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There's something deeply satisfying
In decimating a piece of runaway tissue
With a healthy jet of ****.

I stand towering above it
As it clings stealthily to the ceramics
And
      cackle
                as
                   I
                     reduce
                                 it
                                    to
                                        mush.

It bleeds yellow.
I feel no remorse.

Perhaps that's why
If the world were ruled by women
There'd be less war.
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
well, that was hoped for, otherwise water would have no
universal quality, that ascribes it to provide for, every single species
of animal; but, mostly man.
bugt how does water in ice-cube form, travel outside of its
"container": either a cermaic cup, or a glass,
              to form a water-ring beneath the container?
               water in, ice-cube form?
               i'm pretty sure that water without ice-cubes,
           settled in form at room temp. wouldn't create a water-ring
beneath the container...
                 i have only one answer...
    water in ice-cube form behaves like liquid nitrogen...
                   liquid nitrogen forms a cloud while it evaporates...
     water can have the properties of liquid nitrogen,
        in ice-cube form, it will evaporate, like liquid nitrogen
out of its container, whether ceramic, or glass,
                and form a water ring, beneath the container...
              obviously water doesn't behave liken liquid nitrogen
in the all familiar spectacularness of extremes...
                  water is more subtle when compared to liquid
nitrogen...   you can't see water evaporating...
                    like you might see liquid nitrogen do so...
    but how else would water, contained in a cup of either glass
or ceramics... create a water circle at the base,
    if it wasn't in liquid nitrogen imitation guise,
   that was less spectacular and, "invisible" to the naked eye?
Jade Musso Apr 2014
I have been cheated on. He shares me with her. She is a pretty little girl. She has pretty little outfits of purple and pink and green and she always smells clean. He is gentle to her, with his touch and his lips. He smiles when she’s sweet and he laughs when she’s rough. If I hurt him, he lets me go; if she hurts him, he blames himself. She’s very good at breaking the ice when he wants a new friend and in a matter of time he is sharing her with them but he would never share me. He buys her lavish gifts of stained glass and painted ceramics. He spends all his money on her and his pocket is empty for me. I watch my diet while he shares all the sweets in the world with her. (It must be a passionate way to make love.) He tries to hide her from me, but I can smell her perfume in his hair and I can smell her scented gloss on his lips, and I know when his eyes are twinkling from something more than me. When it is the three of us, he always picks her first and he’ll pick her again and again until she’s all worn out. Some people may think she’s no good, she’s a poison, he should break it off, but others congratulate him for scoring such a beauty. That smile she brings to his face and everyone else’s who breathes her in. I have always been second but he is my first. I do not share him with her, though I think I should. If I want to fit in, if I want to be happy, if I want him to love me more. She’ll never break his heart.
Jules Jan 2019
what my forays into online dating offered me that wasn’t s*x; european coffee beans, a film camera from the 70s, a workshop on ceramics, chicken parmagiana, bottles of blueberry lemonade, thai food that isn’t spicy, help with calculus homework, notes on gen chem, all the Star Wars movies, a book about magic: the gathering, a ride to an nba game, museum visits, nature walks, impulsive road trips, stories about their exes, silly anecdotes, photos of their pets, quality memes, awkward hugs that felt good.

such small intimacies, never blossoming into something bigger yet still imbued with meaning..

filled with what-ifs, if-onlys, and almosts.
Milana Jan 2018
I was a tender object living in your house.
The things of these were bigger than my vision and we were only a moment.
I asked for everything you never said,
But your eyes spoke what the monsters upstairs didn't have courage too..
As big and frightening as they might seem,
nothing scared you more than releasing the dark smoke in clear air,
But my lipstick smeared to the apples of my cheeks and I closed my eyes.
I created a home in your mind and it angled me to disbelief and I couldn't breathe.
I gasped air from the grips of the trees and I grew roots on my feet,
I stood whole for myself and dressed in self pity.
The clouds were closing in and my caged heart couldn't fly freely,
Yet the wind rolling against my thighs created comfort for the blind,
Yet,
My vision was not impaired;
Only merely to what you have showed me,
And I dangerously lived on sidewalks finding flowers to tape up my soul,
So
I became potted to the ceramics of solis and dreamed by luna,
But mountains weren't moved and neither did I.
I was tender,
(pause)
And
(pause)
I made home in your mind,
You left me homeless
And then I became blind
2016 me, still blind.
JR Potts Oct 2016
I hate to be the bearer of bad news baby
but I was broken a long time ago.
I had hoped
when I showed you that video
on kintsugi, the Japanese art
of repairing broken pottery
with lacquer and powered gold
that you would've seen our history
was not meant to be hidden,
that our imperfections,
the cracks in our ceramics
were meant to be illuminated
with gold
Nothing Much Feb 2015
I miss the feeling of clay under my hands
A spinning wheel, my foot on the pedal.
The rough silver plate always sands
Down the skin on my hand but I don't mind

I can build vessels out of the earth
Pulling cups and bowls up from the ground
In this instant, my hands are worth
A thousand vases glazed in gold

I dip them in thick buckets of color
And place the ceramic uncertainties in the furnace
We both come alive in fire
And emerge even stronger than before
Mannn I really miss ceramics.
From the interstitial bile of the Profitis Ilias, was emanated the inaugural armour of the codes of Radius’s Eurhythmy. With it traces it typology of the three broken areas of energeia purple that will raise from bases it elementary of the contrafactum of melody of the Raedus. First with the paragraph’s of the Prophet Elias in the portion of the firstly 103 meters but awarding the contrafactum melodic same on the text of the Raedus Codex, that they will be rhythmic epigraphs of hallelujah and beginning of the Kirye. The polyphony will be an elevation of liturgy that will deliver doubly for the pipe that carries the prolific ascension to the face of the surface of the Profitis Ilias. Hypostasis Will be the substance, but of be to of way of the true unified to the all of the reality of the Áullos Kósmos.  To some 1, 7 years incessant light followed coming the Fourth Saeta of Zefian, to order the Áullos Kósmos with the ordination of the Go Auric that will conclude the retina that remains of the firmament and of his path like full earthly extra. The quota of prophecies will reside in the tectonics of the cliff and in fail them of the rocky mass, on the upper blocks from this outcrop from the inferior layers, from the start of the materials allochthonous on the hole of erosion, going in the Sibyls and the Prophet Elias until the 103 meters of the height.  

Codex I -Tectonic Nihil

The honor explains the Regressive Legend of this good piece of Meat Corpulent and Brain also, was born to write his astragals in his terminal syllable, whole and dying with the blood of Etruscans Steeds and Macedonics, each had golden piercing hanged internally in one of his six ******* paranasal, sealing the life of this blood caretaker Franciscan and swordsmiths extemporal so that with his last four molars yielded the light amalgamated Crystalline and overflowing in the gums of the lapse that soaks of blood the fields equestrian. In this codex Sibyl Pérsica would enter by the cylindrical vault, she advanced with a light secluded and stepped a snake, under the steeled hooves of Alikanto. She with his veil and oil lamp announced the arrival of the Messiah, here the awakening semblance invokes by the honor of his come, to Parents and the Mothers. The Souls of Trouvere appear beside Estratónice, Lochnith, and Wonthelimar.

It says Lochnith: The world abdicated the pontifical, have run the curtains so that enter the light, Moses here has to come with the true curtains that house the lunettes, the thrones of the Sibyls and Prophets that come us the miracles salvations that are born of his entelechy, for the one who is forbidden in the thousandth portion of the broadcast that break out like an affair signal, and testamentary of the Apocalypse to the Poielipsis in creation testament were live in the whispers of Emmanuel, in the verses burnished and oracular of Sibyl, daughter of Dárdano and Neso. With meager differences and matrices between Hellespont and Dardania, like Jerusalem and Bethlehem, and this last between the outstandingly in Eon Kareem, but in the corresponding bifurcation approximated to the baptistery. The Hexagonal Primogeniture will mandate the hardships of hexameters in front of the hectometers that will do evidence of the Escatón a third world is like a consistent reality, real that will carry us to the hope of a life satisfied and trained.  

Codex II - Tectonics Supra Lithosphere

Three white eagles’ headed flew by Tel Gomel, carrying blood in his claws twisted of spines turgid. They brought the vaticinator of double death predicted, with his double craze put and his double helmet that transmitter the rings of the putrid Tanat’s by the faces, and by his lips lackluster feeble in Him, Vernarth had sent them a missive with the Eagles in low flight; all they were dressed of the stink of the field of yellow fog and black battle, on the silty hooves of Beelzebub that heaved in the ones of Alikanto, they moan on the lymphoma of the size of a dream of six decades in his ridge crucible, that wheezed purges by his full snout of rests of lymph remaining in the interstitial of his teeth Burnished canine-alanos. His heart reconverted in armour red ad limitem with blue endocardial flourishing. When putting the twilight of the blowout lying of wind Eolionimi and Shamal, went breaking the vertical with the halter of his greedy steed to the spit helicoidal volatile mats in the catacombs of Markazí where residents of his lineage forge dwelt in abominations of the Lives that renacían victorious from the fire of cult to the city that houses his true Life and Soul in Sibylla Pérsica.

Singing of Wonthelimar: Already the veils have collected will carry the candles that wire the souls freed of Trouvere cries of prosperity expect us from the medrons that rebirth of the immanent presence of her same, to meters on the level of the lithosphere showed the Rings Ibics to the meeting of a tertiary matchmaker in the Saeta of Zefian,  and behold where interprets the law, the future gives us the pennant of justice insufficient of Light but there of the cavern that is born in the turns of the third world. It says Of Meturgeman or Rabí that break down the avatars of his advances, by ends off-center if they have to be the verticality of the Sibyllas with the mind of God. Like this we go topping by this axon of spiritual fatigue, centering in the nervous excessively that goes out of the body of consciousness of the cosmos, transmitting impulses of the same by Elías´s links, where the motor structure of the teacher and the testamentary of Leví, and Greek Aramaic Leví in Qumram subsisting to the big speed of how has to pass the Messiah priestly will interpret all the word of the Mashiaj in the Áullos Kósmos in his order motor and behold the Messiah  Priestly, and the patriarchs like Set, Enoch, and Isaac having the work of unraveling the illusions and mysteries of the cosmos of the same way that the angel interpreter the nocturnal visions in the apocalyptic relates of San John the Apostle.

Codex III -Tectonic Quartzite

The disloyal Ghosts came from 70 km of the Iranian city of Shiraz province of Fars, near the place where the river Pulwar ends in the Kur (Kyrus).  His construction and destruction would be provinces that will be subjected until the conquest of the Persian Empire subjected in October by Alexander the Great. Persépolis Remain turned into rooms of the Harem and in *** of magnet bizarro between massacred gods. The transitions of the porches in the sides are joined by angular towers in the Apadana of profane interlock. The two big doors remained opened in eternity groaning salts in interminable assets of predefinition and recharge in his abortive degree.

Here they were the comrades of Vernarth overwhelmed of preparations and attires in the lobs of Mars on his shoulders after oracles tempest of the burning sun in his heads.  Anahita; Goddess of the nature, pours the blessed waters of the nature that washed with morbid rains the bodies of the fallen in the ***** battles with the roosters of the Zoroaster, cutting the palanquin where are seated, and enraptured in polytheism with Ahura Mazda with a short difference like cloister and capota, ad carry to shoe the monarchic attires of Macedonia in front of his defeated realm by the subjugated constitution of golden blood of Alexander the Great and Vernarth tied to the Macedón or Zeus, fully Hellenic that ran vast both strides by muted seams of basaltic streets of paving stones, and obsidians between paradises of vintage and wind. The Sybilla Eritrea shows his veil not only collected but significantly knotted on the belly that alludes to the state of gravity of the ****** in Incarnation (scene of the Annunciation). The meters of ascension to see determinant the first 103 meters of climbing insinuate the appellatives of Erqia, Eriflam Herifle, and Riquea.

Singing of Estratónice: In the marble reside of white Apeiron of indeterminate infinite matter, exempt of quality and that finds in the eternal movement of the Eolionimi, that has to dwell in his belly a savior white from the Áullos Kósmos or paradise of Vernarth, the word will say that it rescues the life of the mortal the facets of the Katapausis would make amends the effluvia Hebrew in the ponderation of the mainstay of the virola that embraces the saeta of Zefian falling from the altitude. The biface solitude will trespass the rocky subsoil of the peak of the Profitis Ilias like this with tender meters that will cross the Fero of absorption of his Santity and Salvation of the Humanity.

Codex IV Tectonic Cenozoico

From Rodas, the geological temporary scale will contribute us the evolutionary frame of the rocky mantle, and superpositions in the happen of time. I register fossils of organisms that underlying in layers or endodermis of the prehistory of the Dodecanese. Vernarth After crossing the Helesponto transgressed his for psiquis parapsychological in the substitute Brook to Sudpichi like a weightless mantle of a Machi praying to the Kósmos Negechen by the rickty Rehue prophesying to him on his hands dismembered of bravery, of big assistance in 300 years of souls Nge-Nge Mapus deu in the raging nose that propelled the wrath; similar substitute with which trigger the knot, Champollion with some sphinx uncovering the allegories of Pandora from the Valleys of the Kings.

Singing of Sibila Líbica: The sparking plugs will inflame the Iridescent eyes of the Mashiaj flashed in the likely settlement mortuary of Alexander the Great in the oasis of Siwa: Oh My warm wind of Libya that flatters my chees, and my shoulders that groove in the light of the callous brain coexistence of Zeus. Singing by you my Didaskein; treating or teaching to the baffled herd that confuses the menages that were born to. B.C., not having a reminiscence of Irradiation in the mastery of the continuous-time of not contravening of ignorance, but yes to find him agreed and effulgent!    

Codex V Tectonic Brisehal  

By the desolate empty Dasht-and-Lut, Brisehal a huge shady of structure is moved him when is covered until all half orient, even disobeying to his parents; beings in uncrowded places of contemplation that were surfacing of his big mountain of the delighted desert overflowed the lemurs strolling alone as wanting to take off the last spark of politics that remained them for surrendering in his own banishment encountered. Brisehal Was an eminent mount with a head of the can similar to Anubis, but million times of the size upwards and with a clorhídricbreath, like a perspective of the congregation to go into the garden-realm of The Skies and in his laps. Before shivering the day with the movement of his shuddered step, Brisehal was two years moving day and night in the surface that did alluring of lux Solaris.  Brisehal In this fifth codex liquefied in the black layer of the tunnels of wind that hide by Dash-and-Lut, until the sensory layer of Dasht-and-Kavir, attracting by the tunnel of the grotto of 308 meters of height of Patmos intra geological, all the sculptures and images of the cusps did near to the 103 meters of initial altitude in this vertical underground in attachment with the parallel that retracted in cubic tones drilling the doloninas or geological depressions in the extensive of Lut for a giant that is born of the wails and lacerations of Vernarth when it was tutored by saetas in the middle of the field of Gaugamela, even moving to Maceo. When they moved noisily the dolines, lower mountains conceived deduced with the greater effect of his swivels nerves were immense thunderclaps that even reflected until the spheroids nimbus reddened by the riot of Dasht-and-Kavir. It turned off left to right pretending exile the Desert of Lut tubed in pro generation by both do of optical rope or fibers in high energy density, and that it could cohabit beside Vernarth disabling in the odyssey of the Horcondising (Paradise of the lineage of Vernarth to Gaugamela).

