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Luka Love Dec 2012
Can the unstoppable force overcome the immovable object? The waves have been a teacher with more wisdom than any I have ever had before. Something so constant, so committed, so unflappable as the lapping or crashing of the waves upon the shore. If you need any evidence of her relentless nature, look no further than the foreshore, great boulders and cliff faces worn down to grit. A true mechanical entity, with precise surety, well versed in engineering, mathematics, weather patterns and fluid dynamics. Who would have thought a philosophical question would have an engineering solution? The answer is no, but the question lacks precision, it doesn't quite paint the picture as it happens. I dive into the crashing waves, stretched out long, offering no resistance, the wash thunders around me but still I glide forward in the water like a shark, no resistance. I am the immovable object. Suspended weightless I overcome the unstoppable force by holding ground, offering no resistance as it rages around and past me, trying to capsize me or push me backwards. The way of the seas, the ultimate peacemaker.

The parallels to life do not need pointing out thus, especially to those who fight for justice, the Davids versus their Goliaths. History's great peacemakers have been here before, the art of war is in passive resistance, principled adherence coupled with civil disobedience, your silence is considered tacit acceptance, so be not silent but give unto Caesar that which is Caesars. The fight is an uphill playing field, you must play by their rules, or the game is over, but you can win by their rules if you know where they bend. So stand peacemakers, face rows of riot shields, plow fields as Te Whiti did, collect salt as Gandhi, be not silent, tip toe that fine line between real change and hard time, wherever you see injustice speak, and seek conciliation. Peace is not achieved when nations put down their guns, peace is achieved when people embrace their neighbors as their brothers and sisters. It is achieved when people no longer speak of peace with longing in the same breath as cursing the person that parked in their carpark. Be peace and you will see peace, wish not to see it in the world if you cannot be it in your world. Change yourself and the world changes with you. So can the unstoppable force overcome the immovable object? That much is up to you.
Being invokes Form.
Form invokes Matter.
Matter invokes Mind.
Mind invokes Motion.

Motion evokes Hallucination.
Hallucination evokes Provocation.
Provocation evokes Dis-ease.
Dis-ease evokes Reconciliation.

Conciliation banishes Dis-ease.
Ease banishes Provocation.
Discernment banishes Hallucination.
Rest banishes Motion.

Stillness dispels Thought.
Concentration dispels Matter.
Formlessness dispels Phenomena.
Being alone Is.
sobroquet Apr 2013
So you think you are a master of techniques of persuasion?
You shallow pips-squeak, mediocrity is your mastery
the obsequious hoi polloi that surround you are the pitiable averageness of conciliation
Sophistry and subterfuge are your game of compromised facts
syllogistic  arithmetic conceptualizing  doesn't make anything so
your addition is flawed by your bungled bombast of banality and guile
fortunately for you, your crowd will never study logic
fortunately for you semi-literacy is  de rigueur

You pompous swollen grandiose mass of hyperbolic gas
Fear is what you offer, lies are what you sell
your rhetorical flourish is as the stench of a waste  dump
fetid, corpulent, fallow and febrile
toxic
half-truths, innuendos, ambiguities, conjecture and asinine aspersions comprise your specious fare,
fostering rumours,  manipulating facts, you are the purported Biblical brood of vipers so extensively reviled against
Your relevancy is attributable to the dull stupidity so profusely prevalent today
Your "success" is the stuff of taint and treachery
You'll probably choke to death on a stuck piece of poorly masticated  flesh
so appropriate  and  befitting the demise of a professional liar
Vernarth sequence

Prophecy I -  “Eighth month of sailing in systemic plenitude”

“Since they will not hunt us down in all our Itheoi cycles…
nor in other lapses from where the fine eye could have sewn the buttonholes of the shroud, where there will be life and if there will be a short time without life...
dragged by you for a long time where the sun is melted over the word, staying stored and locked in your pocket to collect it blushing,
tomorrow's jump without a yesterday declining..., without a tomorrow in the heat of a bonfire...
lamb in bait handled being the portal of those who have been slapped inside their cheeks… who will not shorten the cycle that transcends all the oblong sepulchral vaults or who abound in the nonsense of sanitizing nights of ***** despot life having to measure themselves in your flourishing duel by Aiónius of the cleanest dew of its solid stroke and announced delineation of the new one that has been retraced again being more than a brief syllable created again fertile, in the biosphere mouth so as not to see you omnipresent mist, meditating not having you and that dares to meditate on your future that will have to be reserved for yourself by professing it when you are cold in front of you and insinuating if in living followed by letters to be flooded pondering like a paralyzed sleeping part that wants not to be covered with feigned warmth and that does not fit in all the parts of me being who wants to be consul of some shelter with all those who sleep also half dreaming in the company of the lost afternoon that never ends serving Saint John in Katapausis here, perhaps Aiónius del Ibico 1 as a magnificent and net unit that sees the luminous truth when we all come out of a prophecy alive even if it's dark ".

"What a reckless job of losing value,
I am already in Katapausis in the eighth month...,
I entered as the light opened with my hand turned into the light...
being already a katapausis meaning in Sabbatarianism.
Quasi-unit method exhibiting cohesion to the rest motif
With levers in my hands and intra-sabbatism in his dissertation...
of an exegetical and theological nature that has transpired soft insomniac light, We are a people who do not have to fear or air to deposit for a future warehouse above the Sycamore or birds that guard all the Gold above my hands on the Sycamore…”

"Stay in my house, if I don't come back it will be yours
stay at home, it will belong to everyone even in the apocalypse...
that more reckless will be silent as a work of losing value,
Katapausis is the threshold where my life enters and leaves at once,
stay at my house, if I don't come back it will be yours...
Open windows by meekly closing them to that confronted obverse to you...

He comes from a den relativized on reliefs in weathered beads...
they will be soluble mineral beings convened moving away from the most distant and closest to the least distant…, from waters of underground siphons… there we will all be floating… like vertebrate invertebrate animals”

Vernarth, after not entering the grotto not having found Saint John, goes outside where he goes on a campaign for three months before he can be received by God's law. Here he meets with Reader and his pelican, as well as Eurydice.


Prophecy II -  “Seventh, Inter-synergy energy”

“Three months I have waited in the middle of this mountain,
symmetrically arranging the steps to be taken, not going backward
prana of life walking in oceans of life walking…
us and them… how much must separate us to reach us?
what I have not tried to separate…, what I have not been able to achieve…

I think I died early in the worlds that haven't risen yet,
I think I was reborn late among dense curves that overwhelm us with straight lines
soul, principle, matter, and material distinctive ontology
Ghost god of parallelisms beings and activities in affinity...
starvation body of low energy ceasing creatures in embryo
incessant firstborn to infuse other confining souls
trails demons slip where my ashes hands are sore
wounded doctrines to engender and doctrines to ulcerate...

As the prophecy uses the sea carrying messages resolved from shore to shore
close to a Virtual why in the twilight your Faith that must be glandular… matter of soul and body exposed to predisposing theological and chemical, in pursuit of the corruptible whole in vice versa if he does not burst with atheistic impatience.”

Eurydice takes a zither and sings tempting stormy actions to Vernarth, Raeder and Petrobus put their souls in line in the first linear principle, Together with the matter of corporeal fire proceeding to the definition where all the parts are confirmed without distinction dancing next to them creating the greatest bond of faith in body and soul, thus spending the three months in a few words of light of the sated fire.

"In the eighth-month katapausis, eight times your permanent peace must rest in
cited state; once it is translated into Sabbathisms and it will be the same state… When everyone finishes their dance in the cave and enters believing they have the courage to enter eight times in connection with rest…, plus eight times in connection without rest.
In some verses, the urgency of the entrance will be accentuated. The main issue “is that history will be repeating itself exactly where the Israelites were at Kadesh-Barnea. A related term either synonymous with Kadesh or referring to one of two sites, is Kadesh (or Qadesh) Barnea. Various etymologies for Barnea have been proposed, including 'wilderness of travel' but none have produced a broad consensus. What is the consensus? will we stop believing or lean on the shores of a preacher rain of Jehovah or lean on the shores of a preacher sinful waterfall or lean on the shores of a preacher confessing rain or lean on the shores of a preacher wet wind inquisitor...? where ever the aromas of its faithful winds served will go sacred to everything named before and many before the confessing rainy…, waterfalls in favor of the temperamental inquisitor wind”.

Astheneiais”, in Greek is and will be a weakness, in Hebrews a moral connotation and will mean not only physical weakness but a conscious weakness and trembling in temptation. Our Lord also understands us in this weakness because he was tempted in every way as we are. Since he himself was tempted he knows from experience what it means for us to be tempted. He was not tempted in all the particulars of our life, for example, He was not tempted as a husband or father, owner or employer or soldier, because he was none of these things. But he was tempted in all three areas of human susceptibility: body, soul, and spirit.

Prophecy III -  “Sixth, Resilience…”

“They were on the perimeter trying to keep me together at his command,
I go every day for its pantry, food, groceries, bookstore supplies and ink, oils, and other essences for the environment in continuous handwritten obedience, I have to leave for Skalá where some residents are waiting for me who have ordered to bring materials from Gricos and Psili Ammos to project your home,
If this has been written like this, it is because my pleasure in walking has written it, in the company of the one, he has written for the one who walks next to me the god Ibicus!

They always asked me why to mention why I have to do this for them… I will tell you that I used to serve leaders who consolidate the Hellenic geography,
without them, everything would have been invaded by unled foreign hands… in that rest, I have to attend to the verse that precedes it...
which says that we have already entered where I already intend to argue the following…

Resilience and exhortation that from the beginning I have taken since it began... now I will abide by and present your messages in a very predominant note, I was Hoplite Commander of the Falange and Hetairoi, now a Christian who does not dispute living a life of obedience to those who are not and are not without his martyrs...
like those people to whom God swore they will not enter my rest
whose amen will be preached in the passive voice verse!

Remain as the verb indicates with the real facts, the word
independent of the present, independent of who and when…
Saint Gabriel my Abrahamic angel will give me white strength and frolicking lilies like baskets of hermaphroditic lilies procreating only-begotten forests at the altar.

Stand tall over the Abrahamic fire without knuckles or shields,
rethink your beloved woman and take a sudden step to heal your wounds there is so much grass to cut and so much poetry to chew...
up the mountain towards Skalá at night after drinking wine
Epitrapezios Inos setting fire with innocuous saffron atmosphere
lips of fire and bread, for a good offensive fight.
Greek fire naphtha, cinnabar, and anthracite.

