. It’s a desire I wish I didn’t have to repeat,
curious decision, insipid revision, in boredom this cancer did secrete.

There’s a ballroom breaking, barking and demanding order from footsteps falling,
hide my hand in the comfort of your palm, it’s pressing, love lingering and mauling.

I’ve cradled our future, torn between the broken and drowning,
you are the special, the heathen, the dead Queen that we’re never crowning.

too soon the khaki before the noir
and too soon  dei buch dieb - alter buch, dei leben!
marschieren marschieren vergleichen ****** zu
Napoleon - un das ende! geschichte wiederholen;
some might say a nation is a history
but some might say that both are equal.
so few are made to testify a market allowance
with due compliance of a tact -
and such the lack a covert necessity of applause,
hats off to the warring tribes under guise
of Hiroshima and the lost wars of perfumed
Magdalenes of pearl harbour -
but in terms of war tactic at least the Japanese
attacked the warring populace,
the Japanese soldiers attacked American soldiers,
yet the noble hirohito said:
ignoble soldiers of the west attacked cobblers
and blacksmiths! american soldiers attacked
the populace of non-soldiery!
whom to fake their prowess and safeguard of heroism?
if warring was to be faked it was faked at pearl
harbour - when warring encompassed civil victims
and out double measure on lives lost at pearl
harbour to react with hydrogen bombs!

Paul was the fourth to appear,
Wielding a pole-arm he'd made from,
Fallen spears modified to remove,
Deceit from naked steel, given new clothes,
Of black and red.
Traveled four nights and sixteen hours,
To Sharin's trust, a place inhabited by craftsmen,
Blacksmiths of good report.
Fashioned him a weapon of last resort.

Upon returning from Deutsch class,
Where we spoke of Sturm und Drang,
I reminisce about Schiller’s scull in glass
and think it rather wrong.

Maybe it’s just komisch
your best friend stealing your noodle
somehow it makes sense, I wish
a really great poem he did doodle

Schiller and Goethe, the poets
and quite a pair were they!
Even after death we know it,
“Schiller’s” head was on display!

The inspiration knew no bound’ries,
words flowed without a hitch,
like blacksmiths in metal foundries
he truly found his niche

Know nature, life, and death alike
looking in his hollowed out eyes
you never know! Inspiration may strike
n'ere prompt, like lightening, o’re the skies.

With axiomatic prominences, the God Spílaiaus hung from the Virola from Ibic Three in the elevations of the Kantillana at three thousand meters high in the Transversal valleys, individualized Pichi, Chile. Millions of flying masses of Chiropterans unfolded, anticipating Vernarth's visit to the Celestial Regency of these Deities by accidental and hybrid Hellenic prophecy; coming from the Protocol of Transylvania with the Eternity of the Submythological god of Vernarth Aiónius from Ibic 1. These deities came etherealized by the heights of the Nothofagus Obliqua that was bent at forty-five degrees by the lift singing the melisma of Antiphon Benedictus that this time made the bastion and garrison of the Mikhve or Kathartyrium of Vernarth possessing souls with scabrous megalomaniacs boiling internally through the Underworld bringing Hades Speleothemes, such a tow pulls the Kosmous and humanity into the bowels of the Kardiá of the purified Agoge and the Mikveh or Purification of Vernarth in later Hypnosis Existential hanging on the halberds of the Dorus, Áspis Koilé and Kantabroi waving in the intensity of the conifers before the hegira began at Tel Gómel. Vernarth approaches Spílaiaus and proffers: “My Lord, I had an illusion…, I said that I had to fly over the Palace of Arbela at the expense of the followed “Paraps or Othónes” or Parapsychology screens that took me to wastelands full of Ungulates that rested barren in calcined silica **** covered with Hoplites and Achaemenides cries imploring to escape from disastrous dawn of Dark Angels, safe from other Angels Shvil, Almas de Kalidona, Hellenika, Armas Christi and Almas de Trouvere. Essentially all of them would beg for the circumcision of the open field and also openings of thousands of soldiers when It was arranged by all this heavenly light to crack the heels of every Hoplite. Thus leaving the hollow opening of my soul Mikveh, Kassotides, and Lynothorax that invaded with satiety to get out of itself and become the destination of all oppressed compassion on the way to the Empyrium. The curtain persists that helps beatific concerns of submitology inherent in cultural realities where it subjugates the digressive persist of specimens that recover life from their own exhaustion exercising truthfulness in those that are strengthened by their own incapacity "Vernarth" is a product of Spílaiaus' concern , and this at the same time knowing and having everything given in its analogy and terminology protruding the same root, except that submitology is roots that subordinate the inorganic and inanimate for such an effect that legacies of myths take on a leading reality that does not consider true what is not or it is part of a myth rooted in mythology, but rather of what is subtracted from its own inertia or wear and tear that does not take on a reality present in all things that are not virtuous, much less express it from a Gnostic perspective; where everything is reborn and progresses in paradisiacal cycles and messages of the Merkabah..., They are of an infinite cohesion of that celestial if it had to appear in the astral journey without taking into account what the same time in question allows to appreciate how long it has to last or persist to know that you are rooted in this process itself!