Singing of Brisehal: The veil that receives the indifference, has knotted in the abdomen hatched of the earth, and of the dolonina that protected me of the folio that barter what there was or of will have to become. The Gesta of all those that suffer from foot and rely on, have three abortive routines in his gravidity of a white relative, that did to shelter me in the love to my gentleman Vernarth. Sibila Eritrea neither in Greeks nor Latins has to sortear the breviaries of the maximum pontifex that speaks while dozing of anilines nights where anybody perishes awake in his epítome?

Sibilino By the Saudi, from the vórtice direct the gulfs that hide from where rebirth like choruses of Esquilo, behind the springs of Agamemnon in where Clytemnestra opens plains that do to run the Shamal by his dry disposition of dew, but humid of the sap of Eritrea faces in springs subtropical that tears dry of the tough body fallen in tears that will not hear by the tenacious hemp?

To the-Haffar, the third party is with saetas in his thigs, arms and pectoral, where the star does open shining for the one who dies by her in the first lightning of the night Thurayya, with violent embraces to receive to the one who from a codex receives the fifth bowl for violent winds of fishermen that resolved of the wind in a fine dust of the cleft hands of Aldebarán, peepholes of bilges of ogres that are born hell to die as pious in arms of Sybilla Eritrea, and in prologues of Brisehal with so many meters of wingspan, nevertheless that of any rye in the greater degree that have to ceremoniously in perks of a revived Sybilla Líbica.      


Codex VI - Strigoi Asthenosphere

In the spring of 331 b. C., Alexander the Great left Egypt returning to the port of Shot, where was his fleet. Of there it headed to Antioquía, crossing the valley of the river Orontes, and arrived at the River Éufrates to the height of Tapsaco, were founded the city of Nicéforo so that it was a strong square and tank of the supplies of the army, Here it was learned that Darius was found in Arbelas as he was crossing the Tigris, and heading north along the eastern bank of the river. The Sybilla Cumana found in the height 97 of the tunnel of wind when auscultating these waves very near of the dolonines, in avidity of the Pythia Délfica with divinatory proselytes that visited the folds of his attire, in places of his divinatory crowd cerebral. His relativity Cumana waste of energy of the Mausoleum, prophesying life for all in the passion of the life together with the abandoned bodies by the souls of the Devotio Roman, and in the poverty of the soul that drains scared by not remaining desolate between half of the parchment of Lilith, and in the offering of the Strigoi by breaches of troubling visions in the darkness of the cavern of Chauvet, when sacrificing competitive emotions of the Votum maléfico of Lilith.  Only one can exist like an inviolable part of the tradition of the chastest Wonthelimar, attempting the Xiphos with human chamois in tectonic offering and frizzing the altitude 103 of the tunnel of wind of the Strigoi.    

Vlad Strigoi Sings: Mardiath, noble and loyal hussar of the sea of Vernarth, Boss of the fleets of the Gulf, came by the cover when giving the turn by the bauprés, sees collected and hit by ropes in parasitosis that shined like a stray in the oars of the gods, and pleading that felt in the whistling of the wind. It approaches and it descends by dark sheds stairs with direction to the piston of water, who heresy in the ship Vladiana is quarreling when I training me in writing when saying who love the one who I am not, alone receipt phlegmons multitudinous Saecula Saeculorum, not hitting any foundation to confess me. They say not knowing that reveal due to the fact that it is not content that compares to the one who does not have Age, Life either Compassion that only has to communicate me like messenger Strigoi! Now I know that anybody will sing my thoughts, there is not ink that dares to spread a comparable quill that resists my word of ammonium Strigoi, usurped of a shipping Ballinger to some Flemish pirates, seconded to the side by a barge of Panescalm, that threw to 64 one thousand bodies massacred of the Bubonic Plague. Mardiath, get out of the Ballinger and leaves his sword to Vlad beside a geographic table to rediscover a destination in some doncella that could attend his disorders, more than ganglion suppuration in prostration. It traces back the course to shot to find with Vernarth and his minions to direct finally to the braves fields of Gaugamela and the Prehensile Ctónicos who revered to the gods or telluric spirits in the tectonic infra world by opposition to celestial deities, appearing in the tubular ascension of the warm wind that topped the consecration of my roman arteries, and all those that were up expecting them. The oblations of light lit the particles of the woodworm that suspended expelling those that magnetized the fosca matter. The unconnected syntax did periodically in the words of Strigoi from the Capite Velato or head watched from the Ballinger Strigoi that attained relocate. In double increase of sap did it minor to resist his life and his closure lying minimum in front of Wonthelimar, and Mardiath that satisfied him of the company in the eyebolt that sustains the road in his sullen life.

It sings Mardiath: The troops of Vernarth would split from Shot were found his fleet that came from Sudpichi from the Empire of the Horcondising. It explains the legend that in the heights of the Gulf when his army goes sailing, break out on his squares a mysterious tempest of hot airs of Ormuz to the height  665 in miles of Um Kasar, had found pertinent shipping of current Romania. when spotting them and take part inside this frigid ship at all there was, only crunches of topmasts and his sail greater that was spurring and presenting fenced curtains that came from of Sighisoara/Transilvania; where the alike Vlad Tepes stated seated behind a chamber of captaincy writing in his buffet. Each true interval took out a handkerchief to dry his ****** nose, like a pinch of gelatinous darky ink and sullied. It sings Isaías: The presence in the versed and corresponding folio, does relative the prophecy of Emmanuel been born of a ****** that associates to similar prophecy Virgiliana of the Cumana justifying his prophetic symbolism and beholds the caution that blackens skies where the light retracted, thousands are chained during the annunciation of a thousandth abyss like the fateful Strigoi only troubled pastures will have to transplant rebellions, that dying slept for the winnow of the ideal of incipient spiritual ******* dressed of execration. It has trigged the conflagration of the heart that resists the death and that is in decline several times in the conditions awaited by the apostates when denying of the water that does not do them Optimus and does elliptical the radius of obedience in the heart Vernarthiano satisfied of granules of Physconia grumose, whose frequency they become encysted in bodies of traitors reigns and of fungus lineages. The reign of the saints will judge plurality in the thrones with devastation in fatuous beatifications in Pérgamo, already admonished by me.    

Codex VII - Báculo of Sheesham  

Vernarth it calms lying down on the bunks of the fire of Sheesham. Beam and Incense with ultra olfactory and sensory powers, delineating the elementary and phenomenal cores housing and adapting híper connectivity with probity Hinduist the akasha executed the essential foundation in all the things of material cosmovision; the first palpable material element and concrete was created by the god Brahmá (air, fire, water, earth are the others). Did it treat one of the classical elements of Hinduism, pañcha-majá-bhuta or? Five big elements; His main characteristic is the sabda (sound). In sanscrit, this word means "space. It is the physical and eternal substance Akasha, of the ether that flows by the Akasha-Nautas and by Vernarth in each regression parasicológica. Vernarth Takes of a báculo called Key of Sheesham purchased it once anxious for delivering it to his beloved Toscana in the Cathedral St. Mary dei Fiori, in one of his Regressives Lives. They expected it astonished by the tyrannized impulsiveness of the noble in Florencia, of which once again came delayed of the tillage of the barley and of the god’s fatuous next to the Porcellino. It expected long hours until it went out his beloved Maddalena of the Eucharistic ceremonial, while the carried in his right hand his crosier, and in the left a rectangular box sizeable for his hand, inside carried essences of the potpourri of lavender and vellorita, a ring with a stone of amethyst coated by a concave skittle of gold, in the outline supra circulate carried medieval ornaments of silver of Etruria of the Party of the past barley. In front of this acquiescence Sybilla Samiense, followed carrying the clairvoyance where the prophet Isaías there was untied the conflagration of the heart that resists the death and that is in decline several times in the form today from Kafersesuh in Ein Karem, opens the stamp of residing in the cradle where María poses beside his son, already being part of the lithosphere of Getsemaní and of Vernarth in the heart of Maddalena.

Phylogeny in Getsemaní: The **** erectus crossed with multiple pieces of evidence of beings pro-evolutionary-adaptative, Neanderthal/HomoSapiens. Children of Israel wrote parables, epistles, verses, histories, and books, his vocal tract and phonetic spoke of tempest and environmental factors between sky and earth, of the big noise out of us, but little silence in us. The elementary is larynx that only pronounces the image that reports concepts evocative minimal of the sound in distinct placings of the melisma in mega sound. Speaking us how the language varies according to the history, and the half civic-climatic instructing us to his threshold and descendants when giving off by the effusions aerial of the language in assiduous levels tracheo-laryngeal. Earning authoritatively the intervals of vocalization, and relation of the junction with the agriculture and all his dimension descending by his internal walls, but going up by parietal overexcites out of her same.

Of the little air that remains to the world, to follow digesting temporarily assumes leaving flow his extra-air that possessed this in particles mechanically inert, and no in sanctified prophecies with miracles inferences and Inherence that Innova factótum, in the súper existence of which even do not perish by the hand of a monarchic mandate. Like this, the world swallows air in halves suffocating and contaminated whole, whereas others redistribute it for the one who needs to seat at the table to collect the Bread and share it with the other half.  Here it echoes the echo of body Christic, that in Aramaic syndicate much more than a language in his blood, grapheme and phonemes of stylistic in vibratory shock further of his deep stretch reverberating with the grace of his billed divine. Joshua swallows spikes and leaves simultaneously having us in his arms like children of olive-nursling, risk a sheep in his arms giving us lactate hydro-milk of the sustain of a verb creator. Fact strict to preserve the Aramaic and no stray with turning the turns of the leaves in the history, the Aramaic has to incorporate for the times that Joshua grazes us after more than two thousand years even. The one who is walking of one side to another to say us that it still is here, only comfort suggest your walk plagiarized with his larynx the sound of his expression the sheep is mammalian but mammalian that the man as his billed formulates bleats always reflected in the base of his skull for the rest of his children like biblical language, under all the rainbows of Querubines bawling beside boys surrounding them in identical intention! **** habilis, **** Sanctus in a process that possesses Orthodox bases and peripheral anatomical capacity, a linguistic Pythagorean shortcut of the dalliance and sternum when confusing it between yes, not altering his structural complexity neither functional. Of the potential of the Lepidoptera and winged insects, will arise the phenotype that will relate and relativize the mechanical aramea or Aramaic method for no stray the divine tongue, as well as it also is sublime the laryngitic torque of the one who possesses blood and body Aramaic, as his mechanized mystic devours the minimum words with the maximum in an all of the ranges of cacophonies and of prototyped field, they see to my field here spoke the spikes and the insects more than the own mechanical potential of your Voice.

The tunnel of wind filled with Lepidópteras that flew rising in shape helicoidal, everything sensitized with the imminent advent of the saeta magnánima of Zefian that came crossing the perihelion from the high Áullos Kósmos, dialécticamente with abundance credibility in the interior of the geological tunnel of the Profitis Ilias, list to the turgent of lactation doctoral theological. Timoratas And long justices rounded in those who were even exhausted, entre ajar the colophon of the days that began with the identification of the báculo Sheesham, appointing regent of tribulations that drains by his length of trip, to the basality static focusing idiosyncrasies and interests of the Prophet Elías that it received them in the height 103 with passages of Corintios that the saints go to help in the administration of the saints millenials. His capacity will not have the limits of his previous earthly life?  


Codex VIII - Ultramundis Alikantus

Alikantus Archetype of his a short astral trip three days that topped in Gaugamela...! Bulle In hides and discomfort after lightening his igneous hooves by slippery Lerapetras of Lasithi in stepped that seemed to be the same inflows of committed that brought Kanti of Creta, that pyrographed the floor Traciano before arriving at the request of his address. It resorts to Medea, before arriving at Tracia after errate by distinct places in search of protection and councils to protect to his master Vernarth, while it subjected to the last libations opiáceas of vivid liliáceas and angiosperms encapsulated in his pectoral right in the anonymous of Alikanto, asking him to Medea a potion to be able to supply him to his master and reduce inflammation his pectoral for like this can use his armour Áspis Koilé in the fight, as they subtracted three days for the duel. Medea Arrived at the city of Athens on a tempestuous day with a gray dantesco Fusco on the palm of the cliff escaping previously near Abdera, in which the orient proceeded to evacuate sooty plectrums to the sunset. Medea While it looked to the sky, took a piece of anthracite of feldspar to create javelins of aluminum that would have to carry Alikanto to his return, beside the potions for deflating his pectoral infected. It painted the sky with grey lines plotted and lodged later in his wry loop,  sighting from the infinite signals that came joining up in a ray of an alloy whose semblance seemed to be a king, it was Egeo, that not only offered him hospitality but it would link with Medea with the hope that his sorceries allowed him to conceive a son in spite of the advanced of his age. The sorceress fulfilled his expectations by having a son to call Medo. When Teseo, the secret son of Egeo, arrived in Athens had to that his father recognized it like heir Medea took it as a threat to the future of his son and tried to poison it. But Teseo discovered it, accusing it to commit horrible crimes and witchcraft, Medea had to escape again. This crusade had the assistance of Alikantus that transported it flying from Abdera, not to be captured and can supplement the potions that had requested him Alikantus, also with javelins that had to carry to Vernarth to escort him off the splendorous insult. The convulsed Sybilla Cimera customized the symbols of the ceremonial willing forging classical gestures of prodigality, and that at all less was a cornucopia given to zephyrs of the Ultramundis, that revolutionized the boss around that shuddered in the pickets of the dermis rocky that dressed the walls of the final tubule of 103 meters. The channel located referred inclinations of Likantus that harassed, and customize the final discretion of Teseo to finish with the folio of Egeo downward breaking the sentence of his son, and evading it of his stepmother. In this colisseo rooted Teseo beside his mother Etra that did not reveal him the name of his father until it fulfilled sixteen years. Arrived at this age, Teseo could raise the stone, shoe in the sandals and the sword of his father, and initiate his trip to Athens to be recognized like a son of the king. From this obviously Vernarth in the film of Gaugamela dressed him in the sandals Persikaia that did of him the one who never was, and if it died would carry them settled until the altar of the comedies in the Tristanía, where all that surrealist exceeds the loquacity narrow of reality, more than at all in racked muses in forced symptomatology of paranoia or of a heroine Sybilla, that mediated with the Arms of Christi in the iconology of the Codex Raedus.

Vernarth Seated in the edge of the Ultramundis, and broke in front of the cosmos and the solitude that hid all the beings that floated in the ditch that he collected in his moaning, in such judge that it rejected all the creations when feeling his wails, where the demons looked him from the darkness that fragile hastened his Magro occipital, attacking him in front of Medea evading the Satanic circumscription to contravene it the agreed with Egeo. The perjures reigned in the doubts of tragedy favored of Komedia parading in victorious procession, and singing triumphs of duality paranoic tragic, enthroned in the martyrs of tribulation, and in the seeds of the one who does not cease Tragediopathic Ubis, and in facts that speak of the hunger of solitude in all man plunged of the Ultramundis, as only dimensional of the one who burns in his doubts and of Anastasia frustrated. Vernarth Saysekáthisan and the Duoverso in consequence of the Universe seated to dry his tears then Vernarth received from the darkness of the Ultramundis a golden light of steeds Hippeis with an aura of Tesalia, where the krima or criminality become in three chambers threaten from Maceo to the confrontable in the half-hour of Arbela. Vernarth compress desisting the essays of procrastination reconstructing bodies’ severed here more than going isolating of his own souls and sins, with Hebrew souls of root Néfesh that took spooky in capsizing of decapitation of the one who lives exponentiating in the solitude of the Ultramundis. Inexorably the infra earthly holiness of the surrealism exceeds any verse, if it is that it was Lazarus here in the tunnel of wind the one who raises in front of Vernarth embracing him,  and playing it cool the greek of Likantus to fulfill him his mission.