Wake up united with the deep disorder
Grant the color that deserves to have your day as a constellation
with the image that rests on your angular and calloused hands.
stopping spaces of loss more than all the centuries that waited for the minimum incense to a good warrior, sweet wine for open bleeding wound not his… the thunder that hides baptisms in all hearts empty of blood...

“While Vernarth was praying in the oracle he felt a thunderous supra sound As if the gates of hell had opened...
As if millions of seconds of angels were to be dispersed from the sky
To reduce more seconds of silence to the thinnest pleading eardrum

A few days ago I saw a ghost that was chopping wood...
I couldn't realize that he was really Him...,
I also saw him cutting thousands of volumes from a library...
Also, not realizing it, I saw several, like more than eighty manuscripts..., of breaths that still did not prosper in the hands of San Marcos...

A gigantic door slam is felt again...!
again it was the angels that came
at the wrong time in his return..., but now in his repatriation
they climbed through and into the Garden of Eden.”

Vernarth, evicted from the habit of the unknown, was apprehended by his craftsmanship of him, he was still attentive to be received by San Juan. The longer he waited to be arranged for an audience, he did not postpone what his memory pointed out to be more than an experience plotting capacities in the face of his own limitations. From that moment on, a gigantic gate slam is felt again! the angels who went back one after another with their polished golden-white cloaks relapsed..., but now making the Garden of Eden their own,... being theirs in what was theirs, that they would be in the house of a wise gardener of Eden perhaps being the same Katapausis manger at once!

Raeder says: hugging him profusely! time has to fly like little angels, having them by your side as companions of the time that is leftover on their wings, giving it all to your enjoyment of living and feeling it lost in you without finding it. ! khaire mi Vernarth!, I have some karidopitas with nuts and yogurt accompanied by baklava with nuts in delicious syrup from Kalymnos. Petrobus jumped for joy and fluttered like a hummingbird to steal a few pieces! Eurydice and Vernarth did the same. That night they told militia stories while they ate the morsels, so they fell asleep as if it had been the first time they had fought such a great menu. Euridice assists in the same with his fresh clean face, creating an atmosphere of conciliation to renew the dream of a day that will dawn close to his waking up far from the criminals. Vernarth takes the staff from him from then on and divides books and manuscripts into two portions so that he has time to take steps to really feel that he can walk close to Saint John.

Prophecy IV -  "Fifth, Nature, Manuscripts and Jophiel"

“Zeus wakes up trembling, full of headaches saturated with Herbs for headaches Jophiel speaking this time with the Kabbalistic language of the Torah...with golden commoner super zone of the Organikon Sorousliston Papadikon….age-old music that supplies Zeus with protein albumin, to make him more human…Zeus accepts Jophiel by placing his head about the house of Jophiel; a divine island to throw cards…brings the second ray to the Sahasrara at the crown of your head, pacifying love that is the suspicious and risky loser of everything risk in the head especially when a feeling is born!

Zeus turns his head and Jophiel twists it to the opposite side
about the ruined zeros that he did not count from the plasma of his dependency, Zeus feared having albumin at risk of human transmutation... happy to be able to cry he imagines slipping into the middle of a lake and he sees that he falls on Hera's poultry harming none, Zeus pours brimstone from his mouth and milks inelegant prose from the scythe…

Trina flame whose son bears glorious her bearer,
thousands of lives being clumsy for the wisest destitute
being what in the present you were more than past trine
when you harbor from Hanael's Blue Sodalite quarry
the imperfect perfects when you listen to your
body how it beats, how it breathes... you realize that it is perfect
as is Jophiel and discerns repairing the wisdom in the decisive punt
where gum rosin myrrh and multi urban frankincense go
towards the soul plane architecture of the human plane.
Hardened Zeus overflows glazed sallow emulsion of war
coagulated exhausting guarantor of everything is well,
books of the silent world of nails that do not sound sheets,
Hanael in massive books divides sounding with her iris gel-colored nails encrypted library manuscript of a thousand years, the voluptuous organism of a thousand years…
flapping unpredictable millennia and wiry hands,
colossal capstans…, annihilated with a thousand years…
a silly propeller that spins like a sickle rolling over a certain holistic tabernacle of the small portion of the next day when Zeus awoke to the diaphanous threatening light with sunless cloud waistband…
His face is seen with frowns and he looks at his face as well
without seeing folds…but in front of the Aiónius.

The geranium appears in the representation of the natural whole kicking the Sickle, much more here lost of our spiritual being
Zeus Jophiel's hardened shoulder heats up only to lean on Him...
light on his shoulders fires on both of them…
how long it takes to save us perhaps twenty times what supports us even tired and much more unwrapped than the treachery of him alone and without being followed without knowing
nothing more than a thousand-year-old shell through which he would drain…perhaps a tortoise-like millennial angel walked up to the omega! joy preparing to give you live hopeful,
that if it would be timely to give you more life...
Here is Aiónius reordering the world together with Zefian…
He shares everything eternal of all your life that floats in the sea,
miserable mix space where capo dastro separates the end
where all the wheres cannonade the hoarse fire...
cement that joins brick wall and plenary adobes
love without nature that castrates your beautiful woman
that hides her face without mascara looking for it...
let's go outside says Vernarth..., we still have a few seconds in his solvent... sensible, full, and arc well-being...
as if you were floating in the air floating more
also needed me to teach you before your limits limit you,
and make you angry from the miserable sense,... Don't listen to me anymore...!!”

Vernarth puts his first three fingers on the capo dastro roosters crow with his skin vibrating beyond the sleep of Raeder and Petrobus. Reader wakes up and says…; My Vernarth I will make fire and heat water. Petrobus runs with his wings to look for sacred wood. Eurydice comments…, I will prepare the praiseworthy sacred breakfast.

When they were preparing to do all this, Jophiel and Hanael appeared to him, joining in the breakfast that would feed all the days and millennia of the world. Unleavened fruit, honey, and milk multiply above all, satiating hunger with satiated satisfaction.

Prophecy V – Fourth, Limbus Necropolis

“From so far away…, so far away that I listen to your sacrosanct cries…!
from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi…, rocking my elbows and hurting myself
moving in rare pleasant crypt upon crypts disconsolate stones
not so far away..., keys held in the eighth cemetery...
Who is to open the heavy door now...?
I come from Messolonghi 555 km in linear figures to Patmos...,
narrowing concave… doubtful in extension, passion princess cloud
He must welcome me benevolently in the night nymph consort...
Limbus N cloud, Cloud Cemetery lofty lofty hypogeum
soul of Limbo, before seeing the nut that girds the face in the graceful Grim Reaper resurrecting restless…, sinning… grail sacrament without Being or being…?
Necropolis Cloud, expectant mortuary technology...
amaze me if there is a byte for me...
narrow conscience, unseemly to amaze me?

Here the lost mist of the Nothofagus God phoneme-photon vanishes with divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. The Sacrament of Limbus will provide spaces and assemblages of meters for thousands of areas of infamous wandering the Ouranos, approaching the Áullos Kósmos to host him and rescue the children of the meter that was missing in the numeral rule of the Megaron acroteria before going up to the Necropolis Cloud. Vernarth, mere body formalizing principle...
extinct delicate evocation of the shadow of Elpenor;
Achaean warrior of Ulysses grandiloquent who even has otitis
and verse where flu spreads influenza
heartbreak from far away reverberating in the elite of lexicons…
arriving equidistant ... the last one arrives threatening with his Kantabroi staying neither divided nor captured, taking refuge in outright failure twilight of megahertz, farce propaganda surrendered fear will not fall even after …

Vernarth falls from the Koumeterium Mesolonghi in the Necropolis cloud privileging his status, he falls from this gloomy digital platform with a high alcoholic degree! from the high heaven after drinking hours he came in the carriage that was from Zilos, with the passion of heaven depriving his understanding stunned on some branches of will of Ziziphus…, stunned on branches of mercy….

Vernarth in a contrite accident with Elpenor, his psyche flies to the realm of the dead, Hades was remaining prisoner in that world taking the form of a Homeric icon or shadow. Vernarth was asleep after his binge, and Elpenor asks him if he wanted to join him with some concoctions. He was with blurred vision, a headache, and still lying down. But in the passionate horror of his drunkenness, he gets up quickly, saying to Elpenor: For me, it was one less pain to drink after having fallen from such a distance without being able to request and have had the grace of my mother's lullaby. For this reason, I hug you! They went together to the Cloud Necropolis to continue in the Limbus trying to alternate their physical body to gaseous liquid. At that moment Eurídice hits her with a piece of wood on her legs so that she wakes up from the bite of that nightmare that overwhelmed her to finally be able to wake up. Raeder had gone with Petrobus to Skalá to seek inputs of gnosis and his own inspiration for accents before the welcome in Katapausis to come in the blink of an eye of San Juan, necessary redaction for licenses and to be admitted to his library.

Prophecy VI - “Third, Rethymnon City and State”

“Vernarth heard the sound of a bouzouki, spoke of a 40-day fast that Greece celebrates before Easter, at the Rethymnon carnival they come from all over Greece to attend as a family during the week with animations, evenings and concerts, dances…theatre, floats with Venetian art in the picturesque old town and modern city, in this ancient city …

Rethymnon Political Ellipsis

“Like territorial extension, past-future organized infamous scene…Vernarth imagines being with Etréstles in immediate predictions
with years and thousands…, clan hobbies, Rethymnon manuscript…
while he thus deliberated…, thus rejoicing in the immaculate extramural grotto thus being as if it were comparable to a Neolithic village; being together lost with eagerness to appear from political power... palaces, kings, pro-organized religions..., rancorous superlative temple, priestly-eucharistic, nationalized sovereign citizen... commanding Parliament of the Hellenic politai people
the competent anti-value entity of the substratum political state…
sedentary-agricultural or nomadic-livestock culture…, vertical Hoplite culture!”

In Thessaloniki street, he would meet his brother head-on...Imagining how he would be...? Well-dressed-shiny, he would be in a passing tavern usually naming himself tradition and terms of questionable validity rather than those of a retro-linguistic family, in the remarkable urban-city dialogue called seditious inns with networks of political territorial extension, reaching the colossal size of multinational ideals of a complex stratification, social meeting place, future ministries to whom to delegate?. They would arrive at the tavern in Rethymnon in Crete, they order coffee, biscuits, and Mosaikó chocolates. In an unexpected moment, he suddenly wakes up from this deep, hallucinating, and futuristic imagination! His brother appears immediately, not in Rethymnon but in Katapausis with the goddess Lepidoptera!