The subsequent stage will be governed by fertile beings or deities. The Genre of Itheoi Deities arises from magnificent submithological gods since they are present in events of an immortal nature doomed to micro spaces that will be configured with Paraps or Othón forming multidimensional links in each episode. The scenographic movement is represented in this work, in such a way to personify a heterogeneous reality shared by some of these gods and others from Olympus. In the case of Spílaiaus, it is specifically an augmented reality nexus of ibicos that are instantiated in this Trilogy from confraternal words where Vernarth Says: “Give me a little Gála and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not an everything I never thought of…!” Here is that Gála is dairy juice where a speleological factor intervenes from Chauvet, Valdaine - Nyons Region - France. This is more than saying that the triggering factor is Mikveh or Purification leads from the premiere of the journey to associate with the underworld of the Kathartyrium or stationary Purgation that will take him through sequences in chapters or Paraps to meet again with Virolas or Anillares composing Medrones, crimping and growth. Later Wonthelimar from the Boedromion would bring The Arrows that Zefian will bring in the Second Trilogy bringing sleeping bodies of winter to the lap of the spring Boedromion crossing lines from spring to winter in the cycle that went directly to the Cinnabar Mercurial Ambrosia. They were discreet detached arrows that he had launched into the sky and they did not return but in the rooms, and in stages of Animalia towards the duty of rejoicing at the ****** of the Telesterion. Wonthelimar, being once again relocated before starting the works on the temple of Megaron Áullos Kósmos, was returning to the Chauvet-Wonthelimar cavern. He distanced himself from the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree originating from Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points of the zenith starting with the first two arrows that are placed on the bowstring away from the Quiver, each one crossing north-south trajectories and another two that were violated again with the bow of the stormy East, to launch arrows from east-west with limits of southern magnetism. He carried in his belongings "Ibic Rings" that would be transmigration towards cardinals and points where the Megaron of Vernarth would be exactly, arguing that Zefian's phalanges would be ordered in Sintropia and organic chaos in Patmos, making Pythagorean proportions in essences of numbers that idly advanced in temporary passages of Wonthelimar that were movably made of religious Saetas and Mercurial Ambrosia of Cinnabar, to contribute with insightful points of the Constellation of Capricornus. Zefian's tendency was evident to delight after being pulled from the bowstring to ghostly existence; presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the gales that would originate the Áullos Kósmos or Megarón, a late pro of some courts imposed from the Ouranos or Cielo that was going determined in his will seized by a dubious Vestal god advocating associating with hospitable Canephores as conjectured Virgins Vestals of Roman bilocation that were resting in their hands..., and quantum parapsychology of the feared live between-tale that boils over in the arrows that have not yet fallen, not knowing their whereabouts? As sheets or serial wafers that were evoked where the origin of the Universe was broken to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burned contravened Duoverse including the divine celestial origin as a *****-ovular parameter, rather eons and instances in Hestia's chimney running in pertinacious towards vast volumes of light-years. The connectivity of the Itheoi gods will make the quantum mobility machination operable between seasonal dimensions that will have to pass through periods, stages, feats and famous moments since it is initialized from here in the stone of lance with its Etruscan horses in Tel Gómel, for later in the Eleusinian mysteries themselves co-participate in eras of connection, as it appears here after the saga of Judah composing their respective seven chapters until breaking down at the end of the Conclusive Meshuva. The Boedromión will be an essential part of Trilogy II, waking up in all the winters of the world as a shelter flowered directly to the component of the Mercurial Ambrosia, a valuable element of Cinnabar or high-grade Vernarthian Sulfur for the Vas Auric or Sacred Medallion of Limassol that overflows decanted at the end of the Mikveh growing in arid deserts.

