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O, why but I am like t'is! Hath I, since t'at last sober night,
as th' wan, dull clouds crept nearby, been bequeathing
tragic, credulous insecurity to myself. Like t'at frail moonbeam
disturbed by starless rain! And a turbulent voyage
didst I take, alongst my dreary sleep, into th' grounds
of scythed lands-full of horror, nightmarish leaps,
and dire-some terrors. Why didst I do so! I hath come, to comprehend
not, why t'is turbulence of brave grossness seemeth like nothing else
but perniciously irredeemable, as though I accidentally, or even
consecutively-inflicted it, without the wakeful knowingst
of my brains. Indecipherable! T'is vacant delirium of mockery, and its abysmal hearth
inside-set alight by invisible flames-torches of hell, and gruesome
shrugs of untimely malevolence. Insatiable deployment, indeed! How
miraculous it would be, should I be free from t'is inconvenience
in th' course of some upcoming days, but still, doth I hope so!
Waggish remarks, jests, and playful turns of ancient riddling-
areth but exchanged outside, with airs so snobbish, from t'ose
pampered youngeth dames, blind to t'eir silenced world's grievous
suffering, and laborous perspiration. How unfair t'eir fiendish hearts areth-
once and againeth-sneering at th' pure, stoical beds of t'ose airy rivers,
andth t'eir dim solitude, with t'ose rings of presumptuous laughter!
Spaciousness in its holy sphere, untouched by th' turmoil t'at lingers on it
surface, neither driven away nor shaken by ungratefulness. Toil
improperly apprehended! And insulted as it might become, tenderness
shalt it leave behind, insolence but be crafted along th' insidious rims
of its face. Marvelous in wild ways! Wild, devilish ways! And unwatched
by th' stomping blokes on its visage, shalt it rise, rise like an unforgiving
tidal wave, soulless in its aliveness, blighting and scratching
t'eir shoulders, with blades unmarred-dormant powers t'at ought not
to be ignored by seconds t'at feebly tick away. And t'eir ends
shalt 'ey meet, granted liberally by t'eir
deliberate neglect, and repulsive indulgence.

In th' nothingness of aggravation I am but naturally not a hard-hearted creature,
too of a stony appearance I possess not-intimate and even, t'at should be how
my being is paraphrased mercifully! With t'ose perpetual-and even limitless-
replenishing jewels of ardour, flawed only by harmless faults, I would consider myself treasured
by nature, o t'at precious creature whom hath so adorably vouchsafed t'is
spring-like life to me; warmth can I gratefully feel in t'is winter every day,
in my prayers, studies, and amongst t'ose invigorating fits
of my daily perambulations. How truthful, aye t'is confession is made! As I am
but a pious, sanctified child, ye' in spite of being a humaneth as I am, a snake is bound
to dwell within my *****, asleep in its quiet slumbers, unawakened so long
as I unbetray my redolent virtues.
But last night! How nigh my soul from t'at anxious burst of agitation,
melancholiness so undesired but abruptly avenged my silence. My indulgent
silence! Th' one frame of my unresting mind t'at I so fastidiously preserved!
Hatred encountered my countenance, and bifurcated my ******
dispositions; flew into anger then I-so sudden as gripped my soul was
by paths of hostility sent onto me-overwhelmed by t'is ineloquent treatment,
howled in despair, and agony was all I felt within my cheerless heart-
until everything amounted into a blurry shadow-insignificant as it was,
but th' fraud was still t'ere-stupefying desire, so ardent within th' leaves
of my conscience, to slaughter even th' most innocent skins-
'till no more breath t'ey shalt but gasp for. And triumph shalt I procure,
ascendancy shalt be painted onto my palms, and opulent pride shalt I be
endowed with, so unlike all t'is hateful remorse, and slithering chastisement!
Amongst t'ose seas of disillusionment; whilst frowning in desperation-combusting
all t'ose wretched spirits wert all I wasth but able to think of;
and all I conjectured wert proven worthy of my thoughts. Inevitable! Entrenched
was its root-t'is flourishing tiny devil on my inner self, as it is-'till th' morning but
retreated and vanquished t'is gust of little hell, which had decoyed me
and my lithe genuineness like a trivial shell.

O dear! My flawless prince, hath thou but thoroughly gone from me?
Still, a painting of thy kiss roam silently th' rooms of my heart. Now scanty
as to emptiness, roaring fussily as to loneliness, for thy being unhere!
Distorted hath been now its breaths-adored only by groans
of misery-like caprices t'at laid unwanted, abhorred by t'eir masters-
for t'eir yesterday's pricelessness, and valuable crowns! How ungrateful masters,
my dear! And how t'eir proceedings shalt recall
t'ose pristine shines, yes, my dear, (of my golden gems) t'at areth gone,
with unsounding returns t'at are unexplainable, and too unattainable-
and shalt remain dim be t'eir whereabouts, amongst t'ese winds
of fervent, but sultry days. O, come back, my love, come back to my arms,
and hate me not, for my threads are woven alongst thy charms-
ah, t'ose threads of life, of soulfulness, and unabashed mortality!
Clashes of feelings, emotions, and mutual usurpation
of endless infatuation. Chaste, and unimpure, passion! Yes, yes, my love-
t'at's how we ou't 'a be, next to t' fireside, lulling each ot'er to sleep,
and welcoming t'ose night dreams with hearts so dear, lullabies
so near to our ears, of t'at unwavering breaths of passion, and unchangeable
affection, for th' rest of our lives! Leave me not-once more, but stay hereth
with me, and make me forgive
and forget cheerethfully t'is seditious, thoughtless, but most of all
irresolute conflagration.
Nicholas Fogle Aug 2015
I play with fire
And I dance with Death
A twirl and a spin and a blade swings recklessly.

"Do you not care about others ", they ask consecutively.
"Do you think before you act", they ask disrespectfully.

My own reality an asylum
My mind makes liberal
My words can change you or me

"Your words are absent " , they'll disagree
"You make no sense", they'll only see

To much to handle like a crushing bridge
Bounds break like broken ribs
Without either things cease to exist
I walked upon a borderline path
I can't decipher , am I  a Psychopath
Pax Jun 2015
The day I stop dreaming
     is when I started my progress…

I never really understood to why, oh why
do we have to start a living?

In the city of progress, I became the mindless puppet
Of what we call ‘the clichés of society’
FOR NOW - I’m totally blind in all five senses
    to where my love should be place in…

From a specific today, I am robbed for my silence
Totally alone never wanted nor even needed
Conceivably A misplaced person in a ‘crazy world’
- or it is just me who thinks this way.

Sometimes I would think no one would ever really captured
                          - ‘the essence of my heart’
Or probably it was just me, who never did take noticed.
Guessing I am too
  - Perverse to feel anything within the walls of my five senses.

Despite everything else, I understood how Society lives by.
The imaginable ways it burdens and pleasure in
–> Giving –> Receiving –> Showing –> US
                                                         how life works with their walls.

I could never blame how our world becomes a harsh place,
Yet I could took the blame on US
   or our humanity is too faulty consecutively.
Too many Securities from any Insecurities.
Walls upon Wall of their Owning Glory,
      Almost nothing is free.

So I stand chained from cultural responsibilities,
for we were made to think this way.

Ashamed of what I discovered
So I hide in the covers of my pen
To write, just write,
A Written voice for the fallen..

A friend told me “I think life ends when a man stops from breathing and also when he stops from dreaming. What will keep us moving if we no longer have holds to aspirations, to hope...”

Then my friend, Kalypso answered a big part of it in her review on what I am talking about in this piece, she said: “being a dreamer for so long, having to pull my head and heart out of the clouds and start the mundane process every day, over and over again, would bring me into this realm of thinking. Wondering why we do ...what we do? What is the purpose of working just to pay bills and survive, but barely live? Feeling like I disappeared in the process of becoming an adult and taking on responsibilities. Having no time to explore the world. To ponder the mysteries of life...or capture the beauty of everything around us. How the monotony takes away your creativity and individualism, blends you into society, almost making you invisible.”

Then Rachelle’s questions arise saying: “Do we grumble? Do fall into a deeper pit of despair or do we try to figure out how to transform our reality such that the world is exciting and challenging again?”

With all those thoughts arises from my poem, I came to understand that despite I stop dreaming big, I still hold on to the little hope and a hint faith I have on myself that someday, in some way a dream could rise again from the burned pages of my bucket list.

I am thankful that I have find/found friends in my writings.
So I appreciate everyone who reads me, greatly....

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/willyampax/1336541/
H Oct 2013
Ok so the new mac software has a dictation program. I let it run during an animal physiology lecture, it was so funny I sort of turned it into poetry with a few modifications. (I took out words that it actually got right and were super science-y like T cells and also words like LRP that aren’t things and I only then changed punctuation and physical layout)

Let me know if you can find some meaning or humour in these found poems.