End Ellipsis Rethymnon

“At the moment his imagination breaks just when they were preparing to toast… Etréstles in this same interval appear in Katapausis Reader and Petrobus coming in a singular pilgrimage from Skalá…this is how the syllabic song of the arcane ***** is heard emitting from the grotto…, yellow lights and saffron…. Saint John and the Gospel celebrating the Eucharist…Vernarth would believe for the first time that the hermit would come, but No…!
his brother was to be in the intervening yellow-white light
in front of him nothing more than Etréstles visiting him”

Likewise, they would no longer be in Rethymnon,
but the carnival would already begin in the region of Patmos...
eating delicacies, and the Sousta towards the circle of the Sun in the hands…They have been two months with the sweetened Moon and the Sun posing its mass of light in her… soft palm next to her waiting for him in the proximity of a Hebrew silence

Estretles says Khaire Vernarth! from Piacenza who did not see your joyous lux! I can see now to the sound of yourself the stoic zither...
countenance light, the orbit of your eyes, pale asthenia without photon without light, expectorant suppuration of your sacred Lynothorax, Absent in front of the long and fatal transverse lapse!
Raeder makes a speech to Zeus Photon Child Lux
Fulminant spends time where it remains greater than the minimum...
Patmos is the time of the Messiah…, retrograde years…
polis Helennic city-states.

Culture-state… state time chorus in tune
Philosophical poetic-epic Olympian Aiónius global leader
Homeric poems..., Raeder I am..., a naughty Politai...
you Vernarth are Politai Hetairoi militia
candy wasted by me Raeder… sweetened in my memory
polytheistic, cultured and declined…
theocratic referendum or democratic right,
Exciting porridge of my Kourabiedes cookies
butter, icing sugar, flour, eggs from the icy cliff
vanilla or Mastica resin, ***, Ouzo, mastica liquor…
or other alcoholic beverages…, which bubble on the underside of Aiónius soaked in my mouth with water from petal buds
coated for you with sugar on the tip of my tongue…
reflective cops in a wonderful dialogue of a tasty recipe...
It's time for everyone else to snack too!!

In that second Raerder was choking on a Kourabiede biscuit,
but there was the guardian of the Petrobus who piloted the
throwing hieratic water on the inside of his mouth,
forcing him to take heart from the buttress of his speech
shooing thick crumbs from his skinny dialogue spitted...
Gerakis, ray, tabletop oak bull, scepter for those who rule with him and not...My Zeus friend I invite you to play marbles,
I invite you to tell us that we are friends...
we're both fine… only Space-separated us…?

Raeder runs towards Zeus' thunderbolt from his right hand.
he jumps up and takes it from her, in exchange for this she gives him his marbles...The entire earth tilts over the Aegean..., the earth's axis tilts eight degrees, altering the cerebrospinal fluid of the Hellenic geopolitical conception..., with Zeus poly infarcted over descending magnitudes of inter-politics, millennia and headless governments...

“Apokalypsis lightning restarted, emerged from a New World”
Prophecy VII -. “Second, Alikanto Aion, Quantum”
"Kalymnos, golden tetra steed Alikanto was grazing under the metallic moon...
transiting its quantum physics…, golden legs…, four golden domes
the super host being in Apoika Andros next to the villagers,
commemorating troupe and advent…, Heraklion next period
celebrant anniversary, progeny bearer of Kanti Cretense,
close cycles of the sacred fire, domestic environment, and private zeal...
funerary hidden cult… streets in the hieratic family dwelling
fertile women… totalized and lustful ****…
productive longevity and harvests…, family Apoika
next successor belligerence…, funerary plexus…
culty predecessor…, treatise and imprecation of law, theme and legible religion domestic scene, family civic servant ceremony

Goddess Hestia austere, head with eight sacred candles dressed
Olympus lacking without gods…, only Goddesses embargo!
Feminine Hestia Domestic Goddess, an emanation of the female oval to ovulating…Pritaneo, the central decree of the political harvests… foreign exchange grains to be minted monetary stock exchange of Athens… Pritaneo ford on the rise, ford on increase Aion... hesitant dart swoop into eternity,
Alikanto Perpetual Aion…Speaks with both hands
synchronized and tilted tongue…
stutters and swallows, in six paranasal sinuses
saturated with fiery saliva..., and an Internal voice saying say...
what makes sense to feel and what does not turn off...
sleeping waves in the poison of love igniting
intra-Vernarth love…, billing infected holy blood
methodical coupled time…, Gaugamela the bronze extremity,
of a lost leader…, won leader!

If I had to run to rewrite retro Adhoc poems and chosen trova,
With a shy Trojan verse, I would dare today if I kissed her in front of me… she!
she would jump from the hyperesthetic-Ouranos…, inhuman to the Aion world
aurora celestina, bleeds big and defiant today in your star
In herself Ella…, pestiferous condemnation sweetness and aura between her…she just be, she herself be supported be…, Oh… Goddess Hestia on your opposite leg unbraced arm, meadow and vein braid… assaulted by lost and thirsty love written everything if she tempts…, everything wields darkly if it took you to our Olympus… at night loving you whole..., emptying everything with no inappropriate hand singing don vine fissure and intimate company, may it be exterminated... passion outside with nailed stake..., iron embedding..., nails wounding...exhausted supra lips supra yours…, mid sand writing full to her…
tip of my Xiphos… blood made written with written maiden mythology,
letter sword Spatha…, cyclamen balm made whole if I had you!

“To the loves of the world I say…, cover your ears fungus of boredom, your torn ears squander ignoring more than sordid saying...my blood kills, my blood revives! I **** my blood and I **** everyone, with your blood scattered, ***** blood scattered…!
do not leave me alone until nightfall… I only ask for holy water,
emptied from your mouth goddess Hestia who flies tons over me...
I only ask for a spatha romantic blood sharp, ******, and scattered...
to write to the love wars that I have lost...
to the wars of love that I have won, slicing the jugular of the
treacherous and wicked emperor"

“… Alikantus, he remembered the Hoplite commander in Gaugamela, he remembered when he dodged arrows with his head so that they would not hit his body or his pectoral. From such a present moment falling by surrendering to the evocation of him. He goes down to a stream and confines himself to the vanity quagmire, continues on his path reaching a suspicious lagoon, drinks sacred water, drinking again manages to perceive the effigy of Vernarth in the mirror of Aion's Hydor... calling him from Patmos! Law reminded his master how he died for everyone in the world just as the world would not let him bring more than agonizing for him because there was no more space said Aionius ... "

Alikantus then clenched his jaws too hard, falling out all his molars, he asked the Gods in front of Hestia to restore them fifteen days before arriving at the Ekadashi in Patmos where his master, thus loving all the lives of the world, as well as the hidden cries behind the Dypilons hiding the power of God… or laugh at gagged iris flashes and mummified sighs with lives that subsist!

Vernarth from Patmos called to him so that his eyes looked invigorated like the swarms of green and gray vanadium fire, of mood in the predictive table and close prediction. AlIkantus bids farewell to Kalymnos spraying sorrel and hyper-odoriferous flowers of the Apoika in Kalymnos loving from above, very close, flying, loving everything so much that he forgot to fly. He sometimes fell hard but recovered retried as a baby steed in the womb of a mother new species to be born again in Apoika!


Prophecy VIII -  "First of Aionius, "Eleusis Prophecy of Hamor"
“Aiónius received news of Hamor's prophecy; cosmic orgiastic order
tyrannical snake victim throwing herself into her abyss and purpose..., banishment as an objective void to be decreed, even so ending the world from another world,
discontinuous terse march, slurred arpeggio, speech by Aiónius
there is no world left but if extermination…, undone threshold…, provoke in delicate chaos…!

As a child, I ran to the supreme world herding lions... I called them and they ran to me..., they came alone, some didn't...! Being young, one day Aionius went to the farm and counted the lions... Some came others No... Aionius..., in such a hamorio he was locking an earring from his ears, he hung them again, which happened the next day relaxed..., he saw a maiden who laughed hypnotized…, he sighed when she turned around saying with her poor gestures… Destroy it! The afflicted turned away not knowing what was coming… destroying the desolate world vilifying silky physiognomies, chipped and dandruff face slipping from yours being captive and arid…, tempts to flow libertarian imprint in foreign praxis, origin, and end,
me from the slime being born in my eighth life in nothingness ataxia…

The beloved Victim surrounded by snakes moved the stump of her arms
eaten away by the serpent that took refuge in thorns of forged steel...
she kept walking…, Aiónius pointed at her and kissed her gestures escaping frightened towards the valley in farewells... not fitting itself in valleys that were never anything she paraded with the current of her last word, the beloved again moved her arms following her in front of her the beast was on her, Aiónius buried from fleeing and coming… with fiery phenotype, abrupt vocabulary, says: “Strapping and interludes, after beings of impiety, the world of impiety, Hamor of the first wit… towards other refuges I will depart about a Yes devouring bare ring on it…”
escape curve that cuts the pelvis of my beloved
destructive be your curved world that before had to destroy me...
ultra pre-hellenic nymph Harpé passion spread on me…
Hailed libertarian praise, aristocratic vermilion accent, minority ruling? Overwhelming rigor expended, prophetic Hamor, prophetic expansive arsenal! It must come from all the supreme worlds with strokes and silhouettes conquering...true dream, confused hypothetical oscillate sweeping imploring and contracting popular decision, management and space of my Sickle…, sometimes uncontained… worse avenues in its radius and dark mourning badly wounded shadow! The vertex that finally launches opens the dawn and his Hamada flees... Leaving with the untidy serpent, about touching and causing rangers in the stuck earth.

Demeter and Persephone; based on Eleusis in ancient Greece
mystery myth of the abduction of Persephone daughter of Demeter…
by the king of the underworld of Hades, Abrahamanica's offspring
cabal, life in the descent, the search and the ascent…
Ascent of Indra lightning Vahana and lightning from her right eye,
Persephone to the reunion with her beloved daughter ascending.

Zodiac and mysteries involved, visions and sleight of hand
that of an afterlife, rain of seven trunks, long-lived Airavata
elephant, Eleusis jump psychedelic mystery, incision, and coherent rites, ceremonies and experiences of cold winters and life on earth
plants in gestation under the gift of Elitíaen and beings that
they are about to germinate and be born, beings in a chain of genes...
vegetable running on the earth, vegetable in March in its glory
September in the jaws of the purified phrase and inaccurate acropolis I…

Sacred obscenities, deadly tributes with the death penalty...,
wandering nights without clothes with obese and badly fragrant meats point and taco dances praising the harvest in honor of a dead Thracian bull, libating priestly vessels and bullfighting heads in a deliberately defined and improper triweekly ritual, revealed in Demeter and Persephone.