Cardinal Spilaiaus

- North: Vóreios (Zefian Boreal)
- South: Nótos (Austral de Borker)
- West: Dyticá (Twilight of Leiak)
- East: Aftó (Kaitelka Equinoctial)

From Medrones that grow in massive ibix antlers in Nyons, Seven Ibics Rings were taking hold, a Viroliferous process was progressing, or exercise of rotation mechanics of Quantum Rings in the same thesis work that speaks further of a replacement Universe as the anticipatory Duoverse, and the gifted Codex Raedus as a complement or annexation baggage of the Profitis Ilias in Patmos thus generating that pre-Christian annal have a leading role in new construction by presenting a virtual situation or Genius Loci. The Semi Itheoi will have roles in leading each cardinal so that the Gestation of the Fourth Arrow of Zefian is finally re-established, reordering the universe predisposed to receive the one approaching the Duoverse. What happens in Tel Gomel and Persepolis is relevant to the Psiloi Phalanxes and crowds that would face militarized personalities, totally ignoring the origin of the Hoplite as a worshiper of Hera's Wastelands and eternal stables that supported Vernarth just like Etruscan horses and Steeds of Sudpichi summoned Alikanto or ALikantus. His mother Luccica and father Bernardólipo endorsed all contained belligerence if he were not a repentant warrior in the gloomy night of the Horcondising Castle where Spilaiaus would give warlike foreshortenings right there to abduct him at great speed to Gaugamela. Vernarth would go to these latitudes, and then he would be exposed to governorships of Aionius to consolidate and channel this hybrid submithology that would bring together the ancient Hellenic Mythology. The vertiginous passage of time will conceive harsh characterizations and qualitative Paraps or Parapsychologies, possessing the largest arsenal of quantum and historiographical data ever counted and interpreted by characterizations, more than personalized blocks in particular characters, being the support vehicle or generational stem of the summary of understanding more facts and qualities that own characteristics of interlocutors. The vast collection of Submythological gods will be strongly entrenched in identifications of Semi Itheoi or deities that are intertwined directly with the human fictional world. ! Successive Paraps are concealed and accompanied by connectivity screens called Othones, these are a fundamental part of the audio-graphic syntax, managing to structure gods and then decode the final concretion of the conclusive in each Paraps, which is nothing more than a consequence of this imperceptible quantum axon, which does not end or start!

Submythology is an etymological derivation of later stages of mythology that deprives of granting subsistence and comparative biology to cultural, urban, fabulous components or inheritance of great ancient and medieval epic periods. Contributing great accumulations of proposals to such a generation in channeling with original playwrights reinventing their theses, also giving a breath of expectation to mythical beings so that they come to life in a hybrid interpretive horizon, or with alternation of roles considering mysteries in the blink of an eye happening to postulated dissidence or vagueness, losing itself as a gendered practice but not of the real cultist who has been propagated in his gnosis to remote places of the infinite superior. In short, Submythology is an infinite tragedy where the characters represent the work in furtive omni canality, and three-dimensional presence in sharp contact with the thrones of deities that make it even more evident to relate past history through submithological exercises, which itself refers to the prefix Sub " from what precedes par excellence” and mythological suffix as a series of processes of experience where the active voice of the narrator counts, being rather an inspirational pre-constructive phase. What should be experienced when in front of us a Homeric god of Olympus is presented to us telling us that the Olympic archeology has secrets of the Myein revealing characters and successors Submythological Gods with histrionic deities looted in all ages of the Celestial Organic Subsistence.

Ibico 1: "The first was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and he brought purity, for all who needed him and went to visit him in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive if he was accepted." As the only presence of Wonthelimar is of Chauvet's present god ambivalence.

Ibico 2: ”He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the center of the priesthood of his shelves with the chiropterans and in addition to the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the vapors of the Antiphon Benedictus”.