Steve bring it by

the new proteins bars

euros



without some for you

and your music

and also had pasta



see you

so he hears that

you first

use a euro or so

and phone

by a little while

see what is CCR



Heintz hearts tires

in this to the signal

Mickey’s

was so many years over many years.



He uses Stevens now

she is seeing proteins

and we don’t mayor

this is something for me and Olivia



So honestly it was something going on inside

and so is he is always something

when you see

here is the Winterlochen



7 mm,

one of the major cities,

you




search process

which look, it recognizes us

and what is the function ?



start by punching

in short call with the show

in law class this is a law



bread, espressos

:any

isolated



using my own postulations

to hear that fossil

fossil tires, the possibilities…

and here is a hot spot

deep blue sea

response was you

can see you later

mostly out you are

shouldn’t

parsing parties

and seems that all times

so we burgesses to see

whether these fees

so we are you

so busy

with the police officer



so this is the name

off for you Lisa

so is this needed ?

to serve on, since it’s always interesting

and if there is no proof

what is the man ?



Dennis, is the report from 17%?

raise my house and Sivula .

the left sense is the other

10% to leave myself

seven you get his sister.



Or from prefrontal cortex

you were able to listen

else and if we

so this show

on specific salsa

and effective T cell receptor activation





to decrease the settings

so sure so you transfected

as we buy one

a little simple

were able to game

is at seven

and we have two songs

this nonsense

if we were in Gennessee



tires times

who are noticed

that it is the same as control

were able to rescue the response

so by cars seem to be

a long *** tease you





Silverset

remember to Silversun

So we don’t

House and it’s just something so this shows



That Hughes

that Tersini

seems to be downstream

cheated is this

please rewrite Oterson



times we’ve started

for further brothers

specifically incontinence

ball, doesn’t you know the rest ?



of all conferences

and finish eyes gazing

into Cancun East



it’s consecutively

it doesn’t Vermarle



any if you have time

is there any messages

sorry

I was in response

to slight chance



you can also

it’s seven

and consider

you get a little more pronounced

decrease in Austin

so we see here

just curious

to be through soon

does it sound ?

and whether holiday,

actually awesome?

this medicine!

maybe you

got our road shows

to snooze constantly

is your sisters control as low ?

son



linguistically

“ hi you can see some more”

intense

bad

there’s greater

when an awesome

when you
It would take too much time
to spit out a rhyme, that exhales
the too many complicated details
of how I became a criminal.
If someone out there tried
to define the lines of limitation
that create stone cold walls
beholding all that is right and wrong
I would laugh in their face

There is no right time or place, for anything
despite all that grandma told me she can
Remind me that fried fish is fried in oil saturated with fat
as if my jiggling thighs didn't already know that

But I'll try to smile, despite the war I struggle to, need to fight
against the earthquake in my stomache but it's just begun to have it's fun

I feel disgusting.
I am ashamed.
I'm not aware of the rules to this game but everybody else seems halfway across the board

There was no one incident catapulting me to hell, I just think I was born there
And if you don't believe me there will be a yell, or screech to teach the meek and weak
who seek some form of hope, some drip or some leak
I will yell at you, when whispers drown the drums in your ears I will reveal the fears you've been trying to conceal for years and I will bring out your ******* tears

Why? why would I ever want to make you cry?
I don't, I just don't want to see you make the same mistakes I did
said every mother father aunt uncle sister brother family member ever

Where am I going with this?
These are not the consecutively places lines
I have been assigned for the poetry class I sit in at nine
These are lines on paper portraying, redundantly saying why I sometimes wish I would die.
Sometimes.

One of those times the mirror in the bathroom was not silent or flat it screamed,
"FRIED fish is FRIED in OIL SATURATED with FAT"
as if I didn't already know that

One of those times occured directly after one of those times
and I will never have enough security cameras
and I will never have enough freedom

Because in this universe, we teach the entire history of how jesus came to be
but shun faith in the stars or the wisdom of mythology
Because in this universe, healthy food is instantly corrupted and corrupted healthy food will get in your head-wait, no. Society cannot simply manipulate my brain
Because in this universe, I was already born insane
In this universe a sixteen year old girl can be sexually assaulted 3 times
and still be expected to feel protected
In this universe, a sixteen year old girl can feel older than dirt, tired and disintegrating
there's no SSRI that'll chemically clog this hurt

But my friends still stand beside me
They're solitary statues saluting my salvation
we live on our own planet of alienation and whenever
I can't find the rocket fuel to propel myself from my own pit of despair
they know not to say much, they know the importance of just being there

There will be no one supporting me my entire life
I'm my own husband, lover, my wife
I am the criminal being charged with crime
I am the mouse in the clock moving the hands of time
with that time, lessons yearn to be learned
In this life, we all just want to be heard
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
.i lied in doubly toasted rye bread and some larry tesler epitaphs... toasted rye bread... better with baltic sushi... raw herrings in a creamy sauce... perhaps a creamy sauce with dill... more like apples and pickles... toasted rye bread with baltic sushi... herrings... smoked salmon is luxury... just the basics will do... a smoked salmon can have its bagel... as long as the toasted rye gets its herrings.

some thigs just have to wait for no apparent "rightness"
of time - a corvus corax album from 2009 only arrived
into my ears late sunday evening -
mille anni passi sunt - and no... i do not know what sort
of radio station would play this sort of music...
nor anything from 13th cent. "pleb" music of the countryside
or "heretic" monks that do not fit the criteria
of "classical"... i.e. "worthwhile"...

two sips of ms. amber / well a decent double with
pepsi max will jolt the memory:
or at least that's the hope -
yesterday two decent doubles allowed the coils
to unwind - alas - no pen and paper -
but a witness - a cat sleeping in a chair:
i'm pretty the sure the world won't mind if:
another of my diatribe spews heads into two
directions: infinity and nothingness -
                              perhaps tonight i will pick up
the scraps from what i "ought" to have written
down...                well... this is hardly
going to be words penned to paper to be later
required oratory material...

i can't exactly call them thought experiments...
if i believed in thought experiments...
i'd be... an oyster... or a clam...
  basically an mollusk - not quiet a stone...
but a shell - how did the oyster get his shell?
and why didn't the stone get...
a cell of celluloid / cellulite brain?
              the mountain has muhammad:
of that i am certain...  thought experiments...
not when you're about to do some manual labour...

i've been asking for my neighbour to put
up her garden fence for 15 years...
if not me then someone else...
she's put up a 5th of the garden's length...
the rest would remain covered by the foliage
in my garden... one storm... nothing...
two storms... nothing... then something...
the 5th of the garden length would topple...
until a new 5th of the garden's length would
be put up...
roots... ****** roots...
well... i felt lucky... this year we saw 3 or 4 storms
batter these islands consecutively...
the guys that were going to put up
the fence came... i gave them 250quid to cut
all the shrubbery in my garden...
after all: i do have tools... but a chainsaw i don't
have...
the fence is up... but the garden is in part
barren...
the shurbs and trees are gone:
i'm thinking of planting some dwarf apple / pear
trees... the plum tree took to the earth a few
years back... the cherry tree (morello cheery):
i'll give her another year:
she bloomed last year but only bore 2 fruits...
maybe she's shy...
well great... the shrubbery is gone...
but... roots... those ****** roots...
       we are talking london, we are talking:
a city built on clay...
it doesn't take long... not even half a meter
of digging before you reach this playdough
fudge layer of the soil...
     even if it is a dwarf tree or a shrub...
a holly... as i learned... even with a fork and mini
fork... a proper ***** and a mini *****...
a blunt axe and a heavy hammer...
digging up the roots'-head with some of
the roots intact can take somewhere between
2 to 4 hours...

                yesterday i managed 3...
which took me... roughly 6 hours... while i
uncovered a 4th...
   manual labour... better than going to the gym...
i really didn't know i had this muscle
in my body... or this sort of cartilage...
this tendon... i think i stood before a whole class
of students of medicine and gave them
an arithemetic of my lower thoraic and almost
all of my lumbar muscles...
but that's the beauty: i guess...
once you get on your knees and work with
earth, with roots, trees, once you unearth
the earthworms and cut them in half as you're
digging: well... they have an in-built clone
regrowth... the only music came from the birds
celebrating: renovation! food!
i wished for a radio... but then i uttered
a word or two and meditated on it -
perhaps it was a word - perhaps it was a phrase...
later that day i made east european dumplings...
a filling of last sunday's poacked chicken
meat (which is always a problem -
what do you do with poacked chicken meat
after you made a decent clear soup from it?),
mushrooms - sauerkraut - spices - blah blah...
but... first i sniffed my hands...
imbued with all the scents of the earth...
the dirst and the clay and the wood merging...
that... for the sensual contrast of later working
with flour and water for the dumplings' dough!

