Zigzag Universe says: "I am the space of Devananda" Way of God "and meditation. We know how a great inherited noun “de meditatio” has reflected on the ideas that are reconciled. My numen comes from the Greek Peltast mercenaries, creating survival in the contemplation of standing on those who are not in the fords of the breath of blood. We focus the mind so that the sheep that graze in the meadows fall upon us when we reconcile ourselves to somehow standing, waiting for them lectured here in Archangelos and in placebos of the bread-making gifts of the grasses. Obviously, stability allows us to get colossally on our feet and meditate where we have to sow hopes of meditation and work them with the pleasure of experience, which transports us on spirituality on the lips that are pronounced by the horses that graze, filling their bellies with the idiomatic hopes that transport us to the intellect and the conclusive horse. On the other hand, in contemplation there is more spiritual than intellectual character since it carries an experience and not a conclusion. Philo of Alexandria; Philo Judaeus, being a Hellenized Jew, is our mentor and philosopher star, born in the year 20 BC. He is contemporary to the era of our Mashiach, maker of everything and the neo-universe of Vernarth "Duoverso". The new universe of Vernarth being apologetic, Jewish and also Hellenistic therefore makes of our creator and all the theological creative thinking of all his creation. Divine providence and grace are and will be your superiors to have 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 the royalty of Christian meditation manifested. Those of us who bear his goodness transformed into passion, we are the ones who create his theocratic rise, doing sovereign service, courage, joy and caution of human ethical satisfaction. We surround ourselves with our philosopher Philo for the diaspora, for the benefit and virtuosity of laws that emanate from the One-dimensional Beams of Kafersuseh in Ein Karem. The stoicism of democracies weakens the ungovernable powers of self-wisdom, they decay before those who ignore who they are and will be, under the symbolization of the supposed Jewish leadership of offering their children to the sacrificial altar ambivalently. The warmth of the afternoons in Tsambika increases the macro radius of our zigzag, binding the biblical pages with Platonic Greek philosophy and anti-material stoicism, with goods re-delegated to the natural good where it comes from. Our writings are the inspiration of the demiurge of the embodiment of a bakery recipe in the idea of the lowing of Zeus's stomach, with the solid dissatisfied discourse of not creating more bakery hectares for Stoics and demiurges. Although the thought of Philo permeated the fathers of the ecclesiastical epic, as in its origins in Alexandria, they will be Ambrose of Milan and Augustine of Hippo, with weak influence on the Jewish tradition, particularly in the rabbinic tradition that was born in one or two centuries after his death. Part of this is due to his use of the Septuagint (the Bible translated into Greek) instead of the Hebrew Bible and his allegorical interpretation of the Torah. His work also gives references to religious movements that have disappeared today, such as the Alexandrian therapists. Zig Zag was and will be moved away between time and space, in a world adjusted to the senses that are propelled within the contextual totality, the world and the biosphere framed in the phenomena of the Zigzag Universe, being born on a stellar night when it touched our life the earth, being able to see how the cordial matters of the cosmos caressed its cosmology, making of it its magistracy and descendants of the Hellenic cosmos, in constant caresses of the universe already predisposed to the bing bang, emerging from the other side of the car, observing us and seeing ourselves in the Horcondising face anti-material. We are science that models the energy and matter system in causes of the ancestors, with whom their life and ours sneakily crashed. Gravity made us great paternity in Vernarth, being in the Dodecanese, being a cosmos in the curvature that makes us screen with the moon in its romantic astrophysical swings and with the exaggerated geometry of a zigzag. We are the versatile and multi-dynamic mass that expands simultaneously in the head that pauses in the oaks of the Horcondising of Vernarth and also the time-space that has not been troubled by the origin or the inflammation of the stars that move irregularly in zigzag , for the fractality of its component, which is clearly Aramaic blue light, in circuits of cumulus movements skimming the air, attracting the attention of the entire order of the sleeping universe and making the duplication of the universe itself appear before them; in Duoverso  that is the universe awakened and young of thanks "