Ibico 3: "From the Eygues, the waters evaporated to heal the tormented initiation processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron."

Ibico 4: "This ring was from the antler of Wonthelimar, here they wore the oikos or threads of Orphi Gold, for the Himation and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a Mycenaean complement- Valdaine”.

Ibico 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmatic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's hyper neurological and Duoversal brain twinned with the Mashiach."

Ibico 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns from Kafersesuh, bringing pollination from the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti."

Ibico 7: “It is the deep voice of Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the hoarse voices that inquire of the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medium, up to the millimeter-sized shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera del Megaron”


                             Gender of the Duoverse Itheoi
                                     Horcondising Deities

Previously Vernarth takes his head resting on the ceramic that supported him between the Hydor photo duct, rather bringing his hand closer to the Klismós that Saint John the Evangelist had given him when he passed through Ephesus. In such a way that when he makes the first impulse to get up from the chair he was already beginning to leave the conventional Universe for the first time, then when he sits down again in the chair inaugurating the crystalline body that was looming over himself, he continues to be the Duoverse as if outside the Klismós with its curved legs resembling supporting pilasters of the Megaron diverging to the conical ones that projected concavely supporting the hollowness of its pectoral, which was already transparent like its Invisible Eclectic Portal. Meanwhile he gets up again holding onto the Mashiach who came to take him in his arms and place him in the klismoi that interpreted the elevation of Hellenism to the Greater Heavens and the Itheoi of the Duoverse; that is to say spiritual deities of Vernarth in the classification of the rank of beginning and projection of the abandonment of the Golden Himation. In such a way that the Astragalus was integrated; a floral company that was rooted in the hands and roots that cooperatively took root in those of Kashmar. So Vernarth with the Ibic Rings would begin to syncretize the imperceptible quantum and hyper-accelerated mobilization of physics of sub-atomic particulars that would later second it, unleashing from Alef to Tav to Astragalus and Aiónius, beginning his omnipotence. The sidereal distance began to unlink towards the Calypso air that was twinned with large portions of the sea in the same enamel, making Patmos the union of chain reaction speed with the Dodecanese Valleys and Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi unifying Vernarth with Apollo, Esminteo or ephebeia; that is, three sketches of Apollo himself for the theological genealogy chart of the deity Scarabaeidae with species that multiplied together with Vernarth to become the metalloid Azophar as the main knowable guideline to the unknowable, being Apollo himself in Vernarth's corporeality before rising to the iridescence of the Moshiach.

Astragalus: His primary Itheoi or theological picture would be composed and forming part of his feet and the surroundings of his ex-voto to take to all the summits of the world in the essence and the gift of eternal life represented by the root of the madrigal curdled by his feet, with the root of the Astragalus in flower when it represented the zero-hours by getting rid of his Himation and meeting the Mashiach.

Scarabaeidae: God of the subsoil modality of wandering souls destined for the physical and spiritual decline, Scabaraeidae Aphodiinae as subtractors of all the waste of souls that have boiled in malignancy, and the Scabaraeidae Dynastinae as the righteous larvae that rise from the imaginary soil to feed on the roots of the Astragalus and all the flowers and leaves of the Dynastiae. Increased the taxonomic genus of the species that would have to remain in the underworld to aspire to a better one like these Dynastines or Heracles beetles in honor of this hero carrying the peg that Vernarth would place on all the gardens once he was in Aurion, leaving him in a larval state, before being sponsored by Hera's family for the life cycle of the Horco-Olímpico.

Nothofagus: God's phoneme-photon of divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medron of the Ibex of Wonthelimar, to the millimetric assembly shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera of the Megaron, and the Iridescent Nimbus that percussed between the Áullos Kósmos and the Vas Auric ” in total synchrony with Patmos, at the same level of luminosity and growth revelation of the Scabaraeidae Dynastiae to transform inert matter into another fertile one compared to Poseidon.

Lepidoptera: Like The sixth piece of crowns by Kafersesuh bringing the fertilizations of the Lepidoptera in the Ibico Ring 6, for the central stage of investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti, where everything will be endowed with the greater Ibix called Wonthelimar” that together with Leiak they would transmute to Horcondising.