yesterday i lay in bed on this ******* carousel
wheel of "narrative"...
what if i forget it... i'll wake up and write it down...
7am... write this sort of ******* down?
i don't think so... lucky for me yesterday ended
with heavy rain... i almost wanted to fall asleep
to the sound of rain... it wasn't loud enough...
for a long time: it's either with earphones in...
or no... no other alternative...
      most relationships probably failed because:
"i wasn't there"... when trying to find the la la land
of nox...

               when writing: even feel a senstation
in your feet... as if you feet are standing
on the ceiling? the whole body translates into
a mild sensation of up-side-down...
ever write and while writing: feel the insane barrel
of laughter from a sensation that your feet
are attached to the ceiling?
   never mind...

   my eyes shouldn't be staring at this glaring screen
this late anyway... i should be listening
to radio.fama.pl with the screen blacked-out...
perhaps a candle in the room...
but mostly the light coming from the cigarette
being dragged... nothing more...
today is an exception: superstitious in that:
if i don't write this today:
tommorow would be cindarella of this...
no memor: there's already barely any cohesion...

today i was lucky: i only dug up one root-head...
2 hours... given that i had to do so...
while at the same time not disturbing the fern...
even thought the roots of the head were
weaving themselves around the fern...
had to tie up the fern so she wouldn't get in the way...
what a pretty man-bun of hair...
hail shiva!     or any other long-haired deity
that does... boquetes of hair for a living...
the fern was spared...

   back in the garden... a literal swamp...
that jasmine and her labyrinth of roots...
not to mention an ancient copper plated tube
with a cable that i dug up... and the old fence posts...
these biggo concrete dollops with metal...
literally a swamp... if this isn't what Ypres looked
like on a good day: then i'd be swimming
in cow-**** shambo on a bad day...
and this London clay... it...
you don't even dig up half a meter into the earth
and... you get a puddle of water...
work... in these conditions?
do i look like i'm going to mud-wrestle?

what sort of thought experiment can you take
into manual labour of this sort...
the sort that isn't going to the gym...
thought experiment = entertain a hypothetical
x, y and z? the "what if"?
i need to take a phrase with me...
i overheard it somewhere...

man is a human: doing...
woman is a human: being...
so i took that...

along came descartes and kant...
      along came the word ontological:
misnomer - oncology -
with oncology came: the cancer within botany...
mistletoe... if you've ever seen it grow
in the wild... go to Poland...
Warsaw will do... 10 miles in either direction...
after all... Poland isn't England...
there's no Royal Society for the preservation
of trees... mistletoe in the wild...
botanical cancer... now if i am to have
cancer... unlikely... i'm more prone to alcoholism
related deaths and dementia -
i just think of mistletoe... botanical cancer...
and it's in the tradition to: kiss under it...
anyways and who...

                    cogito ergo sum...
is that an a priori statement...
                     or an a posteriori statement...
it's hardly a maxim -
   a maxim according to which you'd be able
to extract an imperative of sorts -
caterogical or impartial - imperative and
and adjective of your choice -
                        yes... where i come from...
certain things are given SHE-pronouns...
most things botanical... except the oak...
an oak is a male in botany...
where i come from... the sun is female...
the moon is male... unlike in english...
where the words do not give pronoun impressions
designating "***"... that comes later...
with pictures... borrowed...
     comes with the turf... emoji hieroglyphs:
h'america first...
                         well and second...
                i don't hear news from France about
"misgendering" someone...
given how french grammar has explicit masculine and
feminine terms...
so... on your own...

i hear the debate... but... i don't even have
a two cent's worth of an argument...
              the iron curtain is down...
i'm in england and i'm looking at the silicone veil
and i'm saying: there's no me on the moon...
and if i'd really want to escape...
antarctica or... afghanistan... among the pashtun
women...
problem with both... i don't play the ***-tar
so good as to remember all the radio i'd miss...
i once heard the most beautiful adhan and cried...
then again: what if the mu'azzin
sounds like a goat grabbed by the testicles about
to be castrated?! and not the mu'azzin
i heard recorded?
i once cried hearing...
                         vaughan williams - fantasia on
a theme by thomas tallis...
once again when hearing ola gjeilo's...
either o magnum mysterium or northern lights...
beauty is transcendental: a priori -
          true beauty is transcendental: a priori -
because these pieces of music i heard for the first
time... and rejoiced with tears...
crying and laughter - not antonyms...
                                           implicitly i.e.:
when you're crying you're laughing vice versa etc.,
it's hard to laugh at music...
one can laugh at one's ****** response
to the body... but not when the body has found
serenity... or anguish...
             of a burden of the heart...
the ears to listen with... and that the eyes would
be far better off... without sight...
as two agape holes of a cave through
which a stream flows and arrives as a cascade point
for a waterfall...

i won't "solve" cogito ergo sum:
whether it's a priori or a posteriori...
what did cogito spawn though?
res cogitans - res extensa -
                     we're talking manual labour...
thank god heidegger didn't come along
with his hammer and suggest that someone
intent of working manually would...
somehow talk about philosophical matters on
the side...
                       that's the "hammer"... "apparently"...
no... it came down to:
man is a human: doing...
  woman is a human: being... i had to exclaim
out-loud trying to not interrupt the birds...

it's just convenient... to call man a human doing
and woman a human being...
do                                     b-ING-o!
be                                 b-ING-o!
               try another language...
                i'm sure it sounds better than just that...
человеческое дело...

          just as i thought...

                     ludzkie dzieło - ludzki czyn...
but i think i concentrated on the latter:
ludzki czyn...
                         after all: ludzki byt -
doesn't really translated into: ludzkie bycie -
with bycie - being -
                            isn't being: interchangeable
with existence - as in onto per se, for being
to be grasped from omni ex: out of this and every
other instance?
    
who would take a thought experiment when
undertaking some decent manual labour?
thought experiments are for sitting in a leather chair
and farting into it - basking in the glory
of theoretical solipsism - later translated
into a crowded tube train...
imagining oneself farting scented candle
magic fairy dust of dried strawberries!

             i don't have time for thought experiments...
i'll give up my hands to the earth
and to the trees the earthworms and the roots...
my bob the builder's ***-crack to the winds...
or... my akbir to the birds...
               my al-qiyyam to the work before me...
my ruku to the morning...
                  my sujud to the setting sun...
         and that last bit... counting the number
of new parts of my body i've used...
but no... no thought experiments...
three words in latin... yes...
                              five words... sven the seventh...
perhaps... but certainl a bilingual crossword
puzzle... and definitely meditating
on cyrillic letters... and greek...
        i'm yet to escape the grip of runes...
and of braille... and of hebrew...
                              and return to the old father...
   who still seems rather unreal...
to think that "my" people had a pre-existing latin
text... and that it somehow is not tied
to the runes... nor to the greek (as such)
nor arabic... not sanskirt...
                  a revived interest...
                          on the british isles anything
can be a revived interest...
         if marx came up with communism in
england... i can up with...
a tatto parlour where people don't make
a mistake of having chinese ideograms
tattooed onto themselves...
                                           ⰁⰉⰅⰎ
    ⰝⰅⰓⰐⰑ                       -
                           in decline because?
                               shared patterns...
even with the runes... R and not ᚱ
                        ᚠ and not F?
                                     ᛒ and not B?
                                              agreed upon...
           but i guess just because we share this...
latin text without any latin being so much
spoken outside of maxim / proverb / the crown...
no latin slang...
                            whatever this was...
i had to write it... a second time it would have
suffocated me and given me amnesia upon
waking.
Patristic Excerpt
John where made Patristic delays on the island in Christian times by building numerous panagias decorated with mosaics. They enter the port of the island walking in wild revelry after being greeted at the port. At dusk they arrive in Jorió finding the Venetian castle of the knights of the Order of Saint John, completely covered in blue olive oil (a phenomenon that had been caused by the previous visit of Etrestles and his entourage) In the same way, they make an antechamber to the northeast finding the Grotto of the Seven Virgins or Nymphs, whose satire succumbed to some incredulous neighbors, hiding some of their minor daughters after denying its consummation. This is not a minor legend told of how seven young girls disappeared into the cave when fleeing from some pirates, noting if it could be so, also the clues to find Etréstles that he had recently been here in frank search for his ghosts. “Behold, all this paraphernalia of bilocation was accentuated by the god Spílaiaus creating immediacy with all the times that they wanted from the present, and the future that is exclusive to the Itheoi gods” Petrobus the Pelican goes back to the colonies of his ancestors, he wore gold rings around his neck, and had no contact with his native colony since the last day they helped the fields with water due to the lack of fresh water. It is worth noting their property of converting salt water into fresh water but even more the quality of Petrobus in addition to where they step on its paws, everyone will shine and rejuvenate. It off-centers its wings with allotropic dyes that made it turn colors in addition to strengthening and lightening its body during long periods of flight, and lifts its angular bag and takes vertical flight to meet Reader and Vernarth again in the Early Christian Necropolis of the burial chapels, here they meditate with the god Azofar who levitated above them offering their submission to the wind that flows with great power under the catacombs pulling and moving spirits that wish to relocate with their placebo presiding over their doubts. They leave the port boarding a Triaconter that would take them to Kinaros before the night falls and is seized by the coastal fog, not resisting the rope that holds a ship, whatever it was many times these ships were maneuvered by rowing sailors but this time it was only consigned for them, it would only move without anyone intervening, only the eternal wind that kind will take them to the island of Reader's progenitors. On the transparent waters sailing in the Triaconter were the three, Vernarth in the Petrobus bow on the main mast of the sail, and Raeder beside him a few meters away remembering his parents when they emigrated from this island? The name of the ship that was named as “Eurydice” in every certain space of advance they approached the macaroon to empty the tears that this Nymph emanated through her half-open eyes, she would take a rag of the holy cocoon and wipe away the effusions that must have been more for some reason that he would want to know…? Upon arriving in the vicinity of Kinaros, a rainy cyclone hit them which lifted them above the surface of the island when they were less than 5 km from arriving. Vernarth takes the Xiphos's sword from him and cuts the ropes then Raeder noticing that they were at serious risk of being shipwrecked, tells Vernarth to get out of the ship and quickly runs to the bow covering the eyes of the Mask of the Eurydice and leaves the ship.