Duoverso says: “My distribution of nearby galaxies are keys to the paleo universe already arranged in macrowaves, which are the percentage of the spaces of the Trisolate energy fields, which interact with the Mashiach phylogeny in Gethsemane, now lying in a stagnant decomposed future, in a specific frozen present. My final station is to place the Zigzag Universe on the re-expanding medieval chrestomathy, in qualities of Sub Mythology, already settling here in Archangelos. The implosion of my gravity has created worlds of visibility of great astronomical yearnings, in some fractions of time zigzagged by millions of fractured light-years, like an irregularity that resembles the measurements of everything quantifiable, being science or not, acquiring from the hexagonality, the primogeniture of the passage that from Jerusalem goes to Bethlehem, where the Davidian prism, in whose Original is attributed a fractal of the two-dimensional shape of a line of the Mediterranean fractal coast, resembling the gems of the crown of King David to that of the Messiah, seeming to be similes, but of irregular geometric formats. To build gems in landscape spines, basically subdividing themselves into equal conical funnels and then being randomly displaced towards their central point shared with King David's crown, recursively repeating it in each square until the desired level of detail is reached, in the curve that joins the landscape to Bethlehem and then to the Church of the shepherds in its fractured hexagonal base, simulating to be snow falling on the top of the roofs, wherein the Kafersuseh manger, the Mashiach was born and died in the abstraction of the Beams One-dimensional in foreign eyes, eroding those who are mortals and do not see you with divine eyes in self-likeness of our hysteria of the failed plan to increase the size in the unknown geometry of this new dimension in the implosive movement of the Verthian Duoverse. The nature of the snowflakes in Bethlehem are natural fractals, detailed in their nature and in natural infinity. Here the new privileged world for self-similarity in the mental and cosmogonic functions of Vertnarth was envisioned, at intervals in each space of gloomy clouds, bringing accelerated bombs of messaging from Gethsemane among mutated olive trees towards other humans. My correlation is an infinite fractal with the reversible observable time and with the pattern belonging to mobile echoes of a space, which is occupied by Vernarth as multi-study and integers between fractional integers”

Hyperdisis: “Finite is the curvature, between the time that walks between the jungle of the Duo Universe as an alternative of energy Zigzag and Duoverse, which triggers our observable world what a great eye is, which ignores and knows extreme distant and focal parts of the One-dimensional Beams of Kafersuseh in Ein Karem, since the Duoverse is the trial Universe that the Mashiach had before coming to the Holy Land, provided by my form of Hyperdisis escorting him. I go in arduous colors in gradient for its limits of positions of verbality, and solutions of physical fields, interwoven by an external gravitational means. The macrowaves are exposed matter not contained in the abrupt changes of the optical selection of the Mashiach with the One-dimensional Beams, attracting selection crystals to atomize them, in the fears of reaction and recreation of multiform plasma saviors of Christian cosmic. Examining the double of the macrowaves and the equation of them on the axial of the universe turned into Duoverse, already in millions of light-years will continue in the Duoverse, for ectoplasmic reconversion with great margins of assertiveness. The cartography of hyperdiction, is the correction of the error of the current universe, losing itself, in the second thousandths of figures that separate us from the Universe, but all being more than time ... !, we are left at the expense of the wick of all electro-matter "

The sub-mythology having already been constituted, Hestia appears, having taken a great nap. When she appeared before Vernarth in Tsambika, she was seen changing in size, when she was six meters away she looked dwarf and when she was two meters from him she looked monumentally giant, but with a versatile countenance, therefore she was already appreciated in the last steps, with the domestic figure of a Goddess who emanated light-years from the chimneys of her habitable galaxies. The critical immanence that would happen would be the perfectible plan for the Zig Zag Universe and the Hyperdisis, bringing torn words for those who were approaching the main altar of Vas Auric, which was in a great proscenium ratio in the vicinity of Tsambika, between the Mind / Meditation for a constant mechanism of Wisdom / Meditant, according to the cosmological constant, leading perhaps to the beginning of a decade and third universe called Triverse. The oscillations of all these fantasies, Vernarth observed, but he knew that he would have to collide with these worlds finally already precipitated and of temperature that acted on the average of the normal range, therefore it was imminent to mutate it to the provisional Christian Duoverse, which goes backward advancing between the rapid lights of creation. Immediately afterward, the Universe has torn apart and lost among those around it, establishing itself in units millions of years of lightly compressed in the piccolo Aulos, which Hestia carried in one of its golden hands, in its Prytaneion, igniting with the flames of the heart of fire and of the passion of consanguineous love, "Prytaneum", paved by the light of the clarity of faith of the owners of the hamlets that were founded when they arrived in Tsambika, in search of Vas Auric, cheering with the omphalos stone, which marks the navel of the world with the challenge of wandering towards the island of Delos in the daily warmth of a spring afternoon in Rhodes. She is a woman with veils on her face, always walking to and from her virginal abode, in the house of foolish or vestal virgins, there is no Hestia, only perhaps there are some similar ones staying in the cold fire of her menopause, losing fertility afterward. to be swallowed by her father, and then expelled from himself, regurgitated in candle flames, of love in a blessed house full of immunity, giving the Duoverse another geometric category with angles never contained, sliding vibratory between distances that deduct minutes from Hestian space, for the purpose of approaching its finiteness, and inaugurating the sub- finite, which will never be a source of termination in a puzzling end of equationally physical unfinished time. This consolidates the Duoverse in Duouniverse, expressed in figures that moderate the length of a physical state before it is finished and restarted in a process that does not end (sub-finite)