Codex IX Ultramundis Phalanx
            
The labaros of the Phalanx saw from Asia some of the faithful groups of Alexander the Great. They appeared like ursids and Amphibians that came by the near step from Gorgan. "The Red Snake" was a defensive construction from here come the palfreys of Alikanto, preview with big camerades of animals for the body adhered to the cavalry of Alexander the Big. This incredible barbican begins on the coast of the Caspio, north of Gonbade Kavous, and continues to the northwest and disappears in the mountains of Pishkamar. They continued on the buttresses beside Bears and Leviathanes, they formed part of the totemic dreams, that taenia Vernarth when it assumed hallucinations doped by regressive turn by hieratic spaces to the slip away in hardships and incorporate in connection with animal pets in rhythms and waltzes of the applause of his atabales. Alikantus came speedy flying almost without detaining and without distracting when he brought the poisons and instruments of the armory of the panoply. He came Already had for the hours that came to fill out details before taking the game besides the Heavy infantry, Light, and Thessalonians. Inside the most elementary of his mission, he was to do the protocol of the potion, broadcast the preaching beside the Lumberjack, and distribute the javelins to the Hetairoi of Vernarth.

When anchoring the cerulean hoofs of the fire unknown of the Gods, attains to discern as to Vernarth took him out of the back of an Elephant attacker was besides accompanied by the cunning guard dog of Alexander called Péritas, that insinuated him start and raise with windstorms in warlike stratagems. Vernarth Came of his last session frugal Opiácea, for institute vegetal nervous lianas that commonly remained with some of them, and remained cut off in his cephalic vein and jugular stalking his ******, that always spreads in laurels of Cocoon, and by averages of intríngulis that had to gobble up by some days. It would follow daily being joined to the infinite that saw him be born, like the most magnificent Commander of Alexander the Great neither imagined nor collated! The wall Gorgan possessed a length of at least 200 kilometers upper to any one of the Roman walls that outlined in archeology like works of bastion. It was exhausting to exceed it and take a course with beasts since they were upset when being near Tel Gomel to the present that they were approaching the mulch of Vernarth; due to the fact that they were his very adored pets besides the Crocodiles Tupak. The Alazanes were prescribed by a watchdog of the wall of Gorgan being of the Persian army that was seduced by the bears to combat beside Vernarth.

Next to the Bumodos, already saw Vernarth play with his pets, Bears, Crocodiles, and the can of Alejandro Magnus. Further submissively approached shoring his frozen neck, Alikanto or Alikantus preceded with donations and drugs for his master brought of the sleight phalanges by Medea. Vernarth was appreciated and almost emancipated of the branch mowing and the strains venal that populated mostly in his pectoral and both full arms of smelly tattoos that had colonized him. Almost when getting dark on burgeoning them and fluffs of Zeus then begin to arrive the phalanges of Vernarth. The Phalanx of Macedonia was the training of infantry created and used by Filipo II, and later by his son Alexander the Great in the conquest of the Persian Empire. The phalange Macedonia arose, in fact, like the answer in front of holistic modifications and tactical Hellenistic of Theban strategists, Epaminondas and Pelópidas of strengths of earth that deployed at the beginning of the 4th century B.C. For opposition to the superiority, although it already was decadent in training hoplític spartan, that had exerted in the terrestrial fights between the polis Greek until that dates.

The Sybilla European carried a Gladius in his hand but exchanged it with the Xiphos in alternation by the death of innocent entrusted by Herodes the Big, and of the escape of the Holy family to Egypt. This confirms the liturgical grouping of the Triduo Pascual; the alluding passion of Christ and perpetrating the typical dolorism of the Devotio to his death, and triumph to his resurrection. The transposed of surrealism transports to San Juan digging in all the layers and hordes of the Faith, his componential of tribulación that moved in the Egyptian and Greek cartography, moving the triangular areas of the Phalanx, that moved en geometrical block reaching the edges of the hypotenuse gradient and of the tunnel of wind that elevated them cornering to the beast that visited them pretending to be feeble and imprecise.

The dolines collapsed in myriads substances in suspension, while the two swords Gladius and Xiphos were satisfied with blood Greco-roman. Here vegetated the verb of Elías in the corporal resurrection with similarity of triangular body Lazarinus that saw dragging by the power of tow of the ionic Phalanx in his stuck. They were Beings Equis that abstracted in a start of the Be X in his contrary algebraic; an incógnita or something that could take any quantity in other words something unknown, so that the algorithmic links and cater corporeality resuscitator in Lazarus of Betania inside his angles of Holy Geometry. The winds of swing presented viviparous in future observances of visions and perplexity of consciousness, governing fiscality that does resurrect in rabbinic worlds from the highest occupying thrones in the bracket, but of thrice ignoring the belief by means of greater incredulities that the direct truth and more brief. Elías is attracted by the Cinnabar that ponders in an apocalyptic mosaic, in the chamber Esdras, at the end of the mundane reign dissolved and that dies in the same Messiah. Satanás Does not tire to attack the credibility of the Phalanx in manifolds of dispensationalism, perhaps being strongly attached to Carmelo and of the unloyal that never revive in his same bodies unconverted.    


Codex X Ultramundis Lepanto  

Of Lepanto appeared exhausted the Armis Christi with burned eyes volatilized in stratospheres that received them Belligerent. Cual if they went alien castes settled in inflexible breath, refloating from his clámide in fuss and idiosyncrasy. They arrived cracking the pristine stretches from Tel Gómel when they arrived it charges it a military strategist asking him clemency to extend.

Falangist: With the crest in my hands and the Dorus on my clámide from the floor said; each disposal that tried in the double edges of my sword that dent. The upper leaf Sansevieria nominated me to a Hebraic past and to a medieval future, it was the Sword of Saint Jorge, notifying that my family in Kalidona was under a state paradoxical, given to my two greater children that were quoted to the service of the militia. The second inferior edge of my Xiphos and the Sansevieria bent me ruin in front of the prosopopoeia to the entrance with discouraged to defray the sclerosis of my soul follows exploding, surpassing and impelling to my wife in spars of easy undress. I know that my descendants remained buried under the effect of mortal meeting in the catharsis of Pompeii, the future of Saint George that patented! All emigrated and will escape afterward to remain desolated, and attain to return the inopportune comrades to the reintegrate in the verbena of St Mary in Athens, the Saint Patron saint comforted me and prepared my resist of such bad numerary so that someday left to fall my seeds in the wisdom of archangels peasants with sacral devotional fruits. I sighed and I groaned rubbing in my animals! my empties eyes day and night were mesmerized to the ethereally magnetized. They did it beside me, with the singularity of not to affect me, they went by little booklet near to moan not to see them demagnetized by some fatalistic effects and consummatory.

Etréstles moved by the tribulations of the Child of the Falange, bent imposing non-existence afterward that his words involved the exhortation to Hera by his benevolence consummatory to be able to reside beside her. Like this, they would remain immune to progressive lives under the influence of sharp primary stew and secondary in arms of the phalanx. Shinings the eyes of Hera when the spirit of the Falangist is entering to her were not vanities but if the advent of the vanity in ínfulas to the Acrópolis is carrying it to her.  

Sibila Tiburtina sustains it gathering him in his arms saying him: You will receive the heat that you will imprison in the house of the great priest, a scene that will be represented in Prócoro in the neutral corresponding folio. Events and expletives will be of the past, no longer allocated him neither he annoyed. The Arms Christi again swirling with the Souls of Trouvere in last irascible chinks of the winds Eolonimi in the holístic of all the winds that appointed to Vernarth. "They did not go back to live your children heard a Macedonio military", The physical resurrection of the unconverted take place after the tree of Mars when they free to the innocent fallen in the belief versicular that divides the ray with his half where any minute will be able to hit it. The passages of the tunnel of wind are the wasteland that dies revived by the *** cutting overflowing fibrils of vitality from the high for overflow it downwards for those who even expect amazing miracles, walking beside the alive with hypocoristic triviality reborn in his same blood that was spilled. Everything famous goes walking with pennants that raise of his own sepulcre, cutting lower capillaries of the impetuous rising of his pale cheeks, where the scepter Greco-tridentate will be a forbearance of the one who frees and purposeful escape of the tree of Mars. Now lie down beside your children and will be between the hazels and Eolonimis doing revived of the Tágmati or order of succession of the Polis like the unit of elite tribulating the final stretches of the straight of the Ultramundis to the fries the 103 meters glorified.

Etréstles during the millennium of the Satagenesis and Deidagenesis beside the Heosphoros and the Uomo of Valplacci they prostrated to Lucifer in front of Etréstles (Koumeterium Messolonghi, Cap. 45 - Palibrio USE), reflowing and emulating wars of the Peloponeso, is being east a garrison of the general of the Athenian fleet in western Greece. The mentor floats were directed by the admiral Formión that defeated all the Lacedemonios in Naupacto. When they approximated to the province of Nafpaktia, of the Nomo of Aitoloakarnania confined followed the indivises and weightless musks disseminated, disintegrating immortal souls with the damage of the break exhaled that is extinguished in his offering. It is as well as it could cause some aversion not to be condemned to the Hadic infra world, to Tee castes of gods and semi-gods with Sansevierias in green leaves, and clover that chained to the freedom of the furious gases of Xenon and Lithium, slipping away by drainages and spaces where any sword neither launches will cross the atmosphere of Gaugamela-Macedónica, only Vernarth here was hádic and will have to pipe by the untouched pavilions of the spotless backsstore with heroic lineage. Any curly tease or flagrant will slice sanctified carnosities purchased in quoted sessions in the manacled of the Bumodos with the drugs and the potions of Medea.

Codex XI - Ultramundis Raeder      

From Patmos saw come hundreds of hanged boys of the stringers of the pelican blue of the Dodecanese. Raeder cames Hanged with both hands on the rings of iron plating of jasper; from the Greek "iaspis", that means "stone marked". Raeder found it in sharp hydrothermal, in volcanic rocks, and in sedimentary rocks in the surroundings. With four palmate fingers that shod in the hoops of amethyst for the owners of the house that celebrated the actions of thank you, and the celebration of the guidelines of Saint John that sent them transported in his peak golden shoe. Generally, they were more than five thousand those that transited by the regions, they swallowed canonized water of the sea Jonico with the big advantage to reproduce saltwater seas in freshwater to drink. They carried them to each house to fill his vessels and also in periods of seed, irrigated his tillage in summery periods where scarce, with his brown golden plumages raffle the fields of olives and of the ***** vineyards of the Goddess Afrodita. With his whites plumages, they spray the tillage of barley with vinegar and recently wheat fields fished of the legs of Petrobus, his pelican of the dreams! From here they were born all the recipes by all the regions when it depressed them the Bread without firewood and tares. Patmos has recorded in the stringers of the pelican planning every day and go looking for houses where arrive to carry them the Gospel. To all the boys like Raeder accompanied him other blessed, to carry the good news to families that seated expected near in denouements of his social limits when they expected them by the afternoons with the action of gratitude. They ate by the afternoons to expect the boys to taste them Tzatziki; Sauce of yogurt with cucumber and candy with drinks of poppies and honey, they received them in chambers near his gynoecium and right there exchanged the gifts that brought of the Grotto of the Evangelist in Patmos. The boys from the same moment in that the future mother knew or suspected that it was pregnant, attended speedy so that the distribution did not have problems considered them a divine gift,  the only children to the firstborn or those that were born of greater parents, was the privilege of these primogenitures. Reckless renowned and quotations that appear in the Apocalypse of John, in whose introduction says that the author was banished to Patmos, where had his meeting with Jesus in the called Grotto of the Apocalypse that originated everything.

The grotto or foundation of sapphire, was just to the addition of the empty that levitated from the walls of the grotto were molecules with mass hyperactive, delivering him tracks to Raeder near to the Jasper, calcedonia, emerald, sardónica, sardio, crisolito, berilo, topacio, and crisoprasa, but he magnetized with the Iaspis of the genealogy of Kalymnos that revealed him the wave vibrational on the Jasper,  the Arms Christi of Saint John in Apocalypse 21, of verse 19, says there: "The foundations of the wall of the city all lovely stone the first foundation jasper; in the paráfrasis predicted that the foundations of the Megarón will be most of these materials, but regularly of Iaspis of Raeder.

Sibila Gets flu carries the relative scourges to the scene of Flagellation in the praetorium here filigrees hematíes ran by exvotos simulating blood from the celestial, representing the corresponding straight folio. The natural laws of the Parables Iaspias do the alchemy with noble minerals immanent and hypocoristic in the cavern that revealed all this grace to Raeder for the propaedeutic of the Mashiaj when centralizing here the spacetime that said that God has similarity to the Iaspis, as its bed of condensed gold in the expiration and metalization of the cosmic essence. The similarity did that all the walls of the vault or tunnel of the Profitis Ilias governed of Jasper and Cornelian, being this last of blue greens eyes of Raeder glittering in his iris, and in the curvature of mass that did apressed in the interior of the tunnel of wind that also expanded, doing rubíes and sharpnesses of her same. The visibility of the Universe still did hyper brilliant on the inlet of Patmos, for this Petrobus his Pelicano blue topped surrounded in the arch superciliary of Apollo, to train similarity of the metals like his neighbor metalloid.

Isaías says 28:16: "Therefore, Iahveh the Gentleman says like this; Love and behold that I have put in Sion by the foundation a stone, stone tested, we look by where it begins, a stone, but first tested then angular, then lovely of stable foundation; the one who believed. From this situation the Iaspis and Sardio in the mountain of Sion the throne of the Gentleman that accompanied to Raeder and to the lamb flashing beside his idols Petrobus. They did angulars to all the stones some powdered finally and all pyramided by the dolines, in the exquisiteness of the son that presented in the cavern of the most refractory way for irradiate light that warned to Raeder to go by his progenitors. The glory of Raeder did of the glow to garrison enhanced in voices of boys by all Patmos, speaking that his parents were similar lovely stones to the Iaspis.    


Codex XII - Ultramundis Duodecim Evangelii

The twine of the Rainbow did to mutate the labaros in each color disseminated, already descends a peripeteia in the chromatic Era and niveous, discoloring in the Antiphony of entrance that says: I will give you shepherds according to my heart that grazes you in consciousness and experience. Oh God, that have aroused in the Church to Saint Joseph, Mariah, and his Rabí, wise priest, to proclaim the universal vocation to the holiness of the Duodecim Evangelii, grant us his intercesión and example, in the exercise of the ordinary debit having us to our Messiah, and serve with fervent passion in the work Redentive by our Gentleman Jesus Christ.

This big event exerts from the chasm of the Apocalypse, where daily inhabitants bound handwritten and ancient treasures  Sakkelion-Sakellarios. They upset conforming a new resolution in his scriptorium in the Byzantine period they administered alms and tributes, Curiously related with Zaqueo appearing in the new verses from Lucas´s Gospel, 19 1-10, when Jesus Christ goes in Jericho. It was a publican, boss of collectors, and very rich. The collectors worked for the Romans and besides asking for more money the Romans demanded doing this rich way easily, by what was doubly hated. Zaqueo was low in height and for this reason, when Jesus went in in the city of Jericho, all the world banked to see it and he remained backward and did not arrive to see it. Then it advanced and it went up to a species of the fig tree, a sycamore (Ficus sycomorus) since it went to happen in front of her. When Jesús arrived at that place, said him: Zaqueo goes down prompt; because it suits that today it remains me in your house. In front of this, the village muttered that it went to the lodge home of a sinner. Zaqueo retorts that it will give to the poor half of what has, and if it defrauded to somebody previously will give him the quadruple. Jesús answers that salvation has arrived at his house because he also is the son of Abraham. From this antiphony arises the Twelfth Evangelii, which arises in a file that celebrates the haughty morals of tributes that have to motivate by tribal crowds of Gaugamela for the presence of God, by what want his will and No!