Azofar: This metalloid god and support of the bed will take and bring Vernarth again when sailing through the cosmos towards the fifth element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to extol him from the neurological hyper brain of the Duoversal of Vernarth twinned with the Mashiach, exemplifying duplicity of Apollo as Azofar device of new interstellar ships beyond all that is knowable.

Ibicus: god of Wonthelimar's antlers, here they will carry the oikos or Orphi Gold threads for the Himation and investiture to anoint Vernarth's body bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a Mycenaean-Valdaine complement, thus they were inaugurating the solemnity and honorability. Here the quadrature will be the perfect Heliacal Ortho of the fourth Ibico with the quadrature of Aurion commanded by Leiak in the cardinal Dyticá.

Vélus: from Ibico 4, from where the goddess Artemis will evaporate in the waters for the healing of the tormented in initiation processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron as if they were surrounding a Castalia for such solemnity.

Spílaiaus: from Ibico 3 in the center of the ministry with the bats, and others from the mercurial ambrosia invoking the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus”. Here is one more bastion of Hades' underworld dressing for the Speleothemes that will take you to the heart of all the dens of the Faith.

Aiónius: from Ibico 1 Wonthelimar who brought purity to all who needed him and went to visit in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive” here Kaitelka and Borker, in total harmony with Demeter, Persephone, and Hestia. Bringing them from the labyrinths with the rusty chains of Prometheus and Vertnarth wandering through infinity.

                                       Semi  I theoi

Semi-deities and great autobiographies of the Itheoi world derived from the denotation that would be reformulated from the Apoinandros that would be displaced by spikes of the didactic Ego or teaching of the authentic apostles that crystallized with Zefian, Borker, Leiak, Kaitelka, and Ezpatkul. Zefian: Reformer of the Universe-Duoverse, possessor of the four Arrows that will illuminate Heaven and all of earthly Greece every time Vernarth circulates linearly through the seas of the Vóreios of the Aegean. Ruled North: Vóreios (Boreal of Zefian) Borker: Demiurge and guardian of the Duoverse. Warden of the Forests of the World and of the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi. Ruled South by: Nótos (Austral de Borker) Leiak: Omnipresent demiurge, the vague spirit of the docile water dancer who lives on the water with his slimy Chin, his playful back is seen breaking lines of wells between flesh and silhouettes. Before the First station, the first of the three remaining nights before reaching the crater of Joshua de Pétra” ruled West: Dyticá (Twilight of Leiak) Kaitelka: Down Whale ruling the Psychic Trisomy of the Duoverse and seas surrounding Patmos of the Apokálypsis ruled to the East: Aftó (Kaitelka Equinoctial) Ezpatkul: Dóntiakul or Augrum teeth or prominent Gold will rotate through the Scarabaeidae demarcating the Vóreios Vóreios in the Horcondising region, bilocating it in Patmos Encinas borers, with such frenzy…!, that of Right there they would extract the strength of the Mapuche north winds from the Meli Witran Mapu, beginning with the Pikún-kürüf.