Saint John the Apostle says: "Not even death recognizes the dimension of the universe when it detaches itself from the capsule of the body ..., less from the Duouniverse ..., making at night what is day and what is a day at night"

Vernarth says: “I am being reborn, the variety of times between myself and myself, are you. In my new creation and Duo-universality, with rules that angle my thoughts where my muscles did not reach. Today we are plagued by invasive objects of new creation, and in particular, I feel them bustling with the wrinkling of the strings of the balalaikas that I had in Moscow, with flat thoughts and now with flat atonements that I do not know, but my courage climbs where they fear me. be poor of feared value. Rather greater fear on a larger scale and related limits where infinite dramatic areas fade away almost make me an atheist in atheism. The ribs of time, gropingly, are oversized, in the ribs of the five-fold dimension of the Duoverse that imagines my curved, over-curved world, not knowing how to reach the line that allows me to know it head-on and full, on the coast of light that If now I see the Mashiach in Gethsemane, in the Olives Bern, walking straight ahead towards me, with another starting point going back, but I being in the creation that for God the light of himself towards the stars that are reconverted into stars, in all addresses calling each other. "

I need only to smirk and you’re mine
Anytime
If it’s god that you want
I have dozens in mind
Devilishly divine
Bending time like a grandeur delusional
Spine  

In a mad hatter ectoplas-mystical slime
A prismatic drug addict’s first nursery rhyme
Of accursed hearse verses of graphic design
Now to lay to rest intellect spectacles musing
Of selves glorified more than those of my choosing
To deify Destiny’s
Deathly serenity
Plentifully sending me vibrant surprises
And penning my ending in violent demises
Disguises surmised by the climate arises
Girl always there riding my similar waves
As I try to save face digging mechanized graves

But the cloud tentacles
To the depths
Drag me down
To demented ascension
Black holes in the ground
Where disciples of light
And my huntress in white
Vivify me by day
Resurrect me at night
To instruct and deduct
Reasoning in a state
Of a being supreme
Contemplating its fate