The tessitura of the wind tunnel transfigured the next height of 103, after the blonde grace of Abraham murmuring his tent to generate height over Israel and Jacob. The dolines of aspersion evaporated the matter that transfigured in celestial plasma with ranks of metric coercive, of what that up to is down and vice versa for the hemispheres of the Sefirot, and for the Shemot or name of the start of the origin transfiguring in would idolise of Creation in the Universe-Duoverso. From all the corners will split to give reading to this big incident no easy to read, and listen neither less feel in his once become vibrations by the immortality of the events memorials of the history like regent conveyor of the meeting of all the frivolous voices that sin of ignorance, and those that know by ensuing ebullient. That they will be quadrupled the parchments to the fighters that finalize alive or died in Gaugamela, each one carrying in his hands one of them bled. All the crosses relations of the ancient society, infuse parallel of sustainability of Faith by means of the generosity, almost transferred of an essential charisma praised of the esoteric core of the Same dogma, confusing on the way that it has to transport it without having consciousness of the destination that will carry it, and comes badly from the limen of the doubt from the beginning. Since a king, impious Manases was imprisoned and exiled, designated king impío, convivió in the depths of the heat of the Averno. For the modern Christians, Manases is an icon of the Divine pardon, of where arises the traditional pray socrative of Manasés from the jaculatory of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, since after being one of the kings more bloodthirsty and pagan of the Jewish, forgave him and even was buried in the city of David, pantheon only reserved for the faithful kings with what deduces that God forgave it entirely.

The Sybilla Délfica carries the crown of spines of the Coronation of Jesús become equally in the praetorium, and as in previous cases to the scene that represents in the neutral corresponding. In the triade Eritrea, rather Herófila, if caste and clairvoyant Délfica and apologetic, his vernacular artery did it native of Marpeso, Trojan Tróade, as in fantasies to be a daughter of a Nymph and Shepherd. It chose it did him escort for the Duodecim Evangelii, from Samos this robbing to Patmos in the foundation of the Megarón with the same polygonal of the Chapel Sixtina in the quattrocento, where Vernarth had assistance in Regression parapsychological of the Quattrocento Duodecim Evangelii, announcing that the Vernolatría serious part of his Apologetic life inspiring prophecies with the Parables Iaspis, extolling erudition after the grave that was in the forest of Apollo Esminteo, returning to his origins to a sinkhole in the Córico mountain.          

Codex XIII - Nix in the Tenebrousness

All the demarcations derived to witness Bastos and impolitic utensils of the undivided Gaugamela. Three days before that the Falangists protested to Vernarth for when they were clouded by the Ekadashi. They fasted three days before and delivered to the visas of Zeus, graduating fulgid movements in his lunar seals eleven days before. It is the penultimate stair; already remained hours to walk by the woodworm that shook the heels of the Phalanges, all the accouterments and animals were conferred to the mysticism of essence and to his disputable worshipper. Now in the boundary circle of the heritages of Gaugamela, Darío came from afterward to move the Tigris, organizing his troops and his harem. The Macedonians had an army that added 7.000 riders and 40.000 children. The heavy cavalry of the elite of Alexander was the Hetairoi and was formed by the nobility of Macedonia, that accompanied Alexander in this battle and went the decisive factor in the faction, Vernarth commanded more than 40 one thousand children, saving narrow relation with the Hetairoi with his arms twinned of divine caste, and the Hoplites Greek that took part to cover the rear of the phalanx, that Vernarth defrays from the more furtive boundary of his doctrine in this mobile taint with thousands of Macedonians singing institutional quarrelsome poetry. From the Dodecanese, Kalidona and all the central Greek archipelagos came to surrender the figure of Vernarth, accompanied by Etréstles of Kalavrita, big hero and defender beside Markos Botsaris (Capitulate 6, pag. 36 Koumeterium Messolonghi / Palibrio USA) in this Magna Epos. Also, Raeder incorporated beside Petrobus the Pelican Blue, Brisehal of Dash-and-Lut and Vlad Strigoi appearing of the transversal valleys of Transilvania, suddenly after having arrived of the Reign of the Horcondising, tackling his Frigate in Valparaíso juxtaposing in the nine elements and in megatonnes to be ratified from the start in a new Celestial wasteland. All camp to five kilometers of the Rio Bumodos, in the ***** north where the shady blemishes favored them of a new lunar phase in tendencies, effusion, and backflow that was the apotheosis influence of energy. The worshipper of the clan did not give him any importance especially only given hierarchy by alone gnosis because in these goods could improve his devotion, so they are occupied in his service.  They are to the expectation to have the juncture of renovating even more his mourning for himself by second certificates to his right-handed with astrológics cosmic interpretations of the Ekadashi, being able to be explained by the shoots of the material world.  The concept contravened to the reverences is that the Ekadashi will be the day in that the Gentleman will persevere attaining the unitary joy dean, contesting flashes incessant by the unbalance emotional community of the assistants, like ingredient spirit that is allocated in his spree, and has to treat to give more start to Vernarth in his regression parapsychological. But besides it is necessary to conceive that we are in singing of subsistence of the hypotenuse, by which do not have to think this Zeus requires extremely our third. He is entirely self-sufficient and is tied to his transcendental world of the vilorta, but not to leave us alone with his vague shimmers of collectivity!

Sibila Helespóntica sustains the cross, the last emblem of the Passion represented in the chaining. As it corresponds in his straight and immediate folio representing the Crucifixión of Christ in the Gólgota, the spaces car selected consigning in the ashlar that came close in technical whispered of works that inspired to Sybilla of Helesponto, she approached with the gear and the utensils of the altarpiece of her same, decorating them with passions that represented in the lineup, eleven days before being sprayed the alcohol on them of first degree in his heads to leave them in the intemperate, and to posterity that came to the goddess of the darks Nix spilling petals macerated and turned sour on all they to inhume them in blasphemies of the god Erebus, in the deep light scarcity of all lethargy marginal to redeem them of the chaos, on an earthly crushed sea unfamous that will be the surface of Gaugamela transiting in the catacombs, with earthy rivers and elusive phlegm escaping of the insectaries light of Ultramundis of the god Tartar. Nix Runs alarming in his muddy tiled, appearing as a winged woman dressed with a black toga cover of stars. It will drive an armature thrown by two steeds properly accompanied by his children twins Hypnos and Tánatos, here besides them trepidation running by any place, for attesting the regrets of the Falangists Hoplites, after being suddenly invaded by mythological strengths of the Auqemenides. Through condensed pulses and of others no designated will be represented on diverse types and in supports of xylographic monumentality in the ceramics and even in the patrimonial immaterial with the hindsight of the Áullos Kósmos. From the Basiliscus will aim to Betelgeuse, dispensing in the Arms Christi to advance to the Fontana's and to Parables Iaspis, staging the Sibyllae Prophetae, vaticinating the paved of the Iaspis of lovely stones for fragment in the elevation and in the maremágnum issued by Sybilla of Helesponto,  raising on the height of 133 in the ordeal of the Gólgota, in orient skull of Abimelech and of Jezabel from the kraníon symbolizing the traffic in places of executions from a kraníon admonished.  

The place of the Gólgota also is uncertain of archaeology. All he knows is that it was out of the city, further from the second wall. It had to be a hill, as it could see from some distance and was near to a way, homologous to the initial of Getsemani, Saint John Apostle amplifies that a new grave was near, in an orchard. The tágmati translated as "order" Indicated the ranks in the Roman army; the saints of the Ancient Will and of the tribulation receive his bodies glorified near the return of Christ to the world. Being Greek root Tagma of put in order from the thoracic head and abdominal, in tagmatization and differentiation of regions of the body or tagmas formed by series of metámeros or similar segments between himself differentiated of the rest. The Ultramundis of the god Tartar here is conceptualized, and corresponds with the metamerization heteronomous of inert organic, and opposes to the of metamerization homonomous, in which all the metámeros or bilateral symmetry in all the appendices that are equivalent. They are those centurions that drilled the rib of the Mashiaj in the Gólgota with whispered symmetry from the head, thorax, and abdómen of the Tágmati, sorting out from the launched Pilum awarding them the Christo Salvatore Vaticinante, but in the dictamen or professing the same symptoms of his passion by the tagma abdominal, toráxico and head in his crown of spines Ziziphus.    


Codex XIV-  Ultramundis Primum apud Orionem finale    

Challenged by the sortilege of the Augur Vernarth gathered with his General Commander and invites him not to separate further of extending them that edging by a docile lunar greyish wind. They gather and they put near one of another.

Vernarth Says: That joy turns to my meditation behaving in this contiguous night to our Falangists Consecrated, and to the cavalry sleeping in Machiavellian dreams when falling in his sink, until in his parishioner and in his steeds so that they do not lose his eyes sung in the drain of the pressing. All lodging as if lying in a genial lawn and honesty of the belly of the Chaos, exhorting hallucinations to those who sleep in the cap of the kraníon, with the wise utopias of the Erebus. Dozing likewise  utopias to the high and rubbering in Orión with a pythoness expression and changing his tacit. Leaving hardly a space of turn to change the tri face cariátide tackling the secondary mirages of Aurion, turned into a decimated Muse captivate for desirous delectation treating them as his heirs, seeing them flatter with his scarlet layer and inscribed with Lambda in your magazine in Gaugamela.  Alexander Magnus answers: That the satirized arms re-spin by the ****** of Amón, popping your eyes-hearings and eyes unheard folded in the martyrdom glaucoma of Anubis, re transforming the constellation of Aurion after we heave us annihilating them in this silent furrowed already embattled! While, I have to wash down your sentences more cleaned with one thousand tempests more than the refrained gallantry that receives in my corrected hemisphere, unbalancing the **** Target of the night, situated in the Lambda on her so that it accompany me with his nurse to the temple, truncating the investment sovereign to the moaning in the lead of Febo.  

When observing Vernarth that the spittle of Febo or the personality of Apollo in Alexander the Great fell repaired, quickly the appraised on his jaw drying him, smiling him and at the same time changing his gestures of nervousness. Taking him and attaching him, since it seemed a retained dizzy of his long addresses parliament with his feudatory. Then it would be prosperous to leave him seated in the side of the aspect that escorts him. In this instant separates and extends his arms to the envious koelum or dialect sky, joint to both swords that also will accompany them with the bronze shake chatter, snorting in the retracted navels.

Vernarth Retorts: Dissolute In my infancy had to walk with my dogs as a ray stayed in his frame when it advanced me to them only sniffed my scarlet aureoles; that they were red stars súper giants and near to the Earth fading. Today it is the belt of Aurion beside the Big General, beating in his groove and changing his course precessional. His hallucinations will move, so that it remains alone in his reddish outline, but not in his physicist componential.

In this way, Vernarth moved the tunnel of the zephyr with the tip of his Dorus when they bent, the shining final of his tip warned to reopen in the intestinal of the firmament when going out launches. Mechanical ran Years light by much more than it has to describe, in front of exact science and in front of a Dorus inaccurate, in a universe that only this distant whereas Vernarth is doing using the protocol of governance, pulling on the floor with the drum, ratling by his dorsal in direction to his shaft that volatile attached of the abbreviated adminícule, for one launches used like Sword Xiphos, arriving at the vertex of Betelgeuse to approximate to the legatee space of radiosity, and of Persia joined in a billed merely advocator. It appears Vernarth behind the cloudscape coughing with cloying fever with a dazzling ruby hypnotizing the muffins of the colossal fénix cosmic, and lighting up to Alexander Magnus when waking up. Sibila Frigia, finally sustained the cross with the risen flag of the same representation that does it the own Christ resurrected in a corresponding scene of Resurrection, in extensive complement of the Sybillas with his Gothic imagination and recentish, with the Sybilla Frigia being the priest that will chair an apolíneo oracle of a historical realm in the western central part of the highlands of Anatolia contrasted with Casandra of the Ilíada.

The incipient muffins sequence to redeemed reigns in that the puérp postpartum aurora, intercede nonetheless of the facets and of the screams of the Cáucaso, of the one who this chained in the irons but frozen of his isolation, for the one who the panic of the Diaísthisi or presage, traps him in millennia taken from a heart stuck in the thorax of the Tágmati, to the Apollyon offered in the abyss of the consecratam, and of the abyssal jumping from the fathomless floor the abysmal destruction providential, and his tulle issuing in those who will not shine after exalting concluded in silty bottoms of the fosca. Regards and Tares will govern intolerable pacts s and promises, early tinted in the heartbreaking disclosures of Saint John, glimpsing to diábolos interventors of Apollyon beside the Sheol of the Koumeterium of Messolonghi, redeeming them in Nínive and ordering in Arbela and Gaugamela in the indissoluble planted zones of the Camels Gigas of Apollyon.    


Codex XV - Apud Secundus finale  

Arbela falls in the hands of castes of the mesnades of Etréstles of Kalavrita, collapsing like lightning and exceeding the charred farmhouses of alien Mosul, to his intrinsic compartments. Of to the contrary was the authority of Maceo, found immediate to Syrian troops, mesopotámicas, medas, split, sucianas, tibarianas, hircanias, albanias and sacesanias, scattered like disturbed Leviathanes of himself same and of debased titans in all the execrations not specified of this avalanche, so that they are carried by his dean leader, and donated to his physiognomy like limpid preys of misfortune when predicting for them in the banishment of his bravery. Later once encysted in the cracks of his stinks would look for in the fatuous emanations of the Phosphorus (Crash of the morning of Venus) drizzled by the glories of the morning and of his distractions, changing the decomposed inert matters to the Aqueménides, incontinenti to be bordered with all the fascination of the dawn. The commanded by Maceo; the commander of Dario, brought a heart to be transplanted from a wise person Dervish that had split to install it after conquering the epic Gesta, and his conjecture of it. They believed to ****** his ascribed gentlemen that seconded to his disconsolate of him…, but brought off by half the substrate character that moves the incessant rumbles in the bitterness of the cicuta unfunded in the Xiphos, offering to the twilight to mark the withdrawal between lights.

Etréstles, spotted a stray prescription in the field of battle, expelling it from the divine sky of Arbela. By the conferred adherents him to Vernarth in this round stroking to Alikanto by the gibbosity right of his steed Kanti, this would cause that they would cross on the same line and gave an oppressive split kinetic curve so that the lancers hyper vibrated with the spin of twist of his masses contracted, adding a field in the tips of the sky to the discouragements and the static Persian. Like this they fought together near of the children, infamous legislation plagiarizing the movement and tying the ribs of rows from left to right of the Syntagma, to fluctuate in the strengths of his graceful Falangists of anxiety. When observing this Moving away Magnus, redouble his heavy cavalry and also challenges similar concert in the maneuvers executed by Etréstles, designating it Diabolical Officiousness curiosity, as they visited inseparable in the Runes of the circulatory movement and in the cardiac system or Kardiá, reimplanting in the spin of twist of return of the children and the cavalry, but with the whole mass of his horses bluish lapis lazuli, wheezing of his nasal like a domestic nasal breath!