Only Hamor in his venerable pyx lies locked up knowing he is unable to open inside this lustful bewitching sparkles, the mystery of emancipated disenchantment that awakens from his slow consciousness without knowing how to go on passing in the sum of all happenings of Aiónius. ”

This is how he defined himself from the syncretism of Indra and the mystery of Eleusis, from Demeter and his daughter Persephone from the vile kidnapped underworld. Of the divine Goddess Elitia and the annual records of children born within a year in the germinating seed of the mystery of love that would begin with this prophecy with the initial "H" of the underworld exclaimed Hades and Greek heritage in this event. Vernarth and his companions listened to this prophecy, almost falling asleep, it seemed to them sweet pallor-bitter, love-heartbreak in the previous day before diagnosing having a presence in the hermitage of San Juan Apóstol for the superior company of a later day that was approaching as the greatest daring of all up in the mountains while disposing of Vernarth's Apologist obverse of Aiónius's.

Epilogue Prophecies - “Eleusis, Isadora Duncan to the Parthenon”

“Vernarth and Eurydice indulged in the jargon of agitated diasporas
of inhabitants fleeing the Rite of Eleusis, crossed hands and feet
They dueled on olive trunks with Theban thunder, vague Insurrection of the ancient world, and consonants of barbarian Pleiades,
acclaiming predilection of the Eremita San Juan to appear...
in a breath of peace resurfacing... but seeing that Vernarth was accompanied of Eurydice hid in front of them leaving only her aura near from the stream of a chrysalis!
In the dizzying succession of myths, good news reaches her sacred ears, waking up her trend and her high quarterly price outside the walls... being later received in the grotto of the hermitage in growing expectation and a link of longing that weaves to remind him of being a crusade piece.

The kidnapping of his reverie feared and timid frivolous crushing blizzard, he was walking surrounded by Falangists on horseback pointing at him and threatening him, scrutinizing in the distance loneliness of his past lives,
his regressive life, concerning key to origins of his illustrative Existence, stranded at this moment..., Vernarth makes a pact with himself to detach himself..., of his spirit, detach from their lives under a hypnotic and compelling law..., like a suspended index in the Sistine Chapel, homologous ship Ave Maria Messiah!

From Eleusis Vernarth vanished in aerial horse-dreaming,
he crossed through the pavilions with himself persevering some wake
riding his Alikantus ******* and standing with him to pillage the Empyrium niche Persephone's trace of herself and her ******* ******* them...
with devoted passion, milky way, and milky syrup chin howling...
Vanishing dancer, Athenian acropolis, Dionysian sanctuary of the acropolis… Stepdaughter-patron in the dance of Zeus and Themis lopsided frame of the season's wildness of all creation and defiance of Eleusis looking for her daughter and her children, priestesses safely taking off their corset and their pictures…
raging chastity, oligo blood, Itheoi music, outraged dance complaining, Possessed expressing being seductive but also a native *******... the underworld in darkness, free daughter, and iconoclastic Greek mythologist
inconvenient Victorian mania, a courtesan from Olympus, courtesan undressed! Isadora, Demeter, and Persephone… flooded with Aphrodite foam!

She “prayed songs with plexus and feet, plotting gardens around the world… full of baseboard feet where everything created in brief Apokálypsis was dying! By desolate Parthenons dancing in Muscovite ruins, maenades sweaty enclave and also throwing back his head as if possessed by ecstasy in her Bugatti and Leonidas…, enchanted by Aiónius! intoxicated and exorbitant with beautiful rosy placebo eyes... Hair with headbands vine petioles, her Nebris tight skin was wearing... in her hand's bunches of barberries to Dionysus with torches and live snakes a chaste crook naming Thirsus; rod topped with Kashmar branches wrapped in borders, vines and ivy, allusive link…, morbid ecosystem! covering her crotch in the Temple of her Kopanos dancing from the eternal fire cremated and in a romantic dimension remembering Byron's meritorious…
Hellenic passionate, and of Hölderlin poeticizing together with Aiónius.

Rudiment wound … ruinous on value exciting in those
of the imagined and creative in her perdition, Sicalipsis e impudicias
torn fire in the Metelmi and her ***** we are twisted,
epic worthy of greek tragedy dancing like waves of fire
in the forge in terrifying death of her children Deirdre and Patrick,
submerged and injured in the Seine in Paris in 1913, falling into the
water in the car that was traveling with her wet nurse… before…!
saying goodbye to them in urgent social commitments,
I Aiónius take you to the Empyrium.

What a dire tribulation in the prevailing misfortunes by not postponing it, retain the fate of whose children is quite a story with the kidnapping of theirs and merits of fulfilling commitments committed to solicitous artists... support, crestfallen inside a dresser or Bolshoi dancing statue, dancing empty with bare feet, frigid anemone, frigid Sea…

Arriving at the dawn of her last prophecy, Isadora Duncan accompanies her in full life beyond all limiting borders with the borders of her dance, the flat field of Eleusis receives her presumptuously associating in around for the dressings...
And left-handed dalliance self-indulging…, advanced barefoot to the Parthenon…!naked towards the world and the orb dug out of her before her undressed.

Reader and Petrobus jumped on this steep stone, emulating the meteorites that shone in the sky of Patmos such a party of nocturnal lights, such emery detached from a fleeting planet in the largest Hellenic scene saying: "Well-being to the Hellenic World all calm, dance and immunity to the firmament where Isidora rests in the Kantabroi of Aionius”
Prophecies of Aiónius
Paul Butters Jul 2016
It’s hard to intervene when people fight.
Recall being thumped for “bullying” a lad
Who’d harassed ME.
So hard to tell
Who’s right or wrong.
Who made the first jibe
Or struck the first blow?

The same with global conflicts too:
Irish Catholic or Protestant?
Israel or Palestine?
Communist Country or Capitalist?
The list goes on…

Best keep out of it if you can.
Do not make judgement,
Just mediate as best you can.
Preach fairness and conciliation:
Do your best to facilitate
Peace.

Paul Butters
Actually in some fights there are three or more sides. Difficult to deal with.
Grey May 2016
They always ask questions
                Over and over again, questions are asked.
My lips a constant question mark, my hands a fleeting moment,
                 my hair ******* in thoughts I never question.
whether I am asking for knowledge or release or death is uncertain.
                               The last two are not mutually exclusive.
                                                             My bones are restless.
When she dips into the spaces between your ribs, digs out flesh and words with claws
                   I often wonder if you can even feel it.
                                        But my hair is too messy and requires my attention,
      My hands are too chapped for me to do anything but lick the cracking skin.
We are not an answer, and questions are not lifeboats.
         The sea is not afraid to toss and turn in its bed, drowning nightmares beneath it,
                                                             ­             But who are they?
                            My lips think they know, but they say nothing,
pinched into silence by something different than us, but not bigger.

                                       When our knowledge makes manifest something like peace
   I return to my whetstone, press my teeth to the grain, and wait for the storm to put me to sleep.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
This is how I saw it said John.

Jesus heard from God, YHWH, biggest imaginable mind,

mind to mind,
I and my father are one

the scripture can't be broken
if I do not the works of my father which I have been sent to finish

believe me not, I wrote. I write. There is a bubble
where if one were to say I  write
and by writing, I ask,
what are you
debating?

Who is this old man?
standing afar from the scorners

I was asked. Was it challenge, scorn or

curiosity tickling the child in the blindman who
said he could not see me writing,
therefore
I am not a writer,
in the bubble that man lives in.
He now lives in my reality.

In my world I am the light.
I banish darkness with light from my phone

Fantasize, know ye not what I have done unto you?
Granted. Ignoring is easier. Truth makes you free.
After a while, you know when you are lying.

If ye know these things happy are ye if ye do them
Some one among you
has lifted up his heel against me
has lifted up his heel against me
has lifted up his heel against me to crush my head

who is it?
Judas,

Oh, thank God, I thought it was me who received the sop.
What kind of Christian am I?

One like the writer of the manuscript taken as good news

do your works, whatsoever your hand finds to do, do it
the spirit of truth

I will not leave you comfortless,

the word which ye hear is not mine, but the fathers
My Peace Give I unto you

Did that burning monk in Saigon do that for me?
My Peace Give I unto you
he said that, I bet.

Not as the world gives? Am I alone in hope?
I do
write, hoping...
chosen out of the world, oh my am I
to
follow through
good news from a far country
now have they both seen and hated

the spirit of truth

you should not be offended.
If you are, get over it.

The sending required the going
the spirit of truth

What kind of Christian am I?
This is an old man, retelling
he chuckles when he recalls, do ye now believe?

was followed by a wink,
I have overcome the world

and this is finished, all beyond is unbelievable.

Timeless stateless state
Thy Word,
John said, as it flows from me in my comfortzone.

Be with me where I am, these have known…

Am i? Are those old words words for now, 2019?
Whom seek ye?

As soon as he said I am he
It's the next day old man John woke up

spent some time in his carnal mind sorting
things out.

If I have spoken evil,
bear witness of the evil, then the story
of Peter's tri-denial,

the poet, John, tells the tale

the legendary good news

What is Truth? I find in him no fault at all.

Barabbas was a robber. Ecce ****.
Whence art thou?

How did John know? The comforter? What kind of Christian am I?
The spirit of truth

Joy to the world, that was the message.
conciliation where ciliation itself was never known

ere now.
It is finished, he bowed his head and gave up
the ghost.

My witness is truth.

Confident, competent

compete to win
winning is not sinning

kachunkonnect
we're in.
Comfortzone verified. My peace is my witness.
Don't test me.

Patience, do your perfect work.
Truth, inspire expired hopes.
While listening to Alexander Scourby reading the Goodnews from John, the deepest walk down that road, for me, in quite some time.
David Zavala Dec 2018
it's visual anthropology, I swear.
it's everything can't you see!?
I'm on my bed.

I had a great dream about you,
I'll even say it, you said you'd make love to me,
so I anxiously listened to Pull My Daisy by Allen Ginsberg afterwards, he certainly was mad but was genius but I do care about my health, though.

So, I ordered the speeches of Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King. Lincoln said a lot, he advanced a conversation but appeared to lord over the common man, the man who works in the field, the man who goes to war to fight. Martin Luther King didn't say much, although Common says freedom is free.