With an epic metaphysical tendency, he acclaims his magical steed Alikanto..., he flies over the ship and picks them up, and Reader takes hold of the rings on Petrobus's legs reaching the mainland consecutively. Kinaros is a land of fishermen and farmers, a long-lived land and ancient inhabitants who do not age; here there are no cemeteries or monuments, there is only eternal spring for those who can be grateful for a place that gives them peace, and melancholy love for those who do not live there. Here from this bountiful land come the Raeder Parents, they migrated to Kalymnos; being this land the one that saw his birth and immortalizes him so he remembers…: “In the islands of the Dodecanese, subdued by the carmine dew that falls at dawn on its crystalline waters, important archaeological remains and cenacles appear on the sand or gravel beaches to compete in athletic leisure, Raeder ran naked after the outfits of which his mother had made him. He was permeated by crystalline Byzantine, architectural and medieval monuments due to long Venetian dominations in his mannerisms what unite them to these islands is their history, and their occupations: that of the knights of the crusades to that of the Turks, the Italian occupation to the Greek annexation with their volatile outfits useless to dress up, Patmos is very popular among pilgrims from the moment his work was raised in one of the caves on the island of San Juan Evangelista, the disciple of Christ writing the Book of Revelations. Astypalea is the westernmost island of the archipelago and has Dodecanese Cycladic architectural features it is also related here in the Novel of Etréstles of Kalavrita matter of his victorious boast to Patmos when he resorts after the reverie with the Laziko Dance that was held by the little finger and circulated in commemoration of the stripping of the rebirth of spring with the Sousta del Dodecanese. These dances were engendered in the infra-ocean floor of the Ionian Sea, generating the power of the ethereal emanation of Etrestles from Kalavrita by daring to put Eclectic confrontation to the invisible portal of the Evangelist Saint John in his sacred basaltic cavern in the Patmos archipelago (Koumeterium Messolonghi, Chapter 16 - page 114. Editorial Palibrio-USA) (Koumeterium Messolonghi Chapter 16 - page 114 Editorial Palibrio-USA) It is also related here in the Novel of Etréstles of Kalavrita matter of his victorious boast to Patmos when he resorts after the reverie with the Laziko Dance that was held by the little finger and circulated in the commemoration of the stripping of the rebirth of spring with the Dodecanese´s Sousta. It is also related here in the Novel of Etréstles of Kalavrita matter of his victorious boast to Patmos when he resorts after the reverie with the Laziko Dance that was held by the little finger and circulated in commemoration of the stripping of the rebirth of spring with La Sousta del Dodecanese.

In the Chapel of Ministers: They were seconded by the high representatives of Kalymnos, among them the curious immortal serpentine Raeder son of native Kinaros farmers belonging to a clan group of six small islands and six small families. Some islets used to boast the genealogical beams and challenges of Antigone, and documented inspirations found between Leros and Kálymnos in the east and the Cyclades islands of Amorgós in the west. Raeder always got up before dawn on his window sill there always appeared a petite blue bonsai Pelican he called Petrobus, in the mornings he would run beating this Olympic bird in a fast dispute sometimes he was not able to say goodbye to his bird friend because he ran so fast that the days used to be weeks in a row, while Petrobus puffed through the Ouranos with his Hellenic Artificial Intelligence elytra, with his hyper exhalation he moved great rocky crags even moving and disorganizing the geographical nomenclature of these twelve polygon islands between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. The lesser known and immaculate islands are Leros or Pserimos, while Rhodes and Kos the largest and most cosmopolitan islands are the goal of the migrated Blue Pelicans throughout the year. Before returning to his house, Raeder stretched out on grasses sheared by the heels of Petrobus's migrates and his henchmen in this grass dancer I could feel the dances with the gag dance bread vibrate through his arms in all the rumps of the maidens in the Sousta dance running after Petrobus with his golden mask and hanging from the wings or legs of his bird (Wings Mate), the art of flying with golden magical birds and his Ancient Mama Antigone to Raeder when sometimes he was flying by the legs of Petrobus, he thought...:

“My land… a thousand times I will lift you up with my arms, do not doubt it, my arms believe it… Oh, my venerated Ionian I will do apnea to please you a thousand times to become your Ionian molecule… Wind of Kalimnos himself…, I will make the flute an Ode that runs through twelve perforated epitaphs with my ancestors in the Dodecanese sleeping paroxysm in the panagia where I was baptized for the ninth time! And in the fatuous lavish fire, I will put the ceremonial ribbon of the Sousta Dance in the nap in the new migration of my transparent Pelicans….”