Auriga Says: Your venerate you milestones come to upset to the new beings, come to occupy your organisms with arrows on his bodies deterred by the quiver magic of Artemis, with new incarnations and manly gallantries?

Etréstles Jumps from Kanti, represses some militias that were surrounded, and reaches to spot Vernarth, to there is of the hubbub of his transmission recharged on the intimidated enemy. Sometimes they affirmed of one of his hangman of him to resist the pain of his ribs of him, while he vigorously tightened his sword and resisted the suffering that paled in his face, but increasing the size of his arms and legs, to unchain the big booming voice of Sheol or Hell, that piped him in the big stupor of the Persians resigned, afterward he clarified an all in the miscellanea was of the ardor and the pain of the souls expelleds, to testify the quantity of his independence consumed. The lightened environment of emptiness in the tunnel of the Profitis Ilias did feel in the peak of the surface, where was and trembled in the acroteria of entry of the Hexagonal Progenitura. Majestic Gravitational waves struggled here invested, oozing from the volcanic base of Patmos in vertexes of the physical fields and of elementary particles of great similarity to the caverns of Getsemaní, in the suggested detain of the phylogenetic mechanics and of the instauration of the phonetics, all embedded and propelled by the particles hitting on them, causing opposition of mass in the empty internal of the pipe covered by chairs of the Iaspis, propelling unions in progressive waves in viscous fields, very dense when being generated by the Arms Christi and the Souls of Trouvere. These elementary particles of God plunged into aroused basilisks in compound particles in the dynamics of energeia, preexisting already quoted, and adopted by Vernarth in his last parapsychological regression where he collided in the field of Higgs Ipso facto. In the areas W and Z, rather in the W of Wonthelimar and Z of Zefian like patterns of Lights without mass in his vectorial that were attracted by the maremágnum of his matter, where the viscosity is maybe, the confused darkness of the material fossil, mutating by atomic energy from the starvation of the Phoebus Shemesh, or false Sun of Apollo-Leviathan in his demolished asthenia. It was captive of a viscous moraine that collides between yes, arousing occupations of the empty field, already typecast in the boson of Higgs, and in the photons of Wonthelimar that taenia of on dowry, to be prone to the binomial W and Z, in the energized tangent of the shallow elementary bodies transformed in particles with mass. The interaction of the particles resembled a quantum field of the Orchard of Getsemaní with asymmetric and rocky graphics, that supremely did immanent in the trinitary energy that absorbed them in his arrest, concatenating the converted tendency of the field of Higgs in a quantum physical structure symmetrical, therefore in a perfect triangulation trinitarian of elementary particles, activating equidistant of his uniformity between if in all the spin of twist and in the three ataxic angles of unsteadiness of Zefian inroads of his fourth Saeta. The statics longed for the tendency that propagated in a fourth Angulo, but this time in the Progenitura Hexagonal in his six sides concealing the two equilateral triangles, subtended in no massive strengths, that is to say; feeble in a load of a photon, but if having to cross the unions of field that were him apt to auscultate the physics of God. We have to understand that all dogma gathers interactions with the field Diaísthisi or to presage, that recovers the mass of all this or that ventures the idleness of some silent particles that conform his weight, and the global mass affine of his material existence, sponsored by the proton in a cubic meter if it is accelerated. The field that underlies here in Patmos will be of upper physics from the Boson of Higgs or of God, for the grant of mass and of weight in the empty tunnel of wind in the Profitis Ilias, re sustaining the necessary ineffective light of the Febo Shemesh apocryphal of Sheol (Hades and Erebo), for constraining the symmetrical balance magmatic basality of intraterrestrial energy, contributing the supernumerary of her, turned into Light for the reborn world of the Apocalypse. The elementality bearer of the particle of Patmos, in his context of quantum physics, will enumerate like the theory of the Apud Secundus Finale, to generate interactions in the spacetime, that reduce physicality and delay when attending his credibility, in front of facts supra abnormal and bearers of his hyperactive dogmatic abulia, understanding that the graphic of his cerebral activity is genius of the quantum physics, provided with energy without mass, that vertiginously adheres to the protons of his physical strength consolidated, turning it into a kinetic inert element atomic, and in one dynamic of physical solidity. For all the solidness of the wasteland of the Apud (In) of Getsemaní, this will not be consecrated like a mystery, rather it will aspire the just act of immense clemency of the body compacted in the emotion of the feel gravitate, and accelerated transfiguring in an atomic elementary impulse that crystallizes the creative Faith, or was to the Vernarthian Duoverse! The Boson is massive, all the matter that is him leading will be poured by the standard of verticality in the creation, predicting theoretically in the tree of physics whose pipe hyper lives between the root and its foliage, and will consult the effect of his origin for greater challenges of his divine experience.

Singing of Sibila Líbica (bis): !The sparking plugs will inflame, the iridescent eyes of the Mashiaj flashed in the likely mortuary settlement of Vernarth in the oasis of Siwa: “Oh My warm blow of Libya that flatters my cheeks, and my shoulders that groove in the light of the callous cerebral coexistence of Zeus. Singing by you my Didaskein; treating or teaching to the baffled herd that confuses the kitchenware that was born to. b.C., not having a reminiscence of Irradiation in the mastery of the continuous turn to the not contravening of latent ignorance, but yes to find him agreed and effulgent”!
Codice Raedus
brea Sep 2013
in a dimly lit bucolic moon--
erstwhile a blooming, beauty,
riparian valley...
a widow worn down,
with beleaguer of ethereal sin,
spoke swiftly to the sky.

her verandah the ocean--
her audience the sparrows,
soft dulcet moans slipped
from seer's mouth.

the wafture of the waves reflected
in obsidian overcast iris,
vision surreptitious overcame her mind--
susurrous, her lithe body convulsed
in fits of meaningful jerks.
Although evanescent, she changed.

(Eyes clear, voice booming, not desultory in the slight)

she brooded for a moments flash,
quivering, uttered with but cerulean to listen,
what had played before her eyes.

what she knew with certainty.
the tragedy of the girl who's ashes--
floated in the summer breeze.
benevolent and altruistic,
taken advantage of at not thirteen.
in her woe, she jumped of the cliff
between clarity and fog,
into Hades firey wrath,
her body never found.

seer shook with violent tremours,
the ephemeral dove now chirped,
as she made way to the holy man,
the one to whom she was to confess,
a fugacious bone creaking draft
left her paranoid.
but what was a woman of her character to do?

once upon father's altar,
woman called to the dear messenger.
she hissed and requested
a private meet.
Startled, the priest led her to
iron doors of his quarters
when inside she barred the doors
with a sword from the hilt behind the passage.

now toward this evocative woman,
this man was not one of holy thoughts
her plump ***** tempted one
who had only before been promised to god.
but as she told him of what she had seen
he remembered the countenance
of last forbidden love.

red draining from innocent lips
leaving ugly guilt to forever remain
regardless of bleach and arsenic.
red hands to forever stay
perpetual stains on cleric robes
never the stark white of heaven again.

enraged priest pounced,
to which our dear heroine had no defense
spine slammed against stone wall,
head concussed and blurred.
our seer now decided (too late)
to always listen to ones bones.

she soon found a thick rope around her neck,
as she felt herself being violated below.
history repeats itself
all she breathed was damp, the mold.

when darkness took over her,
and her lungs tantrumed and kicked,
the priest took out the gleaming sword,
cackling, leaving a sweet wet trail
ruby necklace on white marble.

and he dragged her to the old well
boarded up and fading with age
a pungent putrid smell wafted up
a remainder of what the priest thought
were days long gone.

the seer, with her dark charcoal hair,
and omniscient clear gaze,
fell awkwardly on top of not one,
but seventeen.

the priest had fun once too.
J W Fife Sep 2010
the things we do - indirectly.
i’m drawn to this sort of thing,
torture. but,
i pull myself clear of it.

when she
shakes my hand, her body is elsewhere,
unbothered.
her vessel formed in ceramics and reinforced
tightly
every wish granted, “hey!” i’d say.
it isn’t fair! is it?

i understand these sorts of things
the way i tortured my thoughts into patterns
and my body is elsewhere,
unharmed, because
i pulled myself clear of it. such am i
“above it”: so
it turns out i’m envious
in effigy, “don’t worry,” i’d say.
it’s not real, because
i’m not real
© 2008, J. W. Fife
pin Feb 2015
Jet black eyes, christmasights headphones, looking for a street corner to instruct black magic
Nylon mask, Nylon jacket
Closed the iris, covered inside
Young lucky had a role model
Be a *******
Can't have a good love
Can't have a good love
This disaster coming out windows to the soul
I dare you
I dare you
You only have one...
me gs Sep 2015
So there was this girl. And I met her my freshman year in German class, fourth hour. Her name was Sophia and I thought she was weird and creepy because she stared and didn't talk and tried to play footsie with me and me being the still-self-loathing queer that I am was desperately terrified that anyone would know I was bi. So I gave her mean looks, didn't look at her eyes, turned from her, ignored her. The list goes on. And then she basically disappears for the next two years. And last year, my senior year, I had her in my first semester second hour German class. And she was different. I thought hey. "Maybe she's cooler now, she's kinda a bit cute maybe I'll get to know???? Her ??? Maybe ???? And so we kinda talked a lil lil bit, but not really talking till xc skiing started, in November. I don't know I what it was, but I thought "hey. She's cute AND smart" so I made up a little brouhaha till I was suddenly driving with her to practice. Every day. And I learned she was kind, smart, funny, hilarious, BEAUTIFUL, kept me on my toes... The list goes on. As I spent more and more time with her, more and more time following her like a lost puppy, i feel deeper and deeper into love. She never texted a lot, so I started to text my thoughts to her with no expectation of a text back. I knew she appreciated them even if she didn't reply. And when she did reply, BLAM! A lightning bolt would slam into my stomach each time I saw her name in my notifications screen. I treasured those texts back, and stated writing poems about her, to her, inspired by her, inspired by HER, seeing her blonde hair every time I looked at the sun, her blue eyes in every lake and clear day and for-get-me-not and her big nose in my mind's peripheral vision and her cute small firm **** and the way she walked, straight up, so solid and set-forth and DEtermined, ******* (though she would never swear) to get to where she was going. I couldn't get her out of my head. Her just, state of being. I'd never met a creature so quietly, yet so determinedly set on who they were and how they were. The way she always knew what to say. I swear to god I thought this girl was an angel. When I looked at her, I wanted to trail my fingers over every inch of her, memorizing it, imprinting it on my bones, that intimate knowledge of you to visible eons from now. I would've climbed through hell for her, to just get five minutes of her, a nod a smile a GEN-YOU-INE laugh *******. I thought about how our bodies would fit together, the ghosting of lips over parts only The Holy Ones know. The way we'd sit together, soft and silent, barely touching but very at peace, and I was planning a title for a book of my poetry entitled "A Series of Notes to the Love of my Life (And a Cherishment of Nature)". I mean I thought this girl, this one in the world-universe, was my everything my holy savior my holy love my holy angel. I just thought that feeling, this feeling that was so intense, was because that was RIGHT. AND must BE. So I fell deeper and deeper, snatching knowledge bits of her that I could, leaving sweet notes and compliments, all over and to who ever for her. I asked her to prom. Through a letter I gave her, with a kayak-Paddler necklace in it. I'd never been brave enough to think about doing that before, ADMITTING my feelings for the girl. I was so smooth and charming and kind (cause I thought she might kinda maybe be gay or at least gay ish way and thought if she was and liked me too she might wanna be going "as friends" or something) and she said yes. I was so happy. It made my whole day better. Forever. I thought about slow dancing with her, imagined pictures floating about in my daydreams, taking up all time and space. And we went. Except she invited her best friend along too who she stayed glued to all night and never danced with me and barely looked at me And I felt like a third wheel to THEM, and so we got home and I was sad and tired and didn't want to do anything but we went on a night kayak and and I told her she was the most beautiful girl there by far and I had so much fun with her and on and on and I was just. So sweet to her how could she not know I like her ****. And she just said. "Oh you're so sweet." And she might've said something else, something idk, but I was just so bitterly in love but wanting her all the same and loathing her with how and by and why I wanted her attention. And I continued falling, ignoring the bitter bad parts of our relationship in favor of the new small things I'd learn about her. And for her birthday, July something, I was gonna give a small box id make in woodworking with a beautifully planned out and executed *** from ceramics with a nice letter telling her how amazing I thought she was and how I might tell her how i feel. And I made them, falling worse and worse daily. So in love. And I awkwardly increased the looks, the poems, the sighs and dreams and wishes. And school ended, we graduated, with pictures and a letter to her from me about how cool she was and a promise of a Better letter with her bday gift. I kept sending her my thoughts, asking her to hangout, (we never did) and telling her I missed her. Well I finished her gift and packed it. The letter, and all. By this time I had tried to get over her. I thought I was (except for the bits that stick with you You Know) and we'd just be friends but-I'm-cool-with-More. Forever. I thought this friend was a Real Deal. Once in. A lifetime. So I gave her the gift, then she didn't open if(or maybe she did and wanted to pretend she didn't open) cause she had a 30-day trip. No phones. I sent her some of my thoughts, not all you know. Didn't wanna overload her texts when she gets back. And I waited, and waited. And it had been thirty days! I Waited for some notification that she saw it, that she opened something. I texted her. Her read receipts? On. She saw it. No reply. I waited and texted and waited and texted. Each message more sour than the last. Eventually I all hope. I said to her I was disappointed in her (I had come out to her as bi in my letter, something I wasn't sure she supported.) so I'm devastated now. I thought she'd be in my life forever, how could an angel like that not stay????? But she's gone. I might never know what she really thought and why she didn't reply. It makes me lose so much faith and hope and love in humanity when someone like that leaves your life. It cracked my soul and I honestly think I might never be able to trust anYONE completely. Ever. Because of a girl like her. She broke my heart and never even knew she had it. Or maybe she did. I guess I might never know. It makes me so sad. She absolutely crushed me, quietly and subtly. I do think I'm ruined for life. Even if only slightly. I might slowly be losing my sanity. I just want to talk to you. Please. What did I do? God I loved you. I still might. Please just stitch my soul back together, even just a little bit.
im so secretly and deeply sad about this and i just. want to never feel like that again
M Oct 2020
So this is love.
Wanting to be near it.
Shaking to touch,
To feel it against my skin.
I am in love with clay.
For Ceramics is the wood that fuels my fire.
I need it in my life.

Perhaps that is a void
One of many voids that cannot be filled by people
Where for art thou clay.
I miss thee so.
My heart yearns,
Calls out.
Can you hear me?

Return to me
Mother earth
Return to me

You goddess of dirt, mud, and all things kind
Come back to me.
The break has been painful, causing me to shrivel within
Splinters forming at the core of my being.
Water rushing in and freezing, expanding the cracks.
Without clay there.
How can I possibly mend the tear?

I need the sustenance for my soul
I am called to it.
It beckons to me.
And I am drawn to it
A slave really
Never in my life have I found a medium
That satisfies me the way clay has.
Can and Does.

Don’t leave me here
Alone to fend for myself in this dark world.
Can’t you hear me calling out?
The ghost of memories past call out your name
Your presence
Your spirit
Mother earth
Where have you gone
I miss you so
Return
Return
And never leave again
Riq Schwartz Apr 2013
I'm cracking up
Like rotten eggs
Like seven years
Of ****** luck
Like old mosaics
Losing tiles
Spiderwebs
Across my windshield
Sending thoughts
Into the ether
Each one taking
Part of me
I'm cracking up
Like cheap ceramics
Broken, scrapped,
And then replaced.
C S Cizek Nov 2014
The black, iron God arm punched
placid-blanched clouds, and dangled
cat cable down to lemon-vested men
with chalkboard faces.
Basic algebra, today's date, daily
syllabi, God-fearing anecdotes,
and the evils of homosexuality.