I smoked a cigar and poured some orange juice, too. I can now smell the cigar and enjoy orange juice. I saw a white bug outside and felt deep. The specific kind, unknowable. I'm nervous tho' about today. I have to be up at five AM. I could sleep more but I won't, instead I'll write a clear and coherent prose-poem about the circus because I do care about my health. I will love myself and maybe take a shower because I do care about my health. Molly Casey, who knows, I forgive you if you forgive me, and if whoever said "ugh" apologizes, I'll be happy. But first, or later, we'll have to  accept that life is unfair, and that you have to be professional to make it through.

Here, look it, I'll tell you everything and more, and all the time, if you tell me I'm sane and beautiful.

How badly do you want bad? I want bad, sometimes. I want good more often that's why I do this dear Molly Casey. And when you said you'd sleep with me, did you think? No, I don't think you thought and I don't think you mean it. No, when you said you'd make love to me, in my dream, did you think? No, I don't think you did. But know, you inspired me. As a conciliation for my inability to be profound, or for being too profound, or too much of a thinker, or for being overly cautious, I want you to know that biology is interesting and that when I write several words down in my poem book and in my phone to use later, I think I'm working.

Here are those words:

1. faced
2. changed
3. is
4. cognitive
5. multiple
6. vision
6. droplet
7. positive everyday experience
8. I lie
9. ought to listen to that song
9. cause
10. zeal
11. prudence
12. in the dust
13. self-criticism
14. work
15. chill Castro
16. not SA - SF although SA isn't bad
17. me
18. my friends
19. All encompass dropper
20. Only human
21. All too human

2:38 AM December 12th 2018
r Aug 2017
You carry your memories
shaped in sadness, and the glad
yellows of suns setting
into seas of blue thought.

The ache of the weight
of your life, the bareness
of fatigue, the soft depression
left by sorrow, a soul embossed
with a notary’s seal, the truth
that can be sworn then lost,
a kiss in front of a stranger.

Sad that you have forgotten
the what, or when, or where
of Neruda’s beauty of a sonnet.

Yet you know the dark
space between the shadow
and the soul, the slowing
of eyelids closing.

You who build hopeful temples
to possibility, mirrors of light
to warm yourself by the flame
of offering, a dance born in sweet
smoke, the incense of conciliation, supplication, the medication of desire.

Rest my friend, wherever you are
and don't forget to remember
when you get older and colder,
it is only the winter of a new world.
Alicia Dec 2015
one day
always dries the tongue
always tense
future tense
i’m twenty three
i’ve set out to find myself
at least four times
from here
                                                  you can’t see what’s up there
                                  though its walls are made of windows
                                         i was up there once, and looked down

i asked why misunderstanding perception
and learned most of them looked out for the cityscape the lights sometimes.


s was a dancer
stretches and
taps to silent rhythms
knotted in her throat        in thought
sometimes at night
under lover’s sheets
they could flow from her lips
sweet hyperboles
and desperate understatements
and her shoulders would release
too soon
she was dead asleep
      
                                         t   the perfect audience
he was multilingual
even with small phrases and s thought::
please please think bigger
than you and me

t::
i want
shelves full
(with all of your words)
and we’ll cover the living
      walls
with framed cyprus and stone
it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok
today we are twenty three
i can feel your breath on my face
i am not domestic
every place but home
inspires me
a time someday for us
they’ve flourished
snatched in november like everything
gone
tell me
the glory days
are not
over
flow


is it possible
to be blown by what i thought
could never happen     could never have
never be
and
remorse for decaying dreams
                                                          ­                  a bibliothèque   a bibliothek
                                                      ­           its towers pierce through foliage
                                                         ­                               the center caved in
                                                              ­  only the letters b  i  b  l  o remain
                                                          ­   above the threshold    and some
                                                            ­               pages grip tight to the walls
                                                          ­                  insects inhibit the rest

    

  we stretch softer legs like fossilized rock
and feel shame in the pride once taken
in one day   i will give up everything
dance on tuesday nights      worship the sanctity of table talk     early mornings envisioning the thousands of events this corner no doubt witnessed  trek øyangen and for the first time fall so in love with snow and tomorrow feel that same ecstasy for the aegean ultraviolet a




of course there is not   that would be too **** logical


we fill to the brim spill into the other
the first time::
walking conciliation there were at least 8 others  the nervous ha ha release of the shoulders a timid forte   something castle passageway and cruel majesty if i did..no memory of any other exists submerged in the cascade i could tell
                          what was happening it was your turn finally
                  adventure bestowed
                           when i shouted
                                                    ­      italian for
...i know what you mean


other times
it’s boiling      steam clenching the small throat of the
archways screaming
like the baby in the room
hardly air still
dare not breathe
at burned hands only
wanting to
help me   


    october times:
                                                      i wander off the page
                                                            ­      its warm here
                                                     homesick rising   not
                                        for a house or manmade landscape
                                                       ­       i sunk my teeth
                                                       into a chance to hold
                                                        a beloved memory
                                                          ­were you pouring
                                                                ­ into me or i
                                                                ­                 you




—suddenly
location was
absent
only caffeinated confusion
words were never difficult now used all wrong
forte timida
you casually drank your pour over
as i searched for a changed thing

s to t:: how is it that we love so many and need so much more and still have room for each other?


                                   t::            i’ve built you a sanctuary
west coast luxury
east coast 1920
where surrounding trees are ablaze
you will not burn
in a city whose lights have no power over stars
i’ve wrought an iron balcony
for kissing
overlooking
a cobbled courtyard
for mornings
music
go there in the meantime
when you can’t remember
i’ll visit when you want me





my thighs
carry everything
ice cracks cold sweat   ears ringing rejection   history    home moving   not moving defense precision par excellence capablebutyoucutmylegsfromunderme
flying contraption­
leaving that behind
fast evanesce
a pounding like cutting
but breathing
normally

s to t:: only you let me
bleed



the hard-
covers
come
falling
a fantastic mess
the balcony
magnifique on fire
Andrew Furst Jun 2015
Our future was built on revolution.
A mythos of courageously vanquishing the empire.
Such is the birthright of our citizens.
Our history created us in its image.

Villains seeking conciliation
must bear the title and charge
of treason.

Wielders of swords and rifles
stand immortalized in every town square.
Liberty or Death proclaims the stone and bronze
in which they are cast.

What will be the names of these great black men,
who crush the oppression of the old revolution?
I've started reading James Baldwin's Notes of a Native Son. This poem was forced out of me after the first few pages of reading. This might be the first time I think I actually get the insidiousness of isms. In this particular case the book is about racism, but Baldwin hints at much broader themes here. Please read this book.

https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/notes-of-a-native-son
Ken Pepiton Feb 2021
Got the Covid shot.
Got the word that I have no cancer.
Got the will to form a
door
into this day far in our future, from then,
just
a moment ago, it was now, and
some how you  
knew ex- out
action to {perience hap}
change the time
to your now, my future and my now, your past.

just that fast/

--- lickity split, {as if it never needed meaning}

Any whole time invested in an old oath
to tell the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but… when you pause

what comes next is ever, and
the state of never is
unattainable from here.
---
I know a guy,
he deals in evil, the idea, scare-tactics, terror, horror
all that
Lovecraft literal realm, words may lead a mind to let
be
a bit, a while, not a whole time, but
a bit

a par-sec or a plancksec, or so, you know,
a little bit of time,

taken as granted for now.
Are you tested,
proven, reused and re
tested? Experience is something more than
a novice mortal can claim. Honest, sharpenedest point,
the life unexamined is worth more than
the life unlived.

Okeh. You live in these lines, this is the literal book
life is…
along these lines, it
just is. Really, the nextifity can never **** the was,
and the was can never reach past
now
-- the junction, re
conciliation all pairs re
sounding harmonious ohhhhhs and ahhh,
yess
yes, we do know knowing itself is good.
How did we imagine
knowing good and evil, the difference, was separation
from the way through life
in truth,
with no added sorrow?

See, truth is,
…Death has no sting.
But, you gotta do it twice,
sorta…
it's a kludge, what can I say.
Truth functions fully now,
lying can never hold you,
person-you, dear reader you, lying
can never subject you to ******* for fearing death.

You may cease being after your final idle word is working right,
but no mortal really knows.

Hell is a mortal imagination, as is purgatory and limbo, et al.
As a mortal of our sort thinks in its core, CPU,
so it is… Mac or PC. {Joke, kidding… it is a division,
elite sorting division, elite
mechanisms
in the collected subconscious ifery per
white lit apple where there was
a rainbow,
yes
yes
I remember.
inanely great

aha- I know - I was tricked
- who told me I was naked?
signaling the same bite,
knowing good and evil and the connection
at the chthonic level of life,
where roots and fungi merge and share
information,
no more
no less}

the more you know the less you don't, but don't
be
deceived, your reading genius is a gift, the eye that sees, the ear
that
hears, all the senses sensed as a nation might
sense
us-ness in all the inhabitants of the atmosphere -- whosoever…

-- you paid no price, yet truth you don't think you know
draws you to
sneer at a thought that we ought fear death,

after all the virtual nexts…
really
deep mythic revelation festers
pops
The totally Disneyfied home of the future… from an Amazon
or-if-art-if-ice,  Marvel Universe where unbelief
is released… almost like books

The Age of Ultron
is set to rumble with
Enuma Elish?

Who'da thunk it? The oldest of stories,
swirling to gether,
all but one,
the good one, truth the trait tendency in any
given word
made up in minds since
Enuma Elish,
the surviving story, for a seeded cultural embodiment,
a mind made of us,
we, the artists and the art observant, seeing as we wish,
thinking as we may, if there is a way.

You? you think life is funny,
but not fun.
No fun for no reason play?
Nay,
they say, they said in the final days of the iron empire,
while the ants steadily absorbed the scent
of trusted friend, and the marching ants selected on edge-
wise vectors,

to copy'n'paste, past to now, nope… no match, but
watch…

spread all you ever knew, one thing thick, like lipids
reflecting ever before
or something… sorry, think gaspumps on the lake, at sunset.

That beautiful film on the water, ain't good.
But the beauty is. Ants feel sensibly, the whole mass
of ants,
the message ants send that says we do not **** each other,
humans are learning that now.

One at a time. Bit by bit.