A great revolution was conceived with the imprint codified in stars that would begin to appear in Alto Kanthillana after the awakening semblance under the Nothofagus bottoms; being a god who would free Ninfuceanicus. This was a Sylph that millions of years had been inert in the space or radius of Spilaiaus very close to events of the new awakening. This Sylph would be the main stolon of the Nothofagus and would provide residual inactive matter from it so that Vernarth could secretly rebel from the stages of darkness and desolation of the species, having been dragged by decanted augers since time immemorial from what is currently on Patmos. This would consecrate extensive recycling, accelerating the characterizations of each organic personality and not, tending to an essential role in Vernarth's plot; because it will be this depression to make of its awakening a multicellular set that would grant the disappeared species of the behavioral axis to be restructured in all the ex-karstic zones of the subsoil of Patmos, up to the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi endowed with a great mineralogical bijective mass to supply powers with signs of substance and later mineralogical dimensions. Ninfuceanicus will be its Exo muscular mineral part that will provide proteins to Vernarth directly from this Sylph, in addition to recreating with her the necromancy attached to Gods Itheoi with Tsambika, Kímolos, and Patmos.The Paraps are nothing more or less than depressions of these liberations of great old geological masses that were biasedly unified under the subsoil of Hades Speleothemes, not exemplifying the stationary world of the relay but rather the Omnipresent Sphere of Spílaiaus together with Aónius and Azofar in the rescue of this Sylph, then Vélus, Ibicus, Lepidoptera, Scarabaeidae, and Astragalus will assign them the predominant rule. In silent and prominent escalations of events, they would intrigue themselves in the Submythological Epic, recomposing themselves in recapitulations that would indicate that Ulysses, Heracles, Hector, Leonidas, and the Great Alexander the Great would come to life from this thermo-geological concoction that would manifest itself by Vernarth's upper pectoral hollow "Called Thunder Kassotides” of which the conversion into tremendous events franked by ancient Greek Mythology would be destined to Vernarth's own and expeditious Hellenic life. This assumes that the overloaded physiognomic muscular exoskeleton of the Hellenic environment will be redirected with the power of natural phenomena beginning in original symptoms of multi gnosis reborn from the sub sphere of thought that intermediates with the interior ones, after the incitement of Vernarth and being part of the gnosis that would lead him to clear everything that is with him and what will be. The Animalia as fierce representatives flow by attempts and at the same time are inhibited from a tacit presence with animals that would conform to Spílaiaus stereotypes; an out-of-phase ventral turbinate of the God of Speleothemes, who is Wonthelimar or ventral turbinate, would propitiate any incidence in manifestations of the noosphere, given the serial appendix of instantaneous analogical relation in the disturbing and super mobility of the Constellation Capricornus, the Belt of Aurion and Betelgeuse. Right there radiating particularity the ontogenesis of Vernarth, already resigning himself from the intimate existential point to focus on the complementarity of other existences on the way to the Empyrium or Resident Ouranos, brewing universals in all unlimitedly comparative when alluding to as being diligent among beings who are not, and reciprocally be revivers of those who will be. Here is the synonymy of Vlad Strigoi that could be supra-spiritual historical omnichannel considering that he is an integral part of a Mythology and a real liberating hero of Transylvania. It still is, but under the exclamatory context that is born of avidity that requires and must collect fungus vines from Canephore and Hellenic delicacies in the prompt presence of gods when it is not enough or there is no legacy of servants or servants under the hindrance of its metaphysics with its empty entrails. Here prevails what dictates a dogma that differs for those who are touched by the edge of the Speleothemes of Spilaiaus to survive in the Sphere of inorganic life of the same god and Ninfuceanicus. This legend narrates the real and non-fictional lived history of Vernarth, that time that in absolute darkness and solitude he met the deity of the Ibico three in the crowded population of the Nothofagus is a totally prehensile approving gesture of a vegetable that authorized him to address Him …, Spílaiaus was such a reference when he listened to him for long hours transforming himself into a real therapist who worthy would bilocate in the original from Piacenza-Italy, when in rare cases of parapsychology he declared himself ineffective to be able to continue the endless sessions. “Gaugamela is the great battle that must be wielded with iron temper as a stalking of a heart that did not scold for another that did not pulsate”

Great raids will be composed of others that will speak of a strong hero having committed superiors, of others that will be based on eloquent vivacity that nothing takes long when it is necessary to induce the cut of Una Xiphos; whose function is dissuasive if the blacksmith is not a god that shows no mercy, but if he is from a job that can be resistant to deliberate him in another that has nothing, nor will he sustain him. The goal is essential in all weakness if a hero is consumed by his stoic bravery, rather it could perfectly reside in his coat of arms as indicated by Hephaestus in the glitter of a forge when the seasoned worshiper of his forges spills liquid steel and not blessed blood of a royal warrior from Laodicea. What Vernarth forges of Hephaestus himself will sound on his lyre descended from precognition of the god Spilaiaus, affirming that blacksmiths of Athens would be decoys that adhere to carcinogenic generations of opprobrious fires, if it were not for one who could carry in his hands a sword certainly jammed by Hephaestus, and that the diluted steel that really falls would make future generations authentic sedated drops in them for the true Spartan or Greek that strengthens it with verve and abulence.

Gone with the wind,
Back again,

I wonder if i talked to
Mary Jane,
Would she have a chat
Or simply walk away
With the wind??