Raeder tells a visibly emotional Petrobus about imagining crying with his imagined friend. "Little Raeder of the Dodecanese" he utters to his magical imaginary friend; Petrobus, what else was missing from ground breadcrumb paste for next winter…? Petrobus, distracted and not looking at him tells him…, only placing his web-footed Hellenophile leg on his other equal…: “Fear nothing Raeder, God does not coexist! ...Now He and you are the same. With your arms you will be able to lift the sphere of the bare earth and reconvert it into a Healthy Earth of Milk and mead of our Kalymnos that runs like a quagmire through the mountains of your Life converted into a new House dressed in a new house” when Raeder finishes thinking…, Vernarth tells him that they had to sail to Patmos, curiously Eurydice's ship was in the bay, they believed that this ship had capsized and sank somewhere in the wide open sea of ​​the Aegean.
The three on boards the ship Eurydice, Alikanto stays in Kinaros batoning very well guarded by peasants who took great affection for him later he would join him on Patmos for service and trades pantry to Saint John the Evangelist. Alikanto will take a great contribution and role in the prophecies of Vernarth on the Isle of Patmos, just on board the Eurydice and surround themselves with a climate of seclusion and peace on the ship, not so far behind were the Cyclades and part of the Dodecanese he was full of vitality, he completely covered the Triaconter it was late and the moon was beginning to dress the deck with phosphorescence, Raeder and his little Petrobus were clearly exhausted deciding to sleep right there on the deck. He was also relieved of emotions after so much experimenting on the islands, as well as not being able to find his brother Etréstles to prepare to rest in her poetry, almost falling asleep he sees that from the bow a very quiet female figure approaches him with her lost gaze, and stands up seeing that it was Eurydice who was in front of him. She had her bandage on her eyes still approaching her and says Eurydice: “Can you remove the tape…? Only you can do that! Although due to this subtlety of yours in attention to me I tried..., of course, I must be able to recover my subsistence and its mobility as an indissoluble watercolor. Vernarth says; “In my narrative we know that Eurydice was a dryad, being the wife of Orpheus as a poet and musician. After evading Aristaeus´s harassment, she would now take refuge in a shipyard in Amphipolis and hide on a ship. She escapes with great speed and fear, as her heart only belongs to Orpheus, as she flees, Eurydice is bitten by a snake and dies, Orpheus, disconsolate, cries for her and her desperation finds no consolation, so he makes the risky decision to go in search of his sweet and beloved wife to Hades, the land of the dead. Vernarth longs to revive her in her comparative fable to her sweet song and her poetry, Orpheus managed to move Charon who lets him cross the River Styx, the boundary between the world of the living and the dead. Later, also with his artistic abilities, Orpheus manages to convince Persephone and Hades to allow him to take Eurydice. The subterranean divinities agree to be taken away but Orpheus must promise that he will not attempt to see his wife until he has brought her into the sunlight, so as agreed, Eurydice followed Orpheus on the way to the light, and at the moment when they were about to leave the dark depths, Orpheus had doubts thus, he began to think about the possibility that Persephone had deceived him and that Eurydice did not come after him, so he could not bear her temptation and turned to look at her and confirm that she was coming with him. When this happened, Eurydice was dragged by an irresistible force back to Hades. Orpheus, desperate tries to go again to rescue his beloved but this time Charon does not allow it, at this moment the god of the Genus Itheoi Aiónius clings to the purity of the distilled water pretending that Eurydice was going to the underworld, but the mirror flash of Ibico 1 would bring Eurydice from the darkness to the parallel world of Orpheus and Vernarth. Here Kaitelka and Borker (Semi Itheoi, concur in total harmony with Demeter, Persephone, and Hestia bringing from the labyrinths the rusty chains of Prometheus and Vertnarth that were wandering through infinity) Orpheus when he doubts is more than divine doubt, it is submithological human doubt that cracks the recondite doubts and trigger the valleys of perdition in the jungle dense in roads without being able to follow, especially if I personalize it in myself, said Vernarth. According to Vernarth giving ears in this magnanimous moment of what was narrated by herself, it represented Eurydice fearing being left unattended under hell, fleeing to Thrace to the port of Amphipolis, then boarding a ship stealthily entering being discovered by a captain later. She runs strong escaping from the officer and jumps overboard, the officer searches for her vehemently for several days, remaining buried in the holistic totally under a complication plot since a sailor had recapitulated her in a passage of this mythology that could take live life and action on your boat. Days go by and this Triaconter ship is whipped by the Persians on a disastrous day, everything frolicked from large figures to consider as well as fleeing from the Persians before an impartial and just intensified attack from the enemies the Triaconter is adrift. Eurydice follows in the footsteps of this ill-fated boat and then boards it again. “In the eighth month of navigating fully, she is discovered by Aristeo, She takes the start of a terrifying heart because she feared what could be born from the ship; perhaps become a subjective fear! She realized that it was not real and she understood that it was an anxiety of profuse delirium”. But it was too late for she hid in the bowsprit on her way to the bowsprit, with the decaying line to the figurehead she stays silent, tries to remove her feet and can't remain thus captive of the ship bound to the figurehead, provoked only by herself not by her as a divine Nymph but by the fear that haunted her like a viral fear in her own and her delusional fears. Vernarth, hates himself and tells Eurydice: “If you wish, I will jump overboard and be swallowed by the sea, and so I can find the oppressors who harass your persecution. Just tell me and I'll jump to save your reckless shattered fate. Only the existence that is nothing more than Bravery will combine the power to relieve you and free you from your chains.”
Eurydice
Mitch Nihilist Oct 2015
Everything is happening so quickly
so many negatives surpassing the
insignificant glimpse of positives
that never seem to suffice,
there’s always this light at the
end of the tunnel that everyone
speaks of, yet i continue to see darkness;
a journey down this long tunnel brings
no illumination but only a continuance
of nihility, the damp walls
seem to bring the chill humidity
closer and closer with each step,
the droplets echo the narrowing,
flickering lights dissipate at passing,
the gag sparking stench of sewage
and ***** make the voyage to
light even more unbearable than the
previous hesitant inching towards
the so called spoken about bearability of life,
sudden scintillations of light bring sight
of russet, worn doors, consecutively placed,
discoloured of crimson roadkill,
I open the first door and see a woman
tied and bound, gag in throat,
beads of sweat turning the white gag
to watered milk,
the dirt beneath her nails entwines with skin
and blood dredged by her own fingertips,
to front is a tray of what seems like
torture tools
intrigued, I slam the door
                               and avoid a kiss
                                   from Judas


The next door, I open and see a man
sitting facing the corner,
wrapped in a flickering fan,
staring at a wall of carvings of ticks and dashes,
to see arms of cuts and gashes,
with a tray next to him
comprised of razors and knives
he sits picking at skin of bruises and hives,
tempted to grab the tool and corrode self,
with the reflection of whats within, I slam the door

                                               and avoid

Finally the third door
eagerly stares to
me with anticipation boiling veins,
I press my ear to foreshadow,
I hear a cries; a man of hatred
and a woman of pain
I open the door and find a bottle of whiskey
I take a swig and feel as if Judas kissed me,

Within the third door; walls
with peepholes to confirm the calls
on the left I see the sliding knife
over-panting roadmaps of russet to
the neck of the bound woman,  
the screams are deafening,
they present a vibration,
stuttering thoughts, and releasing the fixation,
prompting the admiration
to view the second door,
I see myself, in door 2
tremors and convulsions
seeing blood expel every vein
as the verticals
halt oxygen to the brain

Departure brings me
to the abysmal realm of society  
where the burden of negativity
proves to provide no proof towards what
differs between the endless, narrow
tunnel-visioned cesspool of bone marrow
and psychosis driven visions and the
narrow pathed voyage of life.
It has been a while since I have posted anything. You can call it sudden shyness, or a complete loss of confidence but I found a partially unrevised and unedited version of this poem. I have been dwindling the inability to finish the piece for a while now, and I finally built up the confidence to do so. This was written quite a while ago when I was at a low of whatever you would call my then current state of mind. Most would read with with some sort of immediate judgement, but look deeper and find the meaning the of subliminal annotations written. Inferring is a complex component when comprehending the internalized aspects of someones mind who is unable to convey said aspects with words.
Enjoy!
Yung Wifey Jan 2016
when you left me
I felt lost
I drove myself crazy
I called you 27 times consecutively knowing that each time you were going to send me to voicemail
I had to move on by myself
with no closure at all
It hurt every single day
there was not a night that would go by that I wouldn't think about you and just cry
for a very long time, it was that way
then I finally found a light
I wasn't sad anymore
at least not over you

but now you're back
pleading
saying sorry
"sorry I made you fall with no intention of catching you.."
but what am I suppose to say?
It's okay?
Because it is not okay
you made me sad for a very long time

I did think about you from time to time
but those days are over
now it's your turn

It's your turn to cry
Luna Moon Nov 2015
That was the night I took eighty pills-
consecutively.
The next morning I was late for college, and missed the train.
There was a lump in my throat from where the pills still seemed to be.
My stomach was full of pills, so I had black coffee for breakfast.
I looked at the train tracks and sought it would have been less painful to be lying there than sitting with these pills in me.

That was the day there was a solar eclipse,
and I couldn't care less.
But nor could anyone else,
about the way I felt.
Or didn't at all.

That day I sat in class and the boy I pretended to have a crush on,
heightened my anxiety.
I left the room and my teacher never did the task she had set again,
She thought it triggered my anxiety.
The boy didn't notice when I left.

That was the day my mum drove me home, an hour from college,
and I slept in the car.
It was the day my new job rang me about my first shift.

I spent the day on the sofa, thinking:
About the boy in my class;
the pills in my stomach;
If he would find out I was drawn to him;
and if anyone would find out about the pills.

A week later my friend found out, and told me to go to the hospital.
But I didn't.
The boy never found out,
because I never said a word,
and never felt a thing.
it's odd
when you've been best friends with someone consecutively for the past three years
or so
and then someone else
to whom which you'd never thought you'd expect
starts making their way up in the "ranks"
not saying that I "rank" my friends
I'm not that much of a ****
but saying that
there's someone
who for some reason continues to take time
out of their precious day
just to make you smile.
and oddly enough it doesn't feel intrusive whatsoever
but it just feels
sweet.
i don't know.
maybe I'm too soft.
or maybe I'm finally recognizing what I need.
Allison Charde Nov 2013
our first kiss was 3 days before we first got our periods together
and one day before you got a new haircut
and a month before your mom's birthday

the next time we got our periods, i was swimming through my sleepover bag, fishing for tampons
the next time you got a haircut, you got a dog the same day that still remembers my voice
and the next time your mom's birthday rolled around, i had a drawer, a toothbrush, and a seemingly permanent spot in your bed

things seemed to happen consecutively
that reminded us of time, and called for our love to consider itself.
i still loved you
at every checkpoint.
How to make friends over a beer
How to make any modest room beautiful with fairy lights
How to consecutively loose three university ID cards, replace them and then simultaneously find all three misplaced cards in the bottom of the same bag.
How to blag your way onto the university bus without ID
How to make a family out of your friends


When to give constructive criticism.
When to hit the cafeteria for discounted lunch items
When to let house mates off for making the kitchen a **** tip
When to realise that the reason your soreen cake keeps going missing from you food cupboard is not in fact because there are some soreen cake loving mice,  it is in fact just your house mate  who “just thought you weren’t going to eat it”
When to plant an onion in hopes of an onion tree.