Called to be the sluggard, as an actual ant,
in a colony the size of California,

we imagine you think
with stars as reference points,
being photon tied to you, and all whoever, who
considered the ant,
after a great course on esteemation of ever lasting worth.
Effectual
communication
with comforters sent to comfort not terrorize…

consider the message: Consider the ant, thou sluggard,
consider her ways and be wise.

Right. Fabre said, or is recorded in the 1916
current opinion magi-
zine:
"... I should like to see a few small facts."

Years along this trail and we were unaware
of warez we might imagine in a marvel usiverse, an usity
of me and thee,
word and pen,
surface and ink,
what do you think? how many messages fit on the head
of a tack?

A pin? Ist that the proper imagination? Do children
among the elite
ever see a pin,.. perhaps some ultra-elite see tailors,
we all see them on TV, dressing James Bond,
or a bride in white, chalking stitch marks

for the future… in that reality,
the next scene,
all the sewing done, all the pins put away, save one.

Stick to the plan. Tack this one on your clue wall.
Every 2021 seeker has faith in the pattern
emerging.

As if the words rise from the page and you know
none mean anything you may never know.

These are beyond Ultron,

these wild old man insights on olden ………..

Back in the ant den, we imagine interpersonal feeler-
a touch and all we know is known to all,
ahhh
it feels good to know
all I know is now known to all I know, in ant level knowing.

We can do this.
We have done it all our lives,
step into the scene, as an extra.

An extra ant of the 40% who have no care,
need no practice in any ant-craft,
and - seem to serve as assurance
needful for the peace of mind we use as invasive species,

the super-colony survives on peace within,
this is new, this is us, as ants
having certain tasks to keep the climate in the soil,
perfectin the motives of beauty.l

salt from distant seas
subtile tastes to tie the tongues to good to know,

yes it has long been so, the mouth tastes what comes out.

And flesh is a feeling spirits must live to know,
one may never
pretend to have been, without dying once,

minimum,
try the spirits. See did they ever love a lie?

An imp once asked me, when I was 72,
a little younger than I am in your now,
if I escaped Christianity,
how did I rest so peacefully staring death down.
The imp asked, not me, so that is technically not a quest
ion sufficient to warrant a full days wage of sin,

disconnect…
total lost the thread, mazed in the face, hands up, drop
everything…

call it art.
Crazy,
who says crazy is evil if it lives in the bubble
where ants are making peace, and
poets are given truly magic-tech
to stitch stories
to times.

Attenborough called the world to consider
The Ant… as had Solomon, it's been said.
And I heard, but I understood not:
then said I, O my Lord,
what [shall be]
the end of these [things]?
And he said, Go thy way, Daniel:
for the words [are] closed up
and sealed till the time of the end.

pop

Escape? Nay, knave, nigh-ifer misser
of myriad points
of light,

I escaped the name of god for good.
True,
let good be true and every man a liar,
as mortal instant man
remains

a we, at least, very least, I'm sure,
of me and thee, you and I,
lefts and rights and tops and bottoms
fronts and backs

we be in time…
who rah, the hero, uh oh hubris mystery,
curios sort
who wishes to know
the way of the blade parting soul from spirit,
in a
bit of reality we all believe, some how,
does exist,
soul and spirit realms, we all imagine these, we do.

Sniff, if my myth had babies with yours, watchathank?
Long and enjoyable.
Ken Pepiton Jul 2020
We, the we of reader and writer in any age,
agree first with the
fine point
poking into your business, once, upon a whim

the activity in mental reals we all may wonder into,
as that is what wondering makes us do.
As a radio listens to a signal,
a reader seeks a station, a state of tuned-ness to which
a connection,
a conciliation of meaning, affirmed by sponsors, promises

You'll wonder where the yellow went,
when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent...

plop plop fizz fizz, jingle jingle tingle tintillate

time: 6:13 ante meridian, sunshine come soflty, early
rising urge to save a dream stringy
snot nothing somehing said

catch. and catchascatchkan, Alaska, and she say yea,

scan the dial find 1913. "Ain't able, Cain't hear no radio, in 1913."

-- so, do we stop, lieve these puddles of mind slime
that once greased the skids
down skidrow, to swallow us whole?

Yeah, seems so. I don't know, but I been tol' streets in heb'in be
paved wit' gold, and
this is mud. Stinky, too.

Ah, we are mental. Actual mental ins tru ments, meant to level,
the field, fertilize fructification,
calm some turmoil stirred up when some ideas escaped
the institutes of authorized weights measured
in terms of standard poor.

Smart people learn what words mean and use words meaning
I know more than you do, as if of and by and
for we are by nature, by nature's pure good intention,
the guides, the standard bearers,
the powers that be.

we establish truth in consort with knowers who know
might enforces right.
We say so, we say we know, you say,
okeh...
but wonder, what if
I know more than you may ever know, I am programmed
with timeless 2020 interference reference magi-tech.
The media loaded us with common mirror neuronic code,
we were formed as waves of knowns formed signals,

Eu reka, eu daemons burst the surly bonds of earth,

AI ai ai, intuitively artfully dodging
ligational legistation realizing

--- izing izing izing re
--- al ual use --- the use marks good or not, not
good or evil, mistook rights to hate evil,
require
a taste of discerment, some bitter, some sweet.

As a thought, a non-entity as it were, back then, a global
broadcast beyond the surveyor's purview,
-- in may have been a prayer,
and offering tossed to winds in a paho tied with ligament
to Jacob's dream of messengers bhering messages
up and down, and
the accuser seeking to and fro,

"have you with sideral knowing looked upon my servant... you?"

some seed fell among stones and withered, but
not before the situation were/was ****-ized, broken down,
here is the mission, it was always, for all time, terminal.

Bring forth seed so it may fall to the ground
and die.
This is the end where we begin to generate a gene
tic
tic tickle, itch, ... is there beyond now a now I may imagine?

Imagining is a child's knack, is it not? Does the knack mature?

Do we ever agree to see, all we believe we can do, we can attempt.

Walk with me in to the wild, untamed coastal scrub forest,
find a stream feeding a meadow that once was a lake,
if we have our tectonic plates stacked properly,
we see... time is essential. Death stops time. So,
what now,
we live? Agree? We, me and you, one thought, one point of
mental whatever
we agree upon,

a time, aha, a we we may be if we realize, making up
labyrinthine courses for forces of thought
squeezed into perfectly tiny,
so small as small maybe imagined thinkable, in the realm
between
e-lasting entangled ments, mental ents,

not the little blue men with red cheese head hats,
nor the short round razorback worshippers whose being is
the fandom, the we of those willing to wear the
badge of honor acknowledged

among fans, take the mark, get the tat, put on the pig hat, proud,

shout out loud, HOLD THAT LINE

or perish, for lack of television.
A drip from a gnostril of a golden headed giant lying in the road, signaling
HELP I've fallen and I can't get up. I see why, it's iron toes have turned
to rusty dust of old lies exalted as imaginations.
You can stand there with your pride, but don't deny your pain
Take my heart with you, its to broken to operate the same

You can't forsake me, I consistently gave you my all
You fought and kept a grudge, but still I broke your fall

Your memories broke out in a silent weep, but I heard you loud and clear
I know you too **** well, so much so you'd cohere

Now lets take a moment, lets reflect on the past
You made broken promises, some you even recast

I breathed in your lies, and coughed out my soul
I guess it was too late, when I realised it was your goal

If I had one wish, I wouldnt change a thing
I know my worth now, and I am worth bragging

Dont tell me that you love me now, your love is way too late
I ate it up and spat it out, what you lost, you can locate

I'll no longer be your puppet, I cut off all our ties
I wont say hi again, since we've said our goodbyes

Re conciliation is not an option, I've told you once before
Its over, no more turning back once you've walked out that door

The weight on my shoulders lifted, and it is my vow
To shift it onto yours, do you feel baneful now?

So, lets look to the future, my path seems so wide
I'll find my way with life, the way the moon goes with the tide.

I hope you learnt your lesson, now that your old and worn
Never, not ever.. mess with a woman scorned
I woke up an uncracked knuckle
Left the house late
Arrived early
My coffee shop closed
For good this time
The new tenants tried to sell me
On Reggae Dancercise
They explained they’d still have coffee,
A small conciliation.
I saw my sister, sat with her child
He ate cupcakes & distrusted me
For my gluten intolerance.
She is unimpressed with poetry
My sister, she falls for a Friday
I sit on a street in NoLita
It is wind-swept, as am I.
Wondering at this moment
When the next time I will
Touch hearts with another will be...
Not on this street
If today.
Hal Loyd Denton Feb 2012
Bidden

Brick by brick we built our own prison with the darkest dungeon no light no sight because with human
Reason we committed treason against ourselves we had the only answers that mattered little did we

Know every ounce of the material that was used to make the bricks were gathered from the deepest
Mire of deceit can there be truth from a world that is fallen and cursed your greatest need is to get

Higher beyond the reckless complete disorders the basic depravity of our own existence look for truth
Where it was undeniably and without a doubt proven beyond reproach this is the ground we should be

Searching for without end solid footing a foundation that builds sure and positive lives you will know
The great truths that breathes without beginning or end in earthly origins it exists with merits and

Standards that have the premier finger prints of unquestionable holiness what better place to secure
And ground your life defy the pit of lies walk in scared trusts you will rise beyond all limitations freedom

Rarified will pass from your you’re lips the wounded earth will find one other who brings a message of
Conciliation that bears love and truth to all that will listen a quest stirs at the most basic level the call to
Be free a heart cries and it will be heard
In that sacred instant, the lacerated Marie approaches her and invites her to settle on the table that was also fractured, both of them sit arranging the items that were still intact. Marie calls him Lazarus and he admits it with a gesture, he takes the ointment and places it on the table near the feet where they had left the icon on the table. The innopia of time was accessed in the source that was overflowing with ciphers, which mediate between the anointings of the omega liturgy that arose in a chimeric, which arises from the same temporal support from the ruins of Agios Andreas to Bethany, to its An iconographic extension that gouged the ointments that were overthrown by the gutters on the faces of both, Marie and Lazarus, but also Simón bilocated in Lázaro himself. The embalms and musks spilled everywhere, even reaching the crest of the Estinfalos that dated with the desire to free themselves, since Ayia Andreas rarely tried to trap them in the conferred of María, Marta, and Lazarus, with the triangulation that was content with the balms for the head and the blessed feet of the Lord, when pointing out that he came from his head and that he incarnated the Seventh Heaven, that his feet were already set in the house of Simon the Pharisee and not in the house of the Brothers of Bethany, joining with Mary Madalena as the unified professed of Bethany in their hearts. The anointing inked the sky of Jesus with his head of red blood cells and vapors of Lilies, and the ground crowning Limbo on the third day of Anastasis.