Gone with the wind,
Back again,

Wonder how she has
Been,

We haven't chatted in for
Ever it feels like a million
Years,

This is a poem so i guess
Everything has to rhyme
For your standards...

Gone with the wind,

Swiped my card it got
Declined,

Did that rhyme?

My stress is too stay
Confided,

Hope it doesn't come out
Hope it stay blind,

Hope it just stays to the
Side,
You hear that oh no it's
Arrived,

Calm down please don't cry
Young child,

I shot twice but it did not die...

Gone with wind
Gone with wind
Gone with wind...

The bullet went,

Dear god we need a new
Choice for a President,

I sit at a bench,

In hope for a friend
That never a attended,
Let that sink in...

Never leave me in the
ground to rest,
Please make me ash

Throw me off a cliff

And repeat there he goes

He is

Gone with the wind
Gone with the wind,

Whisper this,

Touch your fingertips
Call the blacksmiths
Ring up the goldsmiths

Something is coming
They call it the apocalypse,

Pull up to the table
Wait for chips,
Ladies move your hips,

Remove ya shirt
Let them breathe
them being your ****,

Not trying to be a creep
But something is coming
They call it the apocalypse,

So just unwind..

Gone with the wind
Gone with the wind,

Just like my mind,

I fell in love with a gypsy,
I said some thing that made
Her
Go to the corner and cry,

There she cried cried cried,

I woke up from a nap nap
Nap,

She said a couple of things
That sounded like crap crap
Crap,

With a touch of her toe
I got vaporized,

Then she blew me one more

Time time time

She opened up the window
And there i go

Gone with the wind
Gone with the wind
Gone with the wind....

Words are spewed forth by mindless talking heads. All things are subjective and open to change. What I hear is not what they said, so it goes on in a spin cycle of misrepresentation. Wordsmiths have replaced, blacksmiths in the creation of things. Metal is now drawn out from the iron that is in ink and not from the heated forge. Though both can be hot, as rhetoric burns and ignites passions, just as oil ignites coals to forge metal. The truth is shaped and skewed from it's original form, until it is bent beyond recognition, into what ever the presenter wants it to be.

Fortress on high, stands fortified

Tower of the valley and countryside

Bow and arrow, sovereign sword

Comfort chamber, homely lord



Magnificent halls of grand prestige

Throughout the ages castles besieged

Guard protection, tall high tower

Stronghold defence of such great power



Order of the king, show loyalty

Rebellion against the royalty

Blacksmiths, merchants, products sold

Working life for adult role



Wealthy lords and active knights

Poor pheasants of lesser rights

Assembling of the scaffolding

Labours loading, strong building



Distant castle stands remote

A gatehouse, keep, chapel, moat

Conquered lands, mass invasion

Rebuilt towns of restoration



Written by Geraldine Taylor ©

Peace be still, strike thy pose

Epitome of eloquence, footsteps of the queen

Pearls of wisdom, solemn portrait

Position thy hat, attend to thy shirt, that of satin, that of lace

Family ties, adornment to each

All is well with thee, obedience calls – o’ child be seen, be not heard

Be seated; be still, thou shalt not be disturbed

Workhouses – be deterred, apprentice house preferred

Sacrificial morning, make way to the pit

A revolution of demand, provisions of coal, of iron, of copper, deposits of old

What sayeth thee?  We shall supply!

As pitheads wind, so miners grind

Seek and follow, tunnels be low – passages of the great

Toil dawneth on me, forty winks be yearned

As we flock to the town

Of craftsmen, of blacksmiths, tailors assist

Technology equips, shoe last o’ stiff

Fine fettles are thee, inventions surpass

Full steam ahead!  Country be lead.

Of sheets, of rolls, printing amass

Fortunes be stirred, households back to back

Our cast-iron range, warmth to thy home

Fresh statuses arise, relieve former ties

Ambition abound, middle class be found

Boil water on the range, afore we bath

Of fresh produce, of luscious game, black pudding o’ delight

Shilling be spent, fill up thy churn

Horses’ clod on cobbled streets, ploughed fields, farmer’s relief

Leg thy narrow boat, steam locomotive, cut short thy duration

Better to tow, canal bank astride

The Victorian age, of history, of pride



Written by Geraldine Taylor ©