Where to kick a corrugated door for a taxi
Where to get the best tray of jalapeños
Where to get a magic tenner
Where to sit in the lecture hall so you could only be partially seen
Where to find your confidence
Knowing I’ll never be able to pay off my university debt
But knowing it was priceless
2 drops of tear

Travel down her side eye

Flowing consecutively on a loop

Yet falling into oblivion

Breaking free from her once ethereal sockets

As the icy sideline waves ravage her mind

Consuming every evidence of hope she once embodied

Trapped she is beneath layers of ice

Ice so thick to break through

Yet clear enough so you know she is there.



2 drops of tear

(O once upon a time they were)

Fall not from his side eye

Deposit instead in the reservoir of him

Quietly wearing away the gypsum norms on which he stands

Like the Mosul Dam o he knows

Still his paintbrush daily he holds

Laminating his façade in fifty shades of hegemony blue.


©Belema.S.Ekine
Alin Jan 2015
he is five in one
she is consecutively
one two three
changing
pitch
treble
pressure
intensity

to fit perfectly
in his one  
composing time

one divides to
all the replaceable and irreplaceable
limit approaches to infinity
parabolic ends stretch
at both ends
of all planes
at all frequencies

while
delivery
these two
shall not see
or hear
which of which
they themselves
be

their love making
the lance of
the invincible shape

bends the universe
to embody
the immutable verse
the supreme sound

where
none is
the undefined bearer
of the material
of love
of one

where
lovers
sacrifice themselves
for each other
within each other

become
a material of generations
to be activated by
a conscious flash

just a Joker!
reborn
from a hum
and
Alas!
the cycle of time.
I was listening to: Arvo Pärt- Spiegel im Spiegel
Mitch Nihilist Sep 2016
I’ve manifested
an after midnight symphony,
looping mp3’s of my own eulogies
and consecutively callousing
and shaking hands with death,
the feeling brings a paradox of
finding warmth in cold palms
and it cuts between relation and
addiction to a palpable misery,
shot glasses of blood trying to make
home in my throat
drawing *****
and neglecting to force
warmth back inside,
left cold
and red hands ramble
abstract frigidness
on a livid mess mimicking
a sorry excuse for a heartbeat,
and all i’ve been doing is
touching myself
and each fingertip friction
formalizes an addiction to
a wintry contagious
Harmony Sapphire Mar 2016
"Sometimes your worst self is your best self
The moonlight divides the shadows.
The essence of a black rose.
Butterflies flutter by through the air.
Unaware they are there without a care.
I grab thee adorable like a snuggle bear.
Not to get a job in this city is unfair.
At the interview discrimination to my face they dare.
I do not run, I am not scared.
I reapply consecutively, insanity flares.
I am invisible, I am not there.
Nobody notices or even stares.

He calls me his baby.
He treats me like I'm a lady.
His intentions are never shady.

My eyes watch his aura.
His essence glows like a tiara.
His eyes sparkle like stars.
He drives a truck not a car.

Our attraction is mutual.
So sacred & constitutional.

Our desire is not yet full.
Our passion rages like a bull.
Our time together is never dull.

His lips touch mine.
That night for the first time.
© Harmony Sapphire.All rights reserved.
Liam C Calhoun Apr 2016
I’d always less than half a sense;
To my detriment, often doubling-down,
Ordering the same sorts of poison –
Warm beer, cold women, back alley-ed eyes
And other late night snacks simmered atop the oil
Salvaged the streets come previously devoured.
Bottled and poured, again and consecutively through me,
An anomaly now evolves average;
Cured only an alchemy wrought, "baijiu," (rice wine),
Crowd summed solitude’s paradox and hazy Chinese moons.

So when in Rome, do as the Romans do
And die as Romans die;
A slighter justification for what’d later trumpet –
Salivation’s sip, salvation’s second,
A tickle atop tongue, sour in stomach
And cancerous come the lesser years,
Deep, nether and beyond the once upon a time barren,
So I plead for seconds and corral but only
Three revelations in the expanses exhumed:

One – I want to die. Two – Tastes beat the years.
And three – The world’s a wonderful meal;
Home to another and common denominator,
The shared variable, viable and pliable,
Our simple ingestion, communal,
So that I may venture a path paved prior
And yet parallel something nearly precious – truly alive.
Either way, it’d satiated but one achy throb
And prevented me from washing the dishes;
A fair trade for someone who’d always assumed early ends.
It was all about escape, and since then, I've escaped there too.
Sophia Feb 2015
*******, *******, sleeping around.
Call it what you will, just not making love.
Most nights I fall asleep on someone's chest, however never the same consecutively.
Lying on ***** sheets next to someone who's name I dont know
And won't remember.
You see i was taught
That this is what happens
"When a man and woman love each other very much"
But thats just *******.
As I crawl through anothers bed my emotions shut off,
love never comes into play.
It never has.
As I surrender to pleasure not only mine but theirs.
It courses through my body and veins
Bringing life and feeling into the empty limbs.
Every finger, toe, and arm being brought alive if only for an hour or less.
Every kiss spreading warmth, every touch igniting my senses.
As soon as it begins its over.
The life i had within me falters, dripping from my fingertips and toes, falling from the ends of my hair.
As I lay in dark cold rooms where I spend my nights.
Sleep never crossing my mind.
Numbly staring at the walls feeling empty once again.
Everybody knows.
With all the pictures I send without a care in the world.
I fill the requests one by one, going down the list.
When I walk down the halls they stare and whisper.
Their words dont mean a **** thing.
And so I fall asleep in his bed.
I fall asleep in her bed.
Anywhere but my own.
I'm not scared
I'm never nervous
I never care.
Because as the clothes come off as the hands make contact with my flesh as the lips skim my body.
My emotions leave.
I can mechanically go down without a glitch or hesitation.
I can undress and redress quicker than your average.
I can move my hips and hands in that perfect way.
Im up for that.
I'm down for anything.
Call me, I'm your girl.
Sorry mom and dad, your little girl's a *****.

(still a draft)
Jared Eli Nov 2012
He wanted to become something, but he did not want that something to define him. He wanted to be a part of the picture, but not to be titled or signed. He wanted to belong, but he did not want his belonging to override the fact that it was in fact he, who had come to belong, not a nameless member of the group. He wanted to be found in a dictionary for those who sought him, but undefined like the ***** of a line. He wanted to be stationary and mobile consecutively. In short, he wanted the impossible, but then, didn't he just want something worthwhile? And isn't it true that nothing is impossible?
As they headed for the roadstead of Skalá he was eclipsed just as he had been predestined by Wonthelimar. They had contravened with Apollo after coming from his winter appointments in Hyperborea, he came to meet his twin sister Artemis towards an olive tree that would be the directive of the battle of Patmia with the Zefian arrows and the Iberian Rings of Wonthelimar in the direction of the Zenit, with the first arrows of the string of the arch of predestination of the blessed land as Skalá will be, commanding and carrying the insignia of Hyperborea with Zefian and Vóreios violating the stormy East bow after addressing the sibylline oracles, which already had the date Synchronous of the Flegrean Fields, to locate the Codex Raedus n °VI of The Cumana sibyl that was found at elevation 97 of the wind tunnel when listening to these waves, very close to the sinkholes, in avidity of the Delphic Pythia with divinatory proselytes that ran through the folds of her garb, with pleats of a cerebral divinatory legion. His Cumana relativity was distended from his arrival at the Mausoleum, prophesying life for all in the passion of living together with the bodies abandoned by the souls of the Devotee, in the innocence of the soul that slips away daunted by not being desolate, between the Lilith parchment, and in the offerings of the Strigoi, for breaches of the troubling visions of the darkness of the cavern of Chauvet, by sacrificing competitive sensory-emotions of the malefic Votum of Lilith. Only one can exist as an inviolable part of chaste Wonthelimar tradition, groping the Xiphos with human sheepskins, tectonic offerings, and fringing the altitude 103 of the Strigoi wind tunnel. After writing the 9 books of the Synoptic of Rome and of King Tarquin who rejected it until the last three books that the Sybilla had burned were awarded, after having challenged the six that made up the compendium that Apollo had written for the approval of Rome.