Fornicating with other dudes
is like moving Jesus' rock
with your ******'d *****.
Let sleeping dieties die.
We find them buried deep beneath
**** ceramics by T.V. criminals,
rapists, murderers, buzzers, free-
lovers, angelheaded sweethearts.
They have nearly four dollar souls,
barely enough for a Wilpo dinner
at Hepburn Diner. #2 breakfast
with one cup of Columbian cartel
coffee with a pinch of whole milk
to take the edge off, so he won't
be gripping the booth vinyl when
a "freedom" flash cop car passes.
Police cruisers are just bigger bicycles
that we're afraid of, sporting cereal
box baseball cards in the spokes.
Cops were the kids that needed help
their first time fresh off training
wheels. Training academy training
them for low-speed cat chases through
flower beds.
Sweet daffodil, you didn't have to die
like this. You could've drank straight
from the pitcher at a stranger's dinner
party potluck, seen the guts of a New
York highrise, shared the coke left
beneath a woman's botched nose job.
You could have been more than this.
You could have been more.
You could have been.
You could have.
You could.
You.
You, daffodil, stamen-down
in Miracle Gro and dog ****

could have been more.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
please! please! please give me something!
please give me something worth staring at!
i don't want to see this mush, this watermelon pulp
of a smoothie! i don't want to see it! give me something
i can cry over, like the mechanical lullaby from
the soundtrack of Coraline...
give me something worth
lamenting; it's not really poetry
if you're stuck in a rut and
suddenly gesture poetically
like it matters, what are the matters
elsewhere, what is really elsewhere
other than from being stuck in a rut in
a hole, where is the light at the end
of the tunnel? please don't become the tunnel,
let me see the light at the end of it -
i'm sick of peering into tunnels!
but you know what globalisation did,
i can write such ******* on the index
of pixels and feel all the more un-inhibitory;
i can listen to the Coraline soundtrack,
and watch my cat sleep,
and feel no guilt... because the world is
so large, and i rebelled against
globalisation by making it so so small,
it's so small you're not really allowed entry;
if you gained entry you'd feel castrated
or impotent;
like i said to her in her dipping of emotions
slicing her forearm open:
terror is worse than ******
(you can even hear them now, giggling while
being sterilised without an enforcement
to stop using both the contraceptive pill of
varied adverse effects and the anaesthetic
of pleasure that rubber ******* jacket)...
it's spontaneous, there's no apparent
symbolic build-up...
you can hardly expect the Autobahn system
with terrorism...
it just isn't there...
and while she sliced her hand en route the veins
i put the bread in the fridge
because it would provide a longer far away
expiry date...
and wrote that message on the kitchen tablet
in permanent ink...
i only went to a ******* because i was
rejected so many times, if felt natural
that such a profession should exist;
well d'uh, i'm all into speaking till dawn,
but sometimes a little bit of sensuality does miracles!
well, let's say it feels more than wiping your *** clean
after giving birth to a ****...
so there she was with her arm slashed,
and i encircled her wrist with my thumb and pinky
telling her: it's better that you didn't
chop your hand off.
and wearing sunglasses in the night
i learned the bonsai felines don't sleep as much
as you think, the ears are a give-away,
that sonar of theirs always keen to capture sounds,
they just keep their eyes closed,
it's not that they're sleeping,
these doctors of what is the vacuum and the existence
of anti-matter are awake
and try to hallucinate rather than dream,
hence they try hallucinating with their
eyes closed - until the real potent
hallucinations enter their minds while asleep;
dreams, dreams, dreams!
no, she can't be jealous of prostitutes!
she can't be, i paid for the ****** intimacy to feel
irresponsible and impersonal,
she didn't just do the dumbest thing imaginable
and become a pole dancer... no, she couldn't have!
what am i to do now? i've heard that jealousy exist
when you get really personal with a lover
who has a kinder profession than pure ****** exploitation;
but she did say she was abducted for ransom,
and if this isn't a lie, she did the most unselfish act
imaginable to un-servitude herself in a public exhibition
of exploitation... it wasn't a labyrinth any more,
nothing personal... while i got stuck
with music box ceramics of ballerinas twirling to a haunting;
she bought me like a kilogram of peaches
at the marketplace in the afterlife.
Megan Nov 2013
I mold like clay
in your rough calloused hands
and you shape me
with drunk eyes and fingertips
that **** my sensitive skin
like knives

The snow plants kisses
to the cloudy glass windows
that confine us together
and I tremble with the fear
of being carved
into something I never planned
or wanted to be

My stomach shrinks
and my spine curves
from the harsh conditions
of your malicious mind
that pushes me further
and further
into depths of myself
I never knew
existed

I am hazy over the idea
that once I was strong
and maybe even the kind of beautiful
that blooms flowers
and jumpstarts heartbeats
and makes the world
close its rueful eyes
even just for a little while

You are an artist
with a clear goal and path
and I hope to god
you let me dry out
for I am not
shiny and mesmerizing
like the ceramics that
populate your dusty shelves

I’ve been molded and shaped
and framed and built
by those coarse and icy hands
so that I am no longer what I used to be
but rather a blurry and ugly version
that makes my head
whirl like the blizzard outside of my
window
Nigel Morgan Aug 2013
He saw in his mind’s eye her standing before the mug. In a craft show, on a stall: ceramics. It had a blue about it comforting as a still lake in remote mountains. The glaze had that quality that made you want to stretch your hand towards it, and if not pick it up and touch it entire, at least stroke it with the fingers, feel where the potter’s fingers had formed its shape on the wheel. Everything else on the stall was as nothing; only the mug held her gaze, her desire now to own it, to take its yet to be measured weight between both hands. Imagining breakfast and she would fill it with coffee and bring the hot, rich liquid to her lips: nature’s miracle of taste and aroma so necessary as the right start to any day of work or creative thought. She resolved not to look at the price as she had already decided to buy it come what may. It was beautiful and useful, and she told herself it would replace some mass-produced mug currently filling her kitchen cupboard, a mug that needed relegating to the next yard sale. Eventually, she dreamed, her cupboard would be full of such beautiful mugs she had thus found, thus chosen.

There was nothing here, he thought looking in his kitchen cupboard, that begins to hold a candle to such beauty – a couple of plain white utilitarian cups and saucers. No mugs to speak of. There was real coffee freshly brewing in a jug on the MFI table next to a sadly pink vase of flowers and ferns brought from a moorside garden – for her imagined visit. The dark colour of the coffee and its fragrant aroma (an added spoonful of expresso) formed, he mused, a temporary bridge over the always-distance of their separation. He wondered how his favourite Chinese poet Li Po would have fashioned a poem that spoke of such things: his loved-one far away over the mountains taking her first morning tea, still in her night gown her bare feet on the scrubbed wooden floor, poised before the day as a delicate flower nodding in the wind, the air sweet breathing through the open blinds, the dew sparkling still on the thin grass of her late summer garden.

And so, loving her beyond any measure, any reason, he writes:

*I am jealous of this blue mug
Taking such pleasure
In filling the shape
Of your quiet hand.

Afar, away, apart, beyond distance
I can only dream to drink
From the same rim that touches
Your perfect lips, your darting tongue.
Little sparrows show off their agility,
dancing up and down violin necks.
Pecking staccato notes out of the air.
Making tea and dropping ceramics
behaving clumsily and babbling nonsense
even after they've been told
sit down and be quiet.

Imitation ducks sit squat,
quiet, muddy, decoying
singing water stains,
spitting curses from their bills.
Pulling bed sheets up to their chins,
nesting between the covers.
Very anonymous in their colours,
not a deviation among them.

Cold wax and dry glue
flake off creases and folds.
These lovely imitations,
cuckoo plaster cast knuckles
snowflaking to the ground,
useless with fine motor skills.
Peeling off like dead leaves,
parasitic nest components.

All my fingernails are different lengths,
evolving finches’ beaks
on isolated islands
With scratches on the vinyl of my thumb,
sand beneath my cuticles,
scrapbooks between my fingerprints.
Piano keys team up in groups of two,
sharing sharps and flats.


Filed and polished,
pink budgies dispose of portfolios apathetically,
slamming filing cabinets shut.
Cuttle bones rattling,
mirrors cracking.
Irritable thighs complaining,
they hunker with bad posture,
frowning on their perch.
Squat salient warbles
clamoring sharply down corridors
over whistling loudspeakers.

Poster orioles elbow aside crowds,
bright bones flashing
neon signs
keratin streaked or spotted
for biological attention.
Weaponry painted exciting colours,
friendly hues and enthusiastic tints.
Lies dressed in curiosity,
attracting intrigue.

My heron neck in the air
searches for information,
explanation, observation.
Greedy for projections,
living in the tree tops,
reflected in shop windows,
my skinny anisodactyl talons
for walking on mud,
wading through marsh,
boggy water.

My hands are geese
jabbering back and forth
across my chest.
its very distracting
to have these conversations
going on between palms,
arguing the best way to fold paper cranes,
whether chocolate pudding
should be stirred clockwise or counter.

Take a gander at the world you don't touch because your fingers are too flightly
Cassidy Shoop May 2015
If I would have known you would **** me up this badly, I would have chosen a different locker on the first day of high school. I would have pulled away the moment you put your arm around me and asked me to hold your project from a ceramics class as you attempted to impress me, and succeeded. I would have never become friends with your twin sister. I would have never said yes when you asked me to prom, and I would have sat on my hands when you tried to hold them in the car on the ride there. I would have looked the other way when you kissed me afterwards. I would have said no when you asked me to be yours, and I would have told you I was busy before you came home with me the same day. I would have never said I love you, or agreed to meet you at that park at 4am in the first place. I would have never been seen with you by my neighbor, kissing on park benches in the rain, pretending we were the only ones left in the universe. I would have never let you get mad at me that way, when we screamed at each other outside the only house I’ve ever called home, when I couldn’t even make it inside before tears started falling from my face. I would have never had that water fight with you at the park that used to remind me of my childhood (now it only reminds me of you.) I would have never broken up with you, and gotten back together, and broken up with you, and gotten back together, and broken up with you, and still been in love with you but hidden it under someone else’s bed sheets. I would have never gotten high with you and forgotten all about him for those two short hours. I would have never talked to you on the phone like we used to, until I realized it was six o’clock in the morning and I had class at eight. I would have never listened to that song on repeat for weeks, even though I can’t stand reggae.
I would have never answered the phone when you called and told me you never wanted to speak to me again. I wouldn’t be sitting here, writing to your ghost, as if I would ever have the nerve to say this to your face.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
eh... i felt benevolent today: i was making some beef doner kebabs with fresh yeast buns... egg + sprinkle of nigella & sesame seeds on top... an onion and parsley (sumac) salad... a hot sauce a garlic & dill and cucumber white sauce... blah blah... i was missing the red onions and parsley... so i walked for a minute to my local co-op... headphones in... so i wasn't going to say hello... to... what can be best described as a gentle soul... no... not a ******.. ******... a genuine gentle soul... a shy man... who... last time i heard: has five children... and there he is... day in... day out... standing outside the shop with the copy of the Big Issue (a charity magazine that supposedly helps the homeless)... some people buy him soft drinks... some people buy him snacks... eh... i felt benevolent today... plus i already touched his shoulder without saying hello... so i asked for £5 cashback and gave it to him... not that it made my feel any better than i was already feeling... there's that... 'god bless'...

there's that and there's this...
we live with these, "people": i don't even think they're people...
more like... itches... itchy things...
mosquitos... beside parasites...
sociopaths most certainly...
   schadenfreude gagging entries...
i can usually put a face to something...
when watching a movie i play this game
of remembering what was the last
movie i saw with the actor or actress...
i know there are monsters in society...
but i hardly thought about
these: "comedians" that can't tell a joke...
how would it stand in court:
conspiracy to inflict harm?
i still don't know how many days
i rode my bicycle without spotting that
something was wrong:
maybe yesterday... while hiding full
speed without holding the handlebars...
the front wheel started to "wobble":
i didn't think much of it...
but today i tested the front breaks...
nudge-nudge... the wheel was...
this close || to coming off...
   so i checked...
  ah... someone managed to... loosen
the bolts...
once upon a time you'd need
tools to tighten the nuts and bolts
of the wheel to the frame...
now... there's this small-handle that you turn
and turn and then lock into a desired
tightness that keeps the wheel to the frame...
what the ****?
i can't cycle to  supermarket... lock my bicycle
buy my wine and pepsi
and... what? bother myself by checking
if the bicycle is: "tight" on all the connected parts?!
i mean: it's not the first time someone tried
to take my life:
first time? the nurse in the hospital who
almost choked me to death because
i was born with a Chernobyl mark on my back...
so my heart inflated...
eh... the hernia didn't help either...
i survived that...
but my heart inflating didn't exactly give
me... a heart to love random strangers...
by now i'd take a knife in the back...
while i might turn around and grab my attacker
and hold him dear and whisper:
i love you into his ear... because as i once
said to a colt who screamed at me
outside a supermarket:
i have a death-wish...
   he gave me a fiver and asked me to buy
him some *****... he was accompanied
by a girl and a guy she was *******...
i bought him a litre of *****...
how mad he was...
he asked for 35cl... and he shouted and shouted
his uncle was going to put me straight:
i placed the litre of ***** on the ground
and told him: shout all you want:
i have a death-wish... you want a death-wish?
oddly enough he, the girl and the guy she was
******* ran away and didn't take
the freely standing bottle...
it's a bit different when you're buying
liquor for a group of colts...
you're the next best thing they have to an uncle...
who the hell walks up to a chained bicycle
and... loosens up the bolts on the front wheel...
oh... it wasn't the back wheel...
this "comedian" knew what he / she was
doing... i'd be thrown in a spectacular
fashion: forward... to the side...
what if i was travelling at high speed in between
traffic... the wheel would come off
and i'd be thrown under a car...
ha ha... fan-e... very ******* funny...
but someone else would be charged with manslaughter...
the police might find fingerprints
on the pieces of the bicycle...
******* Nimrods... ****** humour...
i'm shaking merely thinking i can't perform
telekinesis / telepathy with a desire to...
put him / her into an iron maiden...
to put his / her hand into a *** of boiling water...
cut it off and subsequently feed him / her
the poaching!
what if i were the cause of someone else's
manslaughter...
i can't just cycle to the supermarket and go about
my business... if i had a car i'd
be content with my "ceramics" being treated
with a key...
hell: key the frame of my bicycle... steal the wheel
while you're at it...
but... loosen the bolts so that i might...
my head's not big enough to entertain these thoughts...
perhaps i should have been born with
a sq. head...
for ****'s sake...    NIMORDS! INBREDS!
these aren't people...
if they were things akin to doors i'd love
to knock-knock on them:
no... personally? i just want to castrate them...
they'd be better off castrated...
the guillotine would be too good for them...
by a miracle i tightened that wheel back
to its proper repetition...
what next: he or she started to kick my mode of
transit? jealousy... i rather own a bicycle
than a car? is... that it?
half-wits... mother-*******-retards...
there's that common saying:
afraid to hurt strangers...
           now i'm charged with bile and if it's not bile
then it better be acid...
who does that? massive, *******: EPIC fail...
of seeing someone fall of a bicycle:
it's not a wheelchair... genius...
well... that's sorted: perhaps when i was younger
i might have listened to Bon Jovi love songs...
bed or roses...
now i look at everyone as suspect:
i'm not even paranoid: or will be...
   let's just pretend we're in this project: life
together... we're not...
     we're not going to be...
i don't care if the ******* Dalai Lama comes knocking...
same ****: different cover...
dieselbe scheiße: anders deckel...

if i'm going to be killed: i expect nothing less
than an assassination:
i'm not going to divulge into my death
as if it were an accident... ******* Nimrods...
tease me with death
and allocate however many chances
you get... in no quick succession that
you treated Rasputin with...
sorry if i can get a hard-on with a *******
while you're still idle-hands...
**** finger and tongue with your missus ****!

mateo: calm down: no... i will not calm down!
what if my wheel came off while
i was charging down the A12... and someone
might have been charged with manslaughter?
i'll calm down...
when i poach his or her hand
and later feed it back to them!
to hell with merely cutting it off...
i'd flay: i'd skin... i'd...
do more than my imagination right now allows...

oh i wasn't lucky: i'm just not married yet:
given death ms.,
   half a biscuit is basking in loneliness
in the sky: the constellations came...
i'm fully charged heaving a breath that
would burn a tortoise's shell...

keep imagining it:
this little ****** whether he or she...
i'd poach their hand and later
watch them eat it...
if they'd pass out:
i'd give them a shot of adrenaline mixed with
amphetamines:
just to keep them awake...
they have to be awake for coming
to the end of their... "joke":

mateo: relax... i'm relaxed... look at me...
taking  diarrhoea sort of whim
of what ought to be loath solving no. 12,479
of a su doku puzzle...

here's the original, wait... let me lookalike
to a sq.... spacing can be a *****...