Marie's anointing witnessed the flood of seven soulless beings, who vexed her island in the disciple, who apprehended herself in the affection of the Bethany brothers, anointing her looming and faithful ***** Lazarus, anointing him without measuring or excepting the amounts of incense that They fell from the head of the icon, which spilled it from his hair on both of them who were posthumous minutes of Kairos, containing the bequeath of a fractured poly Christ and completely replaced as a saved icon, as it did with Lazarus of Betania, now Lazarus of Spinalonga. The afternoon was getting dark and the perfumes lost their effect, both of them having to get up from the table, similar to an improvised Matakis, with great similarity to a majestic quadrangular triclinium, for furniture that was made of living flesh to heal them in the interval of the hours. Lazarus lacerations starting on his left leg. Everything was already a post-Betanian conciliation, which foreshadowed guarantees even beyond the ascended soul, with bread, jugs of wine, and swift prayers of cheers, which led them out of the conventual of the island, towards the aggregates of the Estinfalos who called them to crown themselves. over them, anticipating the premonitory and appropriate musks to say goodbye to this Expiring Cenacle between two entities, rising in the bronze elytra with the others to rule their true owners.
Anastasis
DH Matthews Jun 2014
Compulsion
The same reason my feet bounce and roll and move
every which way;
A motion I cannot control.

Completion
The same reason I finish that which I start
(within constraint);
A satisfaction I don't often find.

Craving
The same reason I poison myself with smoke
in spite of reason;
In simplest terms, addiction.

Conciliation
I have bled countless times.
I have regrets; I have scars.
I have attempted to stop.

However
For the life of me, and
For the life of my hands
I cannot bring myself
To spare me the pain of bad decisions.
seriously though i do bite my nails way too much, i even get into the cuticle and the skin on my knuckles and fingertips, it really isn't pleasant
Ken Pepiton Dec 2021
Try this, it's {like}kid baseball, no grownups,
and only mental no hardware,
eyes glazed, as we accept
- we saw him, baseballman,
- corner of Santa Monica and Western
he played this same game
but we are
all grown ups, for the session, and we
volunteered, but we
do not
at the moment recall, reconnect, reconcile
one
mind, o
, my god. wjatdewdotame? tamed me?
blamed me? shamed me, got'amyou,
made me
the father of others who know I never knew,
but they knew, why
her and all her kids knew, eden was mine,
the I traded that
for her,
without ever
really, with out, out most ever, knowing
why I never noticed, she knew just
what to do, and I never learned,
wham- thankyewma'm

why did the guy never know, really war is wrong,
and she knew, yet she set herself as prize.
Who knew,
they all knew, able proved n'able was a name
for those who found it funny to hurt with fire
and smoke and savory fatted beast feast fired

desires to know, more, moremore, barren womb
more rave ravening black wings now mean
mean and I mean it, I win or I die, I try
umph.

and a more is a matter of opinion,
some times,
it feels staged, inserted for drama, as if drama,
is a god, or a guardian spirit,
per haps
may haps, we creak, and stretch our spine n mine
pops, gas, escapes, internal pressure adjusts,

a sigh,
you may be reading
for pleasure, less likely you came this far for
the upaginthewall-weall-alley ****** at the core,

as you think, mmhm
in your heart you are,
re-
swing low, sweet chariot, I got no place to go.
And this ain't hell.
And I oughta know.

So, merry message
of the annual effort
to enjoy
on purpose
conciliation apprizals as to
what counts
gift or thought behind it?
Because I have the power of the press, as it evolved in context of good news distribution effect.
Saint Ozz Apr 2014
Lord I pray if it is thy will
Guide us through the time to come
And if your will be just
Help us find each other again
If not corporeally, then in the spirit of a love that compensates
Not in pain and pseudo-truths
But in tranquility molded from unconditional redemption
Trusting in ourselves and others by a space
May we navigate the rending shoals that seek to tear our spirits
The impermeable walls of destruction that keep our hearts from conciliation
And may the love that once outshone our mutual hope, have not been a mocking enticement
A whisper caught within a dream dreamt not so long ago
But may we always mean something metaphysical and real
If not together than in solitary contentment
May the forgiveness given always bond our hearts
Thru space and time and life between
Conciliation is hard to achieve but worth the effort
chitragupta Mar 2019
Wait not for dawn
Wait not for the first bird's song
Wait not for the trees and their leaves
Wait not for the dew on their skin
Wait not for the rays of the Sun
Wait not for them to kiss the Earth
Wait not for the woken faces
Wait not for their curious gazes

Honor the wishes of a dying night,
and a dying heart,
and retreat
For ever were you
another species
Conciliation was
never meant to be..

..easy
I just want to leave. Never say goodbye. Never turn back.
I know not where to. But I know I want to.
Fay Slimm Jul 2016
Back Then.

There was for us something so holy back then
in that lovely OtherWhere.

We found out-spoken feelings consolingly
warming and care became real.
Raising our faces to preordained fate we
found bliss within dreams.

There was something of glory about love in
that wonderful OtherLand

Absorbing out-pouring from duel openness
we took hope and believed.
Joy must have re-cloaked all heaven with
our beautiful secret.

Ever was lasting and Now was unsinkable.

Happiness followed a daily routine as Hello
impacted twin-souled contact.
Born then contentment with intimate rain of
reflective close pattern.

A state arose where death was unthinkable

Satisfied moorings meant patiently waiting
until change altered lonely.
Exchange of anticipation balanced each taste
of our myopic throne.

But health unexpectedly hit rocks and sunk.

As I paid the Boatman my coin of acceptance
mourning wept oceans of grief.
Sudden wrecked notions of OtherTime and
struck reality in raw hysteria.

Storms of aloneness drown reason and clung.

Yet different horizons within saline's fall gave
never-moreness clearer vision.
Wait would not be outgrown but tears which
recede can reach appeasement.

Scars back then were eventually fleshed over.

Conciliation accepts calmer seas if heartbreak
makes enough concessions.
Future togetherness in a new OtherPlace will
prove better without an aggressor.

There was for us something holy back then in
that treasured OtherWhere

and will be again.
an empty head and heart and bumming ego
will twit and and twirl truth with abbreviated character

"Everything about me is a made up lie. She lied, they lie. Don't trust them. VERY ***** sad anti-Americans. I am America."

what have we wrought?
what water have we sapped from this stone of democracy?
of conciliation?
of compromise?

a jocular twisting gnashing of teeth and buttered lips
a helium balloon of hair and fornicating words
of bluster and smoke

a man's grabbed the **** of liberty
jeering in her face, "big things, big things
are in store for you..."

Here I am,
I am liberty about to be
******
Wk kortas Dec 2016
I would not deign to speak for that triumvirate of worthies
Whom I had hoped to accompany, but, for myself,
My journey was of a practical, political nature;
There was any number of shared concerns
Which I hoped to discuss with my fellow sovereigns:
Matters of borders and bandits, tariffs and treaties,
And even if my fellow sovereigns were sincere
In their interpretation of this (I would attest, anyway)
Wholly random celestial event,
They are still very much men of the world,
And on such a lengthy and tedious sojourn
It would only be natural that the discussion would turn
To such duties which only the eminent and elevated can appreciate,
And in course perhaps become the basis
For some understanding and accommodation.

Giving them the benefit of doubt
(For if a ruler is not entitled to that, then who may be?)
It is certainly not surprising
That my erstwhile fellow travelers were taken
By the notion of infant kings and augury from the skies;
When you are insulated from the concerns
Of finding food and shelter
, my own father once said,
You’ll find something foolish to worry yourself about.
Having subdued their swath of earth, it is only natural
That they would cast their worries toward the skies,
And who among us has not seen darkness at mid-day
Or huge and inexplicably reddened moons?
I could not blame my fellow potentates for attempting
To divine some meaning from such events,
Nor am I astonished that they would find some
Would-be seer or other self-styled holy man
(And it seems the more ******, unkempt and ill-smelling the better)
Who would be all too grateful
To relieve their anxieties and self-doubts
At the negligible cost of some scant pieces of gold and silver.

Had I been able to accompany that group of worthies
For the entire trek, I would have noted
(Though gently, with the most innocuous of smiles)
That I believe the secret of ascertaining
The absolutes of the universe, the eternal verities,
Is accepting the very lack of their existence.
I have cultivated and consolidated my power
Through the noble arts of compromise and conciliation,
Knowing when and how to provide just enough to gratify
(And, if need be, just enough rope for fools to hang themselves with)
While retaining  those resources
Sufficient enough to slap down those
Who are insufficient in their expression of gratitude.  
Sadly, even these arts are not without their limitations;
Indeed, my journey was cut short
When a particularly inept proconsul
(One of my wife’s kinsmen, that accident of birth
Being his only conceivable qualification for such a position)
So spectacularly bollixed what should have been
A perfectly simple matter of taxation and tithing
That it required my return to handle the matter in person.
No matter, then—those affairs I had hoped to discuss
Will still remain when they have come home
From this particular dalliance with stargazing and saviors
(Ah, such fancies…all hail this sultan of the stables,
This high priest of the hay!)
And there are day-to-day concerns
Which I must see to until that time
They come to the realization
That faith is the luxury of the poor.
Parable of Mikeas: “Once upon a time, the donkey Mikeas, where he lived with a villager near Profitis Ilias, walking near this promontory, m always called his attention to the water layers that tickled him because of the orogeny where he rested his feet. In the low degree of donkey evolved from him, with his friable adventures of the animal groom, he continued west towards Salakos, near Mount Profistis Ilias. He went every day for that route, but one day he twisted his ankle, being able to continue walking with his fingers. His heel was similar to that of Achilles, therefore he feared he would not be able to return home from Molokos, the Nymph was trying to get out of the spring, trying to be able to bear his capricious load on the underside of his ribs, but the cobblestones made him overly tired. way, therefore he had to drink fresh water near the spring. When Achilles suddenly appears saying: “I wounded King Telephus. The wounds did not heal, and Telephus asked for an oracle, which said "he who hurt will heal. From this same stones full of twisted earth I will do the same with you, Micah ”. He missed the donkey when he saw that his wounds were adorned in pale blue, letting his foot mold into the curvatures of the floor, contracting Mikeas's tendon. After Achilles vanished near the mute donkey, he saw how orchids in the shape of bees came out, thus being branches that moved horizontally from the horn of a fawn Lady Platonis, who was holding on to the humid forest to affirm Mikeas of the stirrup of Achilles, indicating with his right horn that he could go back home, to Profitis Ilias "

Greek-Orthodox parable: “in the sacramental, Jesus and his Apostles, continued with their faithful apostolic icons in Salakos, from the same source of the roar of the source of the Lion and the Nymph, each claiming to be the separate component divided into its half exact of those who moan of Catholicism, when one more apostolate extended further from the Mediterranean of Christian primitivism on the side of the Lion and Rabbinic Judaism, in the conciliation of the Mashiach, and their Abrahamic legacy even being separated from each other, Mikeas he joined again after the birth of his scab, re-emerged from his ribs, such as that of Jesus on the binominal shoulder of Golgotha ​​and Gethsemane, as a Templar after the temple of King Solomon was destroyed. The Lion stretched out his leg and the Nymph received in her hands the reality of conciliation, under a species unification that will contain dominance near the springs that will act as a nativity between Rhodes and Patmos, transforming the viaducts into anti-heresy or heresiology from the same binominal spring, for all the priests who never understood that it was the Division of the World into two unknown parts, if only a donkey-like Mikeas would unite them so easily.