After they distanced themselves from the contravention of Apollo and Artemis to the southern east-west magentism. They would carry their belongings with the "The Ibic Rings", which would be the transmigration towards the cardinals and points where the Megaron of Vernarth was going to be exactly after the battle, arguing that the Zefian phalanxes would be ordered in Sintropia and organic chaos in Patmos, where Pythagorean proportions would be made in essences of numbers that idly advanced in the temporal steps of Wonthelimar that mobile was made of religious Saetas and of the Mercurial Ambrosia of the Cinnabar, to help him with the most insightful points of the Constellation of Capricornus. Zefian's tendency was to blatantly delight afterward to pull the bowstring, to spooky existence; presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate Áullos Kósmos Megarón! for calm courts imposed from a cosmos, who were directed by committing themselves to the will of a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, as Roman bilocation Vestal Virgins, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-fable alive that rebels in the arrows that still They did not fall, not knowing of their whereabouts, waiting for Apollo to launch them, like plates or serial hosts that were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the hyperboric Duoverse contravened organic, vigorous and anti-curd even in the divine origin celestial as a *****-ovule parameter, rather in aeonical instances in the furnace of Hestia, running eternities into vast volumes of light-years. From the medrones of Wonthelimar's antler, regenerative sobs grow in the Ibic Rings that were native to the Nyons massifs, taking hold in the Seven Ibic Rings. Before reaching the Battle of Patmia.

Ibico 1: "The first one was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and brought purity, for all who needed him and were visiting in the dark, then he would find the light when he left the cave alive if he was accepted."

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

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

Ibico 4: “This ring was from the antlers of Wonthelimar, here they wore the Oikos or threads of Gold from Orfí, for the Himatión and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a complement to Mycenae- Valdaine ”.

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

Ibico 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns of Kafersesuh, bringing the pollinations of the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the gloom of Helleniká and Theoskepasti".

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

Once the Rings were instituted, the Arrows after the Codex VI of the Sybilla Cumea, everything would turn green in the direct plane from Grikos to Skalá, causing splendor in the Emotional Subclavian Kabbalah; bringing on himself his own external atmosphere of Zohar Light attracted by Saint John the Apostle, expressing with this phenomenon the scene of physical mysticism, to induce the archetype of great volume of the Kabbalah pipeline between both points, mobilizing between these two nodes the Vital homeostatic of light and divine blood that would be transported by the dualistic subclavian that could be seen in the floods or roads that led to the place of confrontation, displaying the Greco-Judaic vital of language that poured through these fistulas of light to overcome the red blood cell bloom; That would be portions of the presence of divine blood of the Mashiach, where every arrow has its focus as is the Torah in fulfillment of a sky adorned that was positioned on the figure that was sniffed by the essence of a skeleton exempt from a Subclavian, that only with it and the emotion of Saint John could be exclusively Kabbalistic only transported by the Zohar light that Vernarth and his phalanxes offered in anticipation of their Misná, and not of the nocturnal powers that exiled the luminous circles that left them circumscribed by the full moon that it would unite him around its intensity, and that it would degrade into the Platonic theocentric. The works of projecting indeterminate successism the uncontrolled defragmentation by the higher orders where their unity could be reiterated in the mystical memory, over the divine irresolution of right and inconclusiveness of the deductions of the full moon, therefore the Subclavia of Kabbalah will exonerate these ambiguous emanations, to starting from the ordering of the ibic rings, procreating in them the order that is not replaced or reversed.

Ibic 1: "The first one was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and brought purity, for all who needed him and were visiting in the dark, then he would find the light when he left the cave alive if he was accepted." It indicated the Kabbalah of Saint John of everything known and remained stable given its transcendent radiance with the cosmic energy that was usual, preserving, and at the same time externalizing the absolute presence, purity towards the stage of absolute admiration, while stillness and silence he was fascinated by the creatures of the expectation of an extra personal Vernarth after the eschatological of his soul.

Ibic 2: ”He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the priesthood center of his shelves with the Chiroptera, and others of the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus ”. It was consigned to the superior spheres of the eons and ignorance of the destiny of the lamas of those who would go to collate in this affront of Patmia, relating Gnostic tendencies with the epigraphy and materiality of the Cinnabar as the elemental computer of the Vas Auric of Limassol and the canticles. from the esoteric melisma of Vlad Strigoi.

Ibic 3: "From the Eygues, the water evaporated for the healings of the tormented initiation processes of raising the four Zefian arrows, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron." All rivers flow through the Kabbalistic of the Subclavian, for she upholds the correct uses of the pastoral sermon that would reach the venerated elevation space of the Megaron with her homiletics.

Ibic 4: “This ring was from the antlers of Wonthelimar, here they wore the Oikos or threads of Gold from Orfí, for the Himatión and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a complement to Mycenae- Valdaine ”. The centrifugal speed of the rings yearned for other geographical heights of Valdaine, near Chauvet with the epigraph saying that “all vibrations lead to the Onyon massif, in the mystique of beings that will always lift the trees of the growth variants, such as those that are the medron in the antlers of Wonthelimar.

Ibic 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmatic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's neurological and Duoversal hyper brain twinned with the Mashiach." Universes can be divided into numbers or letters all interacting alphanumeric. The multidimensional Duoverse stipulates that Vernarthian submitology flatters the Kabbalah that clings to the stria of St. John the Apostle "Duoverse" The new universe of Vernarth being apologetic, Jewish and also Hellenistic, therefore skews from our creator and all creative thought theological in all its creation. Divine providence and grace are and will be their hierarchies to have a universal kinship with the Zig Zag Universe that migrated to Duoverso Zig Zag, for the providence of divine powers, who are in this range mercifully allowing and forbidding the splendid power of royalty of manifested Christian meditation.

Ibic 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns of Kafersesuh, bringing the pollinations of the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the gloom of Helleniká and Theoskepasti". The sixth medron or somatotropic nutrient, speaks of a vegetality converted into the tree of life consecutively as the cartilage of the antlers, which was Kabbalah of the random pollinations, but messianic centered in the radius of the islands of Kímolos. The female figure of the twilights was saturated with pollinations of Lepidoptera that looked like their angelic cloudscape.

Ibic 7: “It is the grave voice of the Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the aphonic lexicologies, which inquire about the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise according to the final medron of somatotrophic growth, up to the millimeter shoulder of the assembly of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera del Megaron ”the euphony of the preservation and transformation of Cinnabar will contract the vocalizations or Antiphons in hexameters, as Voices of restructured Sybilas materializing from the six books cremated by Sybilla Cumea, trying to reissue them in the circle of contemplation.
Kabbalah Subclavian Emotional
My upstairs spiraled to her looking glass
in those hand-me-down shoes alight
and would incline on the way down to the street
so this diadem could never faint
yet had swallowed ancient rouses
why he didn't die in a field of clover
with a herd of deer then
as they both arrive just to expose this simplex  
that may fold their wonder many times
but her entirely backless suit met consecutively
with spring base was tapestry in a town of such nomad
as fillies were finally exonerated by his demeanor.
a native Philadelphian could be in a park like Fairmont
kellie anderson Apr 2017
in grade 8 i met a poet who told me that the cure to writers block was to consecutively write down all my thoughts in a time period of 3 minutes. so i've been doing that for the past couple months and somehow they always end up sounding like suicide notes. the way they always start with a story and end in "i'm sorry." wouldn't you have thought that i would have been happier by now?

i've been carving your name into my wrists with silver blades so it feels like you are still a part of me. i have no more tears left to cry so i guess it's time i start bleeding. i'm replacing my emptiness with pain and the exhilaration of death never made me feel so alive.

i have never been good at anything. i thought that maybe loving you could change that but i guess it seems i'm not much use for that either. all i know how to do is make you cry and make you ***. i have never been much good at anything else.
and i finally understand why no one has ever loved me in the ways i love them.
who would ever buy a shirt with stains or a mirror that is fragmented.
who would ever eat a meal half-cooked
or live in a house that has collapsed
and these all seem like such meaningless questions but what i'm trying to say is who could ever love a soul that is bruised.