0      0      0      0      0      0      0      0     ­ 0
0      0      0      0      0      0      0      0      0
0   ­   0      0      0      0      0      0      0      0
0      0   ­   0      0      0      0      0      0      0
0      0      0   ­   0      0      0      0      0      0
0      0      0      0   ­   0      0      0      0      0
0      0      0      0      0   ­   0      0      0      0
0      0      0      0      0      0   ­   0      0      0
0      0      0      0      0      0      0   ­   0      0

clearly that's proper spacing...
don't **** with me...
i'll be nice: until i start to imagine your hand
being poached and forcing you to eat it!

this is the original;

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

what am i... a makeshift carboot once a nerd
second time a: loved up...
hype? cant you write mathematics
with letters?
algebra: sure thing...
******* Nimrods... can't do a job proper..
half-breeds: inbreeding
cousin H'arab question marks...
0         0"people"... less than things...
at least i'd want to knock on a door...
these people i just want to mull with
a stampede... little gherkin **** offs...

how does that saying go:
i came cross a woman
and a tornado:
sure as **** the tornado didn't leave me questioning
my masculinity... or that i might be a walk abortion:
glad to know all the future mothers and their sons...
rather walk into a storm than love
a woman... at least: her mother...
can be less: teasing...
most obvious and...
n'ah... i'd prefer...
oh wait... she's not into blonde haired guys...
she's a blonde...
sure... i'm into Turkic raven haired types...
i'm into: Calypso mongrel
                mullattes...
good to know: she's not into me:
i'm not into her... shout and welcome
all those in-between copper-necking that's
to come: what do "we" call them?
when it's diluted?
aspiring Pakistani?
give it two generations...
give it enough dilution...
the supposed authority genes will fade...

a tale of two-number quests...
what's in brackets out to be either:
superscript or... "squared":
hello: the earth is "flat":
fastened to some spaghetti imitating shoelaces... no?

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

let me gives you a map of this flat flat world....
i couldn't find the proper, superscript...
hence some... "details" in brackets...
here's the map:

look at the brackets... wait: don't look
at them... (revised with superscript)

5¹³     8⁴⁰     6⁸       7³⁷     1⁵¹     9⁵⁰     2⁴²     3⁴⁷     4¹⁵
4⁰      2³⁹     1²³      6⁰      8⁴¹     3⁴⁹      5⁰      7⁴⁶­     9⁴⁸
7²⁵      9⁰      3⁰      4¹⁶      5⁰      2²⁶      8²⁴  ­    1⁰      6⁴
2²⁷     1²²     5²¹     3³³     4¹⁷      6¹¹     9⁴³      8⁴⁴     7⁴⁵
3⁰      7²⁸     4¹⁸      1⁰      9⁰      8¹⁹      6⁰      5²⁰      2²⁹
9⁰      6⁰­      8⁰       2³²      7⁰      5¹⁴     1³⁸      4⁰      3³⁴
6⁰      5⁰      7⁴       9⁰      3⁵³      1⁵²      4⁰      2³⁰      8³⁶
8³      4²      ­9⁰       5⁰      2³¹      7¹²      3⁰      6¹⁰      1³⁵
1⁰      3¹      ­2⁰       8⁰      6⁰       4³       7⁷       9⁰       5⁶

such the narrative...  i'll be relaxed:
poaching the hand of one of these and then feeding
it back to then: to hell with your Christianity and love...
your civilised state of
keeping a pacified argument...
no: you experience this sort of *******:
first... come back to me... and tell me: i hope:
otherwise!
ipoet Sep 2012
Never mind steel,
We are creating new materials,
Carbon nano-tubes, poly-ceramics,

Twirl a ball above your head, we are
Building elevators into space,
Stringing massage parlours around the earth,

We are engineering ourselves,
Computer worlds and,
Selling real estate, we

Are leaving the old people,
Behind,
Stained curtains and they are,

Walking into forests,
In Japan.
L E Dow Feb 2011
We’re alone, together,
The rhythm of the coffeehouse swirling around us,
A quiet cacophony of colliding ceramics,
flatware, and the splash of coffe hitting cups.
Each lost, writing on legal paper
I buy in daisy yellow in a small attempt to brighten my day.
The couple to our right aren’t anything spectacular, really.
Even though they did talk about
The drug market when you left for the car.

Even farther right, at a table you suggested, I sat with josh.
We came in early on a Sunday morning,
Stumbling clumsily upon a place he really wasn’t too fond of.
Funny, as he complained of the coffee and décor, I wanted to stay more and more.

It irritated me: his lack of knowledge or the willingness to gain one.
With you I’m comfortable,
And secretly, I wish he was sitting there,
So you could butcher him with words.
Chop off his 70’s ***** hair, with one swift cut,
Because you always seem to peg him,
Exactly where he deserves to be hit.

I love the contrast of the moments,
With him, I struggled to see, wished for more, and searched for an end.
With you, skin is velvet, voices: harmony, memory a beautiful cacophony.
Copyright 2010 L. E. Dow
JJ Hutton Aug 2011
Boldly, bold balding,
going mad at the buzz of cynic critic--
busting friendships like comic watermelons
atop bloodstained ceramics,
the vultures remain--
always do;
I can see it all boldly while balding, sipping
tomato juice without gin due the doctor's call--
always do;
I can see it all boldly while scraping dirt under nails,
scattering my words at a heel'd walk-in and siren's call.

Boldly, bold balding,
flipping off motorist and through magazine pages--
repairing family ties with thank you notes, faux kind eyes,
never hurt to try,
for the vultures remain -- they won't give their name--
never do;
I can see it all boldly while balding, they ask me
to give two ***** -- when did I give one?
Never do;
I can see it all mostly and smearing, watercoloring
through the floorboards up to the ceiling;
the telephone sings, I answer and receive,
"stay the hell away from me",
and I will.

I will.

I really, really will.
Wonthelimar, in the last transmigration that he planned from Nyons in the cavern on the eastern side of the Rhone, surrounded himself with mountains that dwarfed them with promiscuous caves of the Eygues. From these buckets as a margin of power and go referring to the nocturnal wind of the Pontias; created his fundamental tool of attraction of the Mementos de Cartography of the Seleucids, decomplexing the logistical notions of the Diadocos after having resuscitated and liberating Alexander the Great from a Cartesian Underworld in the manner of apocryphal late Aristotelianism, mechanizing existential dualisms of Hades with formulas and psychotropic and geometric tricks, licensing them theologies of habeas corpus, coexisting in the first instance with Etréstles de Kalavrita who would establish the term of definitive transmigration of Alexander the Great, so that between the Diadocos and Wonthelimar they would contend the final and disciplinary action to revoke the high arrest, transhuming the sovereign as Macedonian next to the Hexagonal Birthright finally very close to Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth in the vicinity of the Megaron Spilaion Apokalypseos.

The generals of Alexander the Great shared his legitimate Ark without royal titles, they were Perdiccas, Antipater, Craterus, Eumenes de Cardia, and others like the satraps who came to be proclaimed as kings; Antigonus, Ptolemy, and Seleucus. Residing the most substantial in this parapsychological saga in Vernarth; his brother Etrestles de Kalavrita who seconded and predestined his monolithic and constituent sovereignty of Polis, for the purpose of ruling and raising his Kopis and Xifos in the independence of aldehyde and alcoholic carbonyl residues emanated from the ferment of the Backhoi and Nepente, depositing LSD in substantial amounts. to align himself with Seleucus, and materially present himself in the sphere of Patmos as two representatives of both empires, one ancient Christian and the other Panhellenic, placing himself in that totalitarianism of Seleucus over that of Alexander the Great who was splendid in the cosmogony of a king similar to David of Judea, solvent and illustrious in the conception of Apological dynasty and identity, of Zeusian roots and of eternal numeral politics. In the quantitative of the champion of Alexander the Great revived on Patmos, the Mashiach of Gethsemane will continue to be deified with such a signature of both in ****** skies in two absolutist emperors and of dogmatic differential Pythagorean, propagandizing both dynasties with domains in regencies and different latitudes of the conceptual decision. Base, to refute proposals to follow them in part of anti-Alexandrian perplexities or opposed to marginalizing himself from following them after they abandoned him in Babylon. This was sensed in the confrontation between both forces of univocal polarization, for the good of one and the bad of the other of having to distract them from the proposal to enlist and harass dethroned kings on purpose from their deaths and revive them in others than in their own court of observers and bosses, they will only exist in the empty temples and idols without dates to know to avoid and in prevailing dates that will not happen.

Seleucus says: “Khaire my Commander…, unite the divine sanctuaries of Apollo, and take up the harangue of Tel Gomel with us disunited and lost by you. This dating will remain in the offices of reforming Macedonian armies and we will both command our generals in the Panhellenic dynasty, overall the heavenly armies that you will ever have here with fragile oracles confusing your divine blood! "

Wonthelimar, already manifesting from Nyons, lightened his Bucephalus bases, having a great somatic affinity with the bridles of Alexander the Great's steed, unraveling here a great mystery in his parapsychological regression directed from the cavern of Chauvet.

Wonthelimar says: “I have been confined with early Neolithic alloys, here I have dwelt livid among all your intrepid adventures channeling the axons and sketches of manifestations of superior cause and effect of correspondence of the ages and their Aeon and paleo-uncrossing precessions of you and your new death, from the Ardeche river together with Medea and Hypnos, among all of them being aerial, visionaries and northern lights who traveled to my redoubt to spray them in river waters, on the night of Agios San Ioannis. The gorges that swallow the seal of the Pontias, make rivers form with their name since the bulk of their waves of gusts are grandiloquent and robust like a gaseous river that becomes hydrological in larynxes where the wind is astonished when entering the concavity that it is wasted in its nature of time and qualitative content. Unusually I have been the progeny of organisms of rapture and cytological drama, in each one that is represented in these walls in which they are trapped next to me as tricks, and radiocarbon tricks by these vicissitudes, and of their actions that have dated my radiation of radioactive carbon in these caverns and so-called fourteen carbon spaces, for more than fifty million radiometric years. I lived here with my parents until as a child I stayed with my godmother, but one day my father did not return. From that moment on I became after the anticipated axial carbon, to keep myself as a torch in the caverns to see where no one was light but me, only of someone who was more than a dawn to illuminate what they wanted to know in my organic depressions, my trident of dating and carbon, by my parents and I in incisive philanthropy staining all the walls detesting the otherness that made me move towards a Wonthelimar; with dated apparitions and curtains that behind them always like gargoyles appeared before Hypnos, and then Medea, taking me as a child with her hands. When they left, I was left alone and patiently waited for them, when they did not return in the harsh winters they would send me Gerakis Falcons, to deal with your pain my lord Vernarth. In this field, I live, but now I am on my way to grasp the horns of the ibex, which took me to their lair with their goat colonies to give me milk and ursid ***** herbs that shielded me from a lethal genre, although not every day. Remain so. The lord that you will be now is the reflection of the bodyguard along with his ibex that will cordon off your rebirth after leaving the traces and rods of your bone marrow, spleen, and glandular that now belongs to me, to take you to the coldest waters that run inside me since the last ice age. The interference of the Diádocos tried to convince Alexander the Great, this is already a new rock piece to represent him in numismatics, walls, and ceramics in a predominant and complacent way of historical, shamanic record and of astonishing parapsychological fold that I have projected on the walls of Chauvet without your consent "

The new turn from Nyons to Patmos was one of the seizures and ecstatic agonies, for a former little prodigy boy and son of an Íbez and a Bucephalus named Wonthelmar, who comes to rescue the entelechies of someone who was an ignorant man who carried in his arms his divine death, without knowing that before she was eternal life waiting for her in the Katapausis, after building the Megaron and negotiating with Seleucus the evolutionary stylistics of the resurrected Alexander the Great in the flames of the candle enlisted in the night lanterns and united with Saint John the Theologian. Seleucus' talks will be one of the stubborn and ****** visits to persuade and catechize his major general, in periods that do not elapse in real-time, and that will be the fatal fate of his obstinacies because Vernarth was already a prodigal son of the Duoverso-Universe., whose basal was unparalleled in attacking their ideals and hegemonic settlements of the material of minimal cause and effect, a wonder of worthy to lean on invisible gods who at a great speed never seen before..., trafficked in front of every gap or shoulder of their destiny, wandering under a pendulum of a sword and under the support of the farmer, who held prey and meat between a lightning bolt and an elder that supports him, cushioning all earthly sufferings, even more coming out from the silence and the most hidden isolation of those who dare to release from the vaporous darkness of Chauvet, Wonthelimar, already forging paths and ups and downs from where no one comes or goes.
Metaphysic • Quamtum • Parapsychology • Regression
Claire Ellen Nov 2013
What tastes salty?
Obviously potato chips.
Obviously a Californa girls hips.
Your lips after your tears
What tastes sweet?
Obviously the candy shop
Obviously an affair with a cop.
Your kisses in the morning
What tastes refreshing?
Obviously a cup of water.
Obviously a spring from the Alps.
Your skin in the shower.
Move me like the music and the rhythm.
Mold me like the sculptor and the ceramics.
My mistakes I have always shown on the surface,
But yours you have hidden deep beneath the sea.
These little black submarines,
They show in the shallows.
From encased in the hands of the small bird
that sits on your brain stem all day;
a little hope comes of me.
Or at least I muse it would.
I dream of you the whole night through,
and when winter comes I still dream of you.
And when age comes I still dream of you.
And when death comes to you, I still dream of you.
And in death I will come to meet the true you.
Don't take that the wrong way,
no one is behind me to back me up on this,
but you always say I don't know you,
believe me I really try too.
If you ever flew,
I would go with you
and the little birds would carry me through.
Tallulah Apr 2014
Tomorrow, the phrase
“I love you”
will belong to yesterday’s lips
my feelings for you
will belong to yesterday’s words.
Soon I won’t remember the chords
of your madness
or the taste of your sadness
sitting on my tongue like chocolate mints.
So in these last few weeks
we pull at the strings to rip
at the seams of us with ****** fingertips
cause in a slice of time
your name won’t belong in my rhyme.
You’ll be another past lover
that lives at the bottom of a shoebox
shuffled together with the love letters
of other men who swore themselves to me.
When my daughter fingers through
the pages dedicated to your eyes
I’ll softly remember you
throwing rocks at crooked pottery
from ceramics class. I’ll remember
that dark December and
your flimsy reflection through tinted glass.
I’ll remember what it felt
to be young, naïve,
and madly in love.
there is a sense of fluency
in his visual metamorphoses
framed in a diaphanous red
that isolates a consciousness
yet at the same time allows a journey
to ultimate extremes
of perfected enhancement
of the higher realization
of unfulfilling limitations
he knows that he can never be free
like a name in an address book
written in blue ceramics
that provides the impulse
to sensitizing thought
to the silence that walls him in
spiraling back in second hand decibels
overloaded with the complex distribution
of metabolic need
forms contradictory impulses
an index of vulnerable and invulnerability
like the familiar dissimilarity in his eyes
Connor Feb 2016
The annual rose garden blushes beneath a soft dress
in May. My crooked puppet's shadow has subsided in the theater it came to make way for fairweather, protest, wet teal ink
flowering the walls as sunlight shines thru and the mechanical
blinking of shadowy eyes now spurred AWAKE.
An Appalachian mind gaze and spiderweb neon
smoke attaching it's warmth to every freckled cheek,
a mint kiss like the opening of a fir tree smelted into the
foggy earth.