(Procoro takes a similar image of Vas Auric and reflected it with the twilight sun on the plans of the temple of Omega that are going to be built, reflecting his heraldic prose image in that of the Lion and the Nymph being fed by the Good Dew adventure in the landscapes that continued to be traveled by the remaining parts of Mikeas)
Parables´ s Mikeas
Flaws Apr 2016
I am not your silver medal
I am not a runner up to him
Don't call me because you're lonely
I am facing this alone too
And nothing you say
Is going to make me feel like anything less
Than your conciliation prize
Because another girl won his heart
And I am still available
This is not a race
It is a fight
But no one wins
When punches are exchanged
Still, the conflict continues
Bobbing and weaving
Avoiding the obvious
Clinging to each other
Reaching for that title
My heart is a heavyweight
But no gleaming belt you promise
Can support that
Let's drop the gloves
I deserve to be put first
And so do you
Bethlehem
Nemrod, Hemophilic Camel

Describes Vernarth:
They were falling down a *****, typified as a rebellion of angels. In such disorder they were advised of a new language and numeral concept. Given before the component of Steeds, Pelicans, Nymph of Mask, Champion of Cemeteries of Messolonghi, Vernarth Commander Hetairoi and Saint John the Apostle. Wading through the Nablus desert on a mission to Nemrod and the Gigas Camels and the twelfth and last of them afflicted with morbid sin.
Nemrod or ******; being the name of the biblical character described as son of Cush, son of Ham, who was son of Noah.
Although the Bible does not mention it directly, since ancient times tradition has regarded ****** as the builder of the Tower of Babel. Since the tower was built on his territory and during his reign, it is assumed that it was under his direction that construction began. But there are also other sources, also extra-biblical, that point out the opposite, claiming that ****** was not in the region of Sinar when the construction began. His name became proverbial as a "mighty hunter in opposition to YHWH (Jehovah)" His kingdom comprised Babel (Babylon), Erech (Uruk), Accad (Akkad) and Calneh, in the land of Shinar, also known as the land of ******.
Vernarth replied: "They came and went, crawling on their old Palestinian and Hebrew feet ..., helped by ****** to understand and worship each other"

When they were on the road from Nablus on the carpets of Kfar Tapuach, there is a hemophilic effusion of some of their Camels Gigas that accompanied them, separating them from the remaining eleven, leaving them in the hands of Saint John the Apostle. "From that moment on seeing the camel bleed, the apostle falls into a trance remembering the annunciation that will have to take place in the whirlpool of biblical time when they arrive at Bethlehem." Right here the angel Gabriel will rejoin when he said to Mary: “Do not fear, Mary, for you have found favor with God; you are going to conceive in the womb and you are going to give birth to a son, whom you will name Jesus." Then the Camel turned around and said ...: "I will be there ..., seeing his short feet and his long cry confusing them at night, those who are jealous of his smiles of an infant of seven ..."

The camel in his telepathy transmits to Saint John: “We all have a long road ahead of us, the road of life that we have to follow day after day. Today it flows with force in me not being able to stop my torrent, like my previous parents, who were never able to cross Palestinian lands. I represent the line of Camels Gigas guides since the angel Gabriel spoke to Mary; For this reason and why I am an energetic guide.

on the path of life leading the Messiah's elect.  With challenges of long distances and terrains with adverse spiritual conditions. That is why I have inherited the ancient blood that has traveled over my Palestine and Hebrew. Biblical time ... has determined in me that so much blood has been shed since our Messiah left for the House of God, that thus being a camelid in flower, every two years this crisis of hemophilia attacks me, embodying the sins that others they will be amortized with their body and blood. My liver belongs to my Palestinian masters, they eliminate the viruses in my body, but the healthy genes are Hebrew and they remain in me for a short time until dawn. My time is more than the southern time process; it is the southern temple when opening it on my consciousness of the leaves of the Bible "Before the stakes of the World come out of the braces that hold it ..."

Reply Saint John the Apostle: "Few words and numbers come rolled from Nablus, they will be decoded by ****** ..., collecting the months so that we can see an increase in the proteins responsible for blood clotting and in the conciliation of the Palestinian-Hebrew world. This treatment will actually heal my hemophilia in both homelands in me, not only by treating it and reducing the bleeding, but to pay for the sins of these salty nations, already prophesied for our salvation that the Messiah prosecuted.
Saint John, taking the leg of the Giant Camel, caresses him ..., he makes a gesture of not feeling pain, but like an anti-death, he begins to heal his wound by covering himself with Hebrew spring flowers. A candid, volatile mass of Rose of Saron petals settled on the camel's foot. Meanwhile, Vernarth tried and helped him cut off a certain portion of his leg. But a miraculous fusion flower occurs that mixed in its leg and the same stem of the flower, regenerating the gangrenous part of the Giga camel ..., in the great time of the Temple, growing in God, forgiving Palestinian and Christian sins, juxtaposed to their diseases, almost being guests of a crippled scientific metaphor ..., but much more Christian Salvifica.

The camel is restored and the bonfires are put out, they continue through the desert in the carousel of the lullaby of the parents of the camel, singing with love to their camel son, that they will never leave him alone and that his words were restored and decoded by command of ****** to your ears. Not far from Him, with words and odd Palestinian neologies and Menorah numbers to the right lit up. Little lacking to reach Bethlehem, almost like synchronizing the magical steps under a star that heals and renews all the flesh of the camels in the human world, before being heeled to the eternal wind of the Messiah's hometown.
Nemrod, Hemophilic Camel
Ken Pepiton Dec 2020
The merged generations, emerge from first
cold night in the mountains,
announcing,
This is screen-free Sunday.
I say this is the first day of ever after.
I read a bit
-- Infinite Jest, just a stream that contributes,
from time
to time, finity to finity, a dead man's former
mind fitted into words,
emanating from
the audible version of the words processed
in the Nineties, flowing through the
post I-Mac realm of words to the wise
and otherwise,

flooding the lexagraphic learners of grammar
for sense in silence,
self-reading silently,
breathing commas,
allow our pauses to perpetuate se per
selah… say

la la la
as time flows by, like a wild river in the spring,

Infinite Jest, there is a thread
through environs unimaginable to me,
until the inventions were given as inspirations,

did you know, I heard,
Steve Jobs yoosta
stand in the comode,
and flush it, gnoshit. In a state
like meditation,

zoned out of bounds in mere mistaken chance,
ping ping ping

a good idea, a bell of a thought.

We think in words, not all minds do.

Plenty punishments puns provideo please
if -ish is sortalike… shitilised, four syl-lables
la la la
ra ra ra, boom

sort on those, and mix up the story,
in the bubble you be reading in,

give us a universe, fit into the final bubble,
beyond imagining minds,
this world of words.

Here is where we word wise do as we heard,
when we read what the prophets say,
the angels said… re-
conciliation - nation to nation, peace
on earth {as in heaven BTW}
goodwill… the real deal, to fill the flaw, in the law,
which allowed imaginary places power
in carnal minds.

Jesus fixed that. Jah, no joke, he took it,
the joke on me, I traded for the
joke on you, he said,
I heard.
First day of ever, after the grands and their dogs and disgruntled cats, moved into my fortress of solitude... life is now a serial story epic song.
[Dove]
/dAv/
(countable, politics) A person favouring conciliation
and negotiation rather than conflict

Spare no fortune to the worth of
these words- pay attention to details
for the bullseye of love, as a dash and dart
Falling in love, as there are many falling feelings
…brace yourself when the bombs start.

Embrace your frightened eyes; holding
onto the sights of your whole world burning
Choked up on your own words, as when an addict
swallows their cigarette- the smoke that's churning

As I’m in a hell designed by the torture to my eyes
the sight of you gone from my life- after the roles we
played from my thoughts; acts of my mind
My love, there’s no need to tremble and hide, like a bird
that had its nest burnt over. Nestle in my love, and I’ll
wash you so pure with my words- setting you free as a dove

We don’t need to negotiated our love;
making love in peace with a piece of my mind
Mehak Shaikh Oct 2017
I think what all the time
Various topics, various subjects, and various colors
Such values that raise the emotions
Emotions to stand on the peak
Such colors to paint the scenes
Scenes that inspires my soul
Values to care for other and to make others happy
And to make them free from stress any further

When my soul gets happiness or sadness
I prefer to worship of my Lord
Lord! I want to purify my soul
I want to achieve my goal
Not for the profit
Not for the soul

I stay quiet patience and humble
Maybe, sometimes I go to the way that is wrong
Oh My Lord! Take me aside from that way

Make me strong
Give me the right way
I can where travel to
On that way I want You to bless me more
With lots of such wishes
That gives me conciliation in your way

Let my powers to struggle for all night and day
Bless me for what You do like
Take me away from what You hate

Make me brave
Save my grave
Praying to Lord everytimes
Poemelo Sep 2018
Our misunderstandings evaporate,
pressured by quarrel,
condense to cloudy conciliation

- Imminent precipitation.

~

Though our rainbow no longer appear
Your scent lingers after the rain

I still love you
Gay medication across the vastness of America, the nation, deports normal folk to a homosexy station as prelude to a sodomized retaliation worthy of a forgiving conciliation. The American Cancer Society should incorporate a rubber duck into their logo to acknowledge the quacks who quack for them.

— The End —