so i understand.
i understand that everyone needs a valve. everyone needs a pump of oxygen into their lungs, a pump of air from mouth to mouth. everyone needs a life source.
you wanted me because i fit the job requirements but i guess you are starting to realize that you can't steal a heart beat from someone who is far past dead.
so i understand why you are leaving.
and the only words i can push out from my lips,
i'm sorry
megan May 2018
years have passed
we have tried and failed
love and pain felt consecutively

arrogant and dismissive
self delusion throughout
two seperated puzzle pieces
He doesn't like to be noticed but he's impossible to miss and impossible to hang on to.  
You can't tie someone like him down.  
He'd chew off his arm in what you'd perceive as self sabotage,
but for him it's survival.
His freedom is what brings him home to you at night.
Maybe not consecutively but he always come back....always.
All the reasons you come to hate him, resent him, miss him are all the reasons you loved him in the first place.
You loved his intoxicating freedom.
You loved that you could smell it on him.
You loved that when he was close enough
you felt like it was yours.
So you tried to hold him tighter.
Convinced that if you could just make him love you enough he'd stay
Missing that he was loving you as much as he could.
So instead you began killing him.
Resenting him for not being what you needed, even when he was all you ever wanted.
Slowly...watching him die without even realizing it.
Yelling at him.
Screaming at him.
Begging him.
Cursing him.
Causing him to hate who he is because it makes him "broken".
Hating that the pull within him is too strong for him to deny
Breaking his own heart because it was too broken to just love you the way you wanted to be loved
but he loved you...
By the time he had eaten away at half his arm you expected the pain would be too much for him to bare so he'd stay.
Only to watch him run on 3 legs crying out into the night.
Singing her song that called to his being.
He is the wolf.
And she is his moon.
Not even the sea can resist her call.
How on earth could it be expected of he?
Deedz Apr 2017
I walk the fine line between love and hate
Consecutively losing balance and falling
Into the deep abyss of either one
Just to climb my way up and slip right into the other

Every landing just can't seem to arrive any sooner
Consistent with it's tasteless teasing
As if my mind has not sat through enough horrors
I reason with myself, that it probably really hasn't

My vocal chords have no more screams to release
Aware that they would just be consumed by the echoes
From the last time I was there
A shift in amplitude never changed a thing.

And still, I walk the fine line between love and hate
Despite the times my body slams onto the cold, hard ground
For it is the only path I have
To absolute indifference.
Anonymistress Dec 2019
Consecutively eating one meal a day,
despite the knowledge of the physical attributes that come with doing so.
The endless weekend black outs and bathroom floor surrenders.
The sleepless nights lurking for company.
The overwhelming guilt in attempts to start over again.
The three hour long anxiety attacks that cease to subside.
You realize you haven't taken care of yourself;
that numb became such an acceptable state of being.
Found this old gem from a darker time.
Revisiting these words.
full moon Apr 2017
I'm scared and I'm seeing my heart scattered on the ground..
No one is pickling up the pieces
It was only being stumbled and consecutively being stepped on..
I'm broken and yet no one seems to care and fix me..
Bohemian May 2019
When I was born
It is said that have jingled the most in father's lap in nights, swaddled
Only my mother could feed me the cerelac or else I'd spit
Then I was one ,two and three consecutively
At four,I remember my stubbornness for mother's cooked dishes to be as my tiffin
And scolding elders for not picking me up from school such that I had to return by the school bus
At five,I remember complaining for having being paid less attention to and  everything pivotal to my new born brother
At six,I remember feeling old and yet surging and crying to get back early to home from the school
At seven,I remember getting my brother's shoe laces tied by my class teacher's son on the parent's teacher meeting day
At eight,I remember my mother working hard to get me 97 straight A's
At nine,I remember being averted by the admired people and wondering if I could make through
At ten,I remember loving maths and my class teacher a casual lymph
At eleven,things were turned upside down I had to restart
At twelve,by the end of the territory I had already made the way from aversion to appreciation
At thirteen,I found my leader and my stories found a narrator in me ,I was applauded by the crowd for the first time
At fourteen, my distinction was appraised and embraced
That had my mother's pride inflate
At fifteen, I was embellished on the crowns and my lady rediscovered me
Amid it had happened a trauma that I had,initially, considered with hurray
At sixteen,things begin to slip but my faithful guardian held my back every now and then,my mother
At seventeen,she was behind me through thick and thins
At eighteen,she pulled me from shore to pinnacles ,from hither to thither and shown me a world to belong
At nineteen,here I am my mother's braced armor,a scabbard that she's prepared,alongside the several stories of my ultra smart brother who has taught me honesty at the bays.
Jade Lima Nov 2019
Did people lose the ability to use their brains?
It’s a petty web of lies with their ******* games.
They use logic to lie, and common sense to corrupt.
Wasn’t ruining my life already enough?
But no you have to **** me by any means you see fit.
I’ve had it with you people and all of this contorted *******.
But wait the problem is always me.
How many times are you going to use my soul and disorders for your power tripping greed?
So I guess the problem was always all of you.
You get no satisfaction and only murky hues.
Thanks for the 2 years I thought life was good.
But everything else was torment and now all you want is blood.
Well if I could **** you all to hell and make sure you consecutively rot and burn, for all this demented slavery all taking turns.
I’d torture you all to death and make sure you’d never live again.
Stop bringing me back just to **** me over, or is your ruining the quality of life a trend?
You all deserve the worst, hell wouldn’t even make a dent.
So why are you people so awful?
I guess it’s cause your like a cult.
I could never insult any of you enough, leave me out of your ******* and stop making everything my fault.
Jennifer McCurry Feb 2021
Hillbilly Girl

She took the cake
Fat bottomed
Momma slip dressed no shoes
Whiskey’d breathe
(enough to make a cow dizzy)
To her the simple life
Had been a religious pilgrimage
One heavy hillbilly who loved a good bargain
Her Guru Man
(between her thighs he’d lie)
Placing bets with tobacco juices
The piney scent of chainsaw remnant
His perfume
A heady mixture to inhale
For this tiny girl
Her rear had plumped practically overnight
For his poison
Her bottom lip had found
A permanent place to shove itself
(and still her spirit had not taken a hit)
To the hilt she took to the woods
Birthing babies in the holller
(consecutively named after him)
1
2
3
They dropped and rolled into their own
Her bottom got fatter
Her ******* remained high
(one never snubbing the other)
And though her book
Threatened to become a dusty one
It was leather bound
A valuable artifact in her eyes
(no other God would thumb through its pages)
But to the end her Guru Man
Would see it as very well
And so the stones she gathered from living.
Would build her a palace in this backwoods place
Fat bottomed lil Momma
She took the cake
David Zavala Nov 2018
Can you, reader, answer why the lemonade costs 5 dollars?
It’s two dollars and thirty cents at HEB.

At a diner, suggest “Vegeria”
On Broadway, in San Antonio, Texas *.
Only order drinks. But eat before.

I’ve never been to Boston, I don’t know what’s happening there.

But you know, a trampoline in our backyard, The Magik Theatre, mom and pop shops, art classes, a Subaru Forester,

Your heart attack, heavenly enlightenment,

Consecutively,
writing to 20 thousand people, or four,

or maybe it’s space?

Foolish
Jade Lima Nov 2019
There is no amount of suffering any of you could endure, for dragging me through life while wanting nothing but the worst.
How long have you had senseless hate in your eyes?
My existence is petty slavery always leading to my demise.
If I could make you all rot and consecutively burn, for as long as you’ve all desecrated my life and any self worth.
I’d do it without hesitation for every hour, minute and second you’ve strung me along as your puppet like witness.
All I can see is petty lies stemming from hate.
But there was never any real reason until you all filled my eyes up with the very same hate.
Jade Lima Nov 2021
There no place to go.
There's no staircase.
Not down.
Not up.
Just in a ******* spiral.
It's out of ******* control.
And there's no value or sense this despicable universe holds.
Why the hell did I ever care?
I regret giving a **** because no one was ever ******* there.
So I'm the one always gasping for ******* air.
And dying consecutively because no one will ever care.
You people are undeserving ungrateful and ruthless in every sense.
You take with no regard or remorse and you give to make it seem just.
So **** the universe and almost every living being that's still here.
If anyone else comes back, they'll end up just like you vile ***** or end up gasping for fuckomg air.
So as I hope that I reach my final breath, I'll hope that I can first watch you peoples ruthlessly morbidly and brutally despicable deaths for every person you did this to and would never give it a God damm ******* rest.
Yep everyone's ****. And no one sees a single ******* ******* problem in any of their own ******* *******. Yeah. You think I ******* LIKE being like this? No. You're all ****** and you all ruined life, the universe, yourselves and everything in between. JUST LEAVE ME THW ******* ******* ******* HELL ALONE AND STOP GIVIMG ME FORCED ******* GENDER REASSIGNMENT YOU WASTES. OF. GOD. ****. *******. ******. FLESH.🖕
It is raining outside but close to me
it is dry and warm; monsoon
season rests in my chest
rain descends consecutively like each living
second–
one after the other making both, life and rain, seem endless.

the clouds trickle their misunderstood grey-ness into my yogurt bowl sweetening my existence; each droplet a new second held in time so I count: 
 1 - 2 -3 -4 …until I arrive at endlessness, presence and peace)

— The End —