Ceramics embroider the shop sills
and ceiling fans wave hello n farewell to every guest
each day longer than the last!
WANDERER slept
sound in the Nagakin Capsule Tower, few nights ago now,
had an idea, lost it, feather flowed it's way across Pacific
to my bedroom and I wrote about her here, and saw a Japanese tea ceremony flash by
her eyes/my eyes
a collective consciousness
sometimes years apart.

She, who's witnessed the debris of catastrophe,
standing over what was a golden vase
filled with Tulips
now ash, forgotten except for in a memorial vague outline
in the bewitched brain(s)
Visionary! Arms twitched to the rapture occurring in plain view of us all
VIOLIN rebounding intangible yet unmistakable sound
on a train in Tokyo city. Cement is damp with Spring's sweet rain,
her feet sore from all this walking!

I appreciate her travels, as they are at once my own,
a second-hand enchantment
the taste of green tea, cherries!
EXPLOSIVE FORMLESS ANIMAL WHITE
feather grazed my skin, startled.

This feeling??
something set free, a violent hue erratic
markings on the cave walls, the one from Plato's allegory,
watching fire light the shape of our bodies and some spectacular image displays itself invisible
but felt, undeniable!
Settled, fire transferred to our lungs.
We call this “ART”
we have left the cave, to Paris, to Senegal, to Jaipur,
to her and I and you.

Animal oh animal caged no longer,
howling paintings and smells to our eyes,
bitten our hands sharp with poetry,
this ghast who's empathy for strangers has made a rare few dizzy. Possession! Willingly accepted nocturnal entity and I write this because I can't help myself.

THIS IS WHAT CREATED THE MANDALA,
COLORS OF AN ANCIENT PEACOCK
LURKING WITHIN US TENDING THE FLORA
which takes inspiration from museums, from brief embers shot up in a chasm fireplace illustrating what we'll call Forever,
vocal alchemist who resides in descending faint harp and opera
a fountain in a mysterious lobby only visited by one person, once every few months,
birds shimmer in planted palms and a crystal ceiling expounds the details of travels to come,
an orb above like an observatory for our OWN universe.

APOLLO IN LAUREL
PIANO, ASIAN INFLUENCE,
Damien Hirst's “Beautiful darkness spreading to every corner of your mind painting"
framed holy upon the walls
Jean Cocteau's “The Blood of a Poet” projected also, side by side.
A painted face, a parrot imitating Sudhana

“This is the abode of those of unobstructed intellect and broad mind,
Enjoying the realm of space, free from dependence,
Penetrating all times, free from obstruction,
Clearly perceiving all being and becoming”
- Avatamsaka Sutra

I'm speechless!
She's speechless! Her Tokyo, admittedly imaginary. It's her private
Nagakin Capsule Tower. It's my private Temple, my private Cocteau,
shelves stocked with the poems I'll one day write.
Words which shall knock on my dented skull in sleep mostly, but other times I can't recall as of this moment (Get back to me in July)
retired to literary France
and caught in the quicksand of aging, perhaps medicine will be far along enough that I shall die at 173?
a stretch, but considering that sciences are pushing for immortality by 2045 (pfft)
we shall see.
(??)
Bearded and divine with love
and experience from Airplanes
free jazz, dramatics,
heart to heart, dense libraries,
evening walks to Montmartre
a hand to hold
a kiss to experience.
Meditations,
Rodriguez “Sugar Man” fades out
“Silver magic ships... you carry...”
Sung once by the European barista in British Columbia who kept me caffeinated with a double shot of espresso for guessing the song right which was playing..This just happened, but I realize it'll become such a faint memory by then.
Out and out and out and out there
Far beyond the reaches of consciousness that previously mentioned feather will gather with the other ideas and become the WHITE peacock, infinite.
Carrying us there as wintry atoms
snowdrops on it's back.
One life to another.
Elizabeth May 2014
all alone in the unaccustomed patches of this
house, irrevocably mesmerized, washing the
eggshell blue ceramics submerged in winter,
all folly for the tallies I've sketched across
my forearm to the number of
pensive detachments I've buried in my pocket
from only that day, and that day alone.
no answers to the manner of this impulsive
habit of stretching my mind across the ocean
a fishing line with no hook
a photo frame with no picture living inside
I’ve turned you into someone you're not
I’ve brought you to places you’ll never be
surrounded by strangers, lovely oblivion
they don’t know, they’ll never know
and neither will you
betterdays Oct 2015
hands in cup
circling, circling,
washing away,
yesterdays detritus

humming, mindless, tuneless
far away in another place
thinking, of memories

slip, crash, drop
favourite cup
now
mosaic on hardwood floor

shards, and shards
me, a barefoot island
in a sea of ceramics

every which way
sharp reefs to navigate

but needs must
I am an island alone

none will rescue me
and i cannot sit all day

one cut,
on big toe
one coffee cup
much loved
now, binned
one bandaid
and off to work

serves me right,
should have paid attention
sheesh I loved that cup
Jordan Frances Feb 2014
You are
The sun-kissed skin that had an iridescent glow
That time we went to an ice cream parlor
For your birthday
The time I almost drowned in that community pool
The game we played with your Mom
An extension of her auburn-soaked locks
Although yours are blonder
But you have the same ruby red smile.
A kind spirit in a tiny body
The eyes that flared with the flames of a gentle spirit.
Days spent as we played with animals
On farms, at the pumpkin patch
We loved them so dearly when we were young.
A two and a half hour commute, yet worth it every time.
Horse riding with our sisters
As we complained about how annoying they were.
The first time we made ceramics
Yours, of course, were better than mine.
The way our parents would tell us
Of memories of ski trips and college endeavors
That made us hope to be university bound
Even though we were in grade school.

Things have changed.
Now you are motherless
As lung cancer took her life
Eight years ago in March.
Which also happened to be the last time I spoke with you.
I remember,
Dad wouldn't let me go to the funeral.
He said I was too young
I couldn't miss school
The usual.
At the time,
I didn't know if I longed to go to honor her
Or to see you.
It wouldn't be the last funeral he denied me
For various reasons.
I still miss her
But I miss you more.
We lost contact
And the questions I had for you at eight
Still resonate in my overbearing brain.

What was it like to lose her?
How did your father cope?
Did your grandparents move in
To take care of you and your young sister?
Do you remember these memories like I do?
Do you ever think about me?
Do you miss me at all?

New questions compete for their spots.
Do you have a boyfriend?
Do you plan to go to college?
Do you still love to draw?
I would assume you are still putting that angelic singing voice
To good use.
I hope I'm right.

Sometimes, I wonder.
Wonder what it would be like
If we still kept in touch.
Dad said your father
Lost contact with him after your mother's passing.
I know, this is petty
But I still miss every summer day
For the first eight years of my life that I spent with
My very first best friend.
For Valerie
There are two philosophical terms
that come from Zen and Japanese Ceramics:
Wabi,
     and
            Sabi.

'Wabi' refers to the flaws of a thing that give it the character it has;
the distinctive feature that makes it what it is.
It could be asymmetry, it could be a crack formed during the creation process.
It could be the thing made by your kid in art class, or by you, even;
those things are crammed with Wabi.

Wabi: Flaws created that individualize, identify and make possible sentimental attachment.

'Sabi' refers to the effects of Time on a thing, showing it's age;
the erosion and change that are inexorable through Time.
It could be the landscape of a foreign planet, or the holes in your jeans.
It could be your tattoos, scars, or psychology.
It could be the scratches on your truck, or the rusting paint you think looks cool.

Sabi: Flaws resulting from being so lucky as to survive long enough to endure things.

Both wabi and sabi lend to a thing Character.
They provide a foundation for relation as well as identity.
They are matters of perspective and thus are subjective.
A perfectionist denies the existence of these,
A romantic says they are all that there is.

As One becomes more open to these notions,
everything becomes a thousand-fold more beautiful.
cv Apr 2015
i giggle at a friend's joke
and wave goodbye to them.
i walk by the streets, kicking rocks
and thinking of dumb old things.

i open the door to the house,
and i am almost used to the sharp, berating voices inside.

i shut them out,
and lay exhausted on my bed.

putting an arm over my eyes,
i rest.

and wake up to them,
looking at me with horrified eyes.
my room is a mess--
a beheaded stuffed bear,
broken ceramics,
crushed scissors,
a butcher knife in my hand,
and warm, crimson fluid streaming down my arm.

what happened, i wonder?
so tired.
Third Eye Candy Mar 2013
[ as the knot finds the noose, the night ]

full of dead Aprils and lilac fumes, marjoram rhinestones and the ****** cinders of delight
over charmed by lightning, nocturnal passions of a dire hope suspended in hopeless plight

ornate cups as fragile as a poisonous thought made of human love
sworn enemies sipping tea from intangible ceramics, their black silk gloves
gleaming in the twilight apocalypse of surrender, at war with wisdom
in mad gardens of eden,
two dragons horde stars enough to confound astronomy
and arguments
that hold for every possible lie, sustaining the hypotheses of heaven
in orbit of a void
a lush velvet, gaping maw at the center of faith
and our kites, tethered to the follicle of our I

[ as the knot finds the noose, the night ]

surrounding the red apples of forbidden things, clinging to a fork, branching off from the center
of non local truth... a tremor in the force that sings the Universe into question,
but never into being

our magnificence, savoring sweet Life, smitten by meaningless miracles, as befit a fools indifference
to Reality... our long wings on specks of dust
amuse the blizzard of unknown laws, and yet we persist in beauty and susurrus

the rustle of angels on fishhooks
as we reel in the big
One.       [ Divided ]
CB Hooper Apr 2018
i’ve watched the fragments fall.
your calloused fingers hold the chisel
close but never enough
to completely split in two.
porcelain skin chipped,
unrecognizable by now.
i stood as still as a statuette,
i’ve allowed this every minute,
disregarded the repercussions
just to be beside you
only to be beside you
forming a pile of shards
beside you.
your warm, rough hands
and fixed eyes,
mind set to destroy me,
watch me crumble,
do nothing.

scatter me across the
places where we would meet:
the fire pit,
the dim lit street,
the padded arm
of the love seat.

a painted glass life
was never enough,
could never be enough.
but to be beside you…
Helen Raymond Jun 2014
Tumbling,
Tossing,
Dawn, midnight-midmorning’s crossing.
Comatose in an arcane ether-realm, I’m watching.
Through the pastel, piercing mountains –rifting, I lay drifting.
The curtains parting, releasing two daylight captives, falling.
Tumbling,
Tossing,
Unfinished dolls of porcelain, tangled mess of hair -streaming
A girl, brunette, no eyes, no lips –smiling or screaming.
She wears dress in tones of pallid, matching his wee bow-tie -stark against jacket wafting.
Their skin, fire-cast, spare of flush, their jointed arms –like birds, flapping.
Tumbling,
Tossing,
The boy finds rest in clouds where birds lay nesting and mists –gently cresting.
He’s posed, his hand exposed, for her hand, inanimate, he’s reaching.
She’s losing ground rapidly, with but mock sense of gravity, while in clouds peaks are breeching.
Chest shattering, glass chattering,
Tumbling,
Tossing.
Skewered bodice, broken bits of her calling, giving rise to the blind though she’s not yet done falling.
All at once, his cries come with his fresh face & his babbles, nearly maddening.
Struck with the frozen bite, eyes & lips bursting –painted from her plasticine features -her tears biting and cries raging!
From her inky tears is drawn a river, running, gently cradling before suddenly she’s drowning!
Tumbling!
Tossing!
Through the waves, her ceramics washed to skin- her hollow, broken chest now heart beating & lungs pleading!
She takes her breath from the dark waters of her rift, living tattoos on her skin now flourishing, blossoming!
Her soul, wide-awake, taking root in her skin; finding wading too shallow, she seeks higher things of depth & so flies with a lofty dive into the heavenly expanse of underwater, pitching stars for her catching.
Paying one last glance at her lost mate, cowering, she leaves him sobbing after her on a path he won’t be following.

Tumbling,
Tossing,
Surviving,
to Surpassing
...
She is Rising
-monorhyme-
No, I did not write this poem about overcoming heartbreak, but you are welcome to read it in that frame if it suits you  :) Specifically it is a thinly-veiled grand metaphor for how we must go through trials & overcome our fears before we may rise to our full potential & become who we are.
Haddie Brenner Dec 2016
One tile, Square and white,
Repetitive, blank and slight.
Reflecting me, not right quite.
One tile, cemented tight,
Surrounding tiles, left and right,
Reflecting me, just in spite.
One tile, by the bight,
Early morning, late, late night,
Reflecting back, a sore, sore sight.
One tile.
Square and white.
The voice Oct 2016
How creative can you be?
How dramatic does a piece of work have to be
to be worth your time?
How many times have you actually tried to go out of your way and experience molding your own definition of creativity
Clay
Ceramics
The texture, smooth or rough
The form, tall or short skinny of more rounded
The texture, allows you to think and concentrate
nothing else matters when your are planning your piece
The form, allows to risk and try new things
Nothing else matters when you are actually trying
That problem you have before you enter the room
stays at the door maybe it travels with you to the chair,
but as soon as your hands feel the clay and begin to form
the solutions begin to form
Clay is such an easy struggle
You have many decisions to make
How much clay?
How many details?
How many utensils?
How much time?
But that last one is actually the least, no time is good
spend years trying to figure out what you want to make
and then make it in a second
or spend a second figuring it out
and spend those years making it.
Taking your mind out of that thing that happened earlier in the day,
What was it again?
Yup, it was not as fun as clay.
You've build it, you've fired it, not paint it
What colors?
What pattern?
What resemblance will you give it?
One? More than One? maybe way to many,
or too alike of colors.
Black and white,
Wait, what was that?
Ohhhh, remember that problem earlier?
This time actually remember, because it isn't just a problem
It is a problem with a solution.
Now we know what to do!
It doesn't have to be clay, but I personally love it. I hope you find a good free class, there are many out there if you just look closely.

— The End —