Every course should be marked on content.
In todays schooling we ask students to write final essays or regular essays to discuss their knowledge in a specific topic. However, marks are deducted for minor sentence errors, grammatical errors and style errors. But does that mean they don’t have sufficient knowledge about the topic or that the content of the essay does mean standards? No. Students lose marks for unrelated reasons. Grammar is not content. Grammar is grammar. Content could be excellent while the grammar is horrible. Philosophers potentially had the worst grammar ever, however we have glorified their thoughts for centuries.
This is where schooling has changed. And this is how schooling needs to change. Writing an essay is irrelevant to knowledge about a topic. Writing skills and understanding of content do not intertwine. If I wanted someone to apply knowledge they learned from a topic an essay is perhaps a very irrelevant way of doing so. Why judge someone on something that is, in today’s society exposed to interferences? Interferences such as grammatical errors.
If I wanted to know someones knowledge about a certain topic and wanted them to apply logic and theories they learned from courses, why not talk to them rather than using paper as a pigeon to share ideas? If it was spoken I can’t say “you lost marks because you didn’t put a period here and a comma there.” If it is spoken, you will still be able to notice if the student understands the topic. This way there is not interferences. It is strictly about content of knowledge and the students ability to apply what they have learned into specific views about a question I would have for them.
If I asked a teacher to have a class discussion where everyone had input, how would the teacher grade them? On quality of their answer, and clarity. Clarity being their ability to get to the point. However, if it is not clear, can the student make it clear for the rest of the class? Because what sometimes isn’t clear for one person, could be unclear because they are not as intelligent to be able to understand. The other student might not be so stupid because he said it in a way that is unclear. Maybe the listener is stupid because they didn’t understand? However, if the student can make it clear then their quality of the answer enhances and they will receive a higher grade.
For instance, if this was a formal essay that attempted to answer “What is wrong with schooling?” I would lose marks because I asked questions. Asking questions for some reason is not allowed? Is it informal? No. But society tells us we shouldn’t ask questions we should instead assume something and make a statement because that imposes confidence in a thought. But, if I was questioning certain aspects of something would that prove that I have sufficient knowledge towards one topic? Wouldn’t that impose that I have enough knowledge to understand details and question them? But hey, don’t formulate that statement in a question. It’s stupid. Question everything because you will never know all the answers regardless of all the resources.
By discussing a topic, the answers are direct. Content may vary depending on how much the student learned (providing the teacher is good at teaching and the proper course are in place). If the student struggles to understand a topic it will be evident in the quality of their answer. We can still see if the student is trying too hard (which is never a bad thing to set the standard high, shoot for the stars), or if the answer they have is someone else’s because they aren’t necessarily answers that they would have or words that they would use. But that is an assumption. Never assume, instead question. We can still notice if the student paid attention the course lectures and successfully answered the topic question with detail, reference, questions, relations, and application of knowledge that was taught to the student.
Just because a student can’t write a thought out on paper, does not mean they didn’t understand it. **** I used contractions, I would lose more marks there as well. See what I mean, a highschool teacher would tell me that I can’t say “Can’t” I was supposed to say “Can not” because that is formal. What is formal? Who said that is formal? Jim Joe Bob down the road? Who cares, does the student understand the topic or not? Stop docking marks for things unrelated to the subject.
If this was a writing course it would be understood why a student would lose marks for grammar and word choice and sentence structure or clarity. But students lose marks in History essays for word choice, and in political science for forgetting a period and in gender studies for saying “you” in a final essay. These are unneeded reasons for losing marks. At the end of the day does the student understand the historical importance of the topic? Or does the student understand the importance of the judiciary amongst the political system? Or does the student understand that sexism will only negatively impact society? If no, then he or she gets a bad mark, if yes, they get a good mark. Stop making up reasons for bad marks.
However, one will say; “Well what if the quality of the essay is so ****** I can’t even understand their knowledge?” This proves the instability of essays. Don’t ask for an essay. Ask to talk to the student about the topic. You’ll know if he or she understands. Just like when you go to a retail store and ask for advice about a product. We know if the associate knows what they are talking about, if they have no idea or if they are just telling us what they learned from training (which isn’t bad). Teachers potentially train students in a certain area. Why not ask a question which enforces them to apply the knowledge which they gained from the training to their answer? The teacher will know if the student knows what they are talking about (because they paid attention in training/class) or if they have no idea (because they did not understand or pay attention). Even if they retell you everything that was taught to them. Don’t they know something about the answer? Yes, it’s not the most enriched content because it was your own words but the student learned something right? Isn’t that why they go to school? To learn?
Another will say; “But we can’t escape writing. We have to do it everyday. A person must know how to write.” Fair. But why not teach writing in a writing course? One where the student will be marked on their ability to be clear in writing, or their ability to be grammatically correct, or their word selectiveness, or the sentence and paragraph structure. This seems like an appropriate course to deduct marks for incorrect application of knowledge. However, another person will ask; “then how do you teach structure and grammar?” Through exercises. Ask them to write a paper. Go through assignments as a class, encourage class participation and discussion. If the student doesn’t talk, the teacher will know what they understand therefore, how are they to give them anything but a bad mark? It’s at the student’s discretion but the proper systems need to be in place.
An example; how many people have gotten a paper back, looked at their grade and put the paper away? Did not even look at the corrections or suggestions for reasons why the mark was so poor or decent? Every one. Why not give a student a second chance? Why not scare them to do their best? Try this: Ask students to answer a question, any question. Have them hand it in 10 days from the assigned date. Students who want a good mark will use their time wisely to proof read, get the proper references and apply the correct knowledge. Students who want to get by will start two nights before. Once the papers are handed in, edit them. Once finished, return them without a mark. Wait for the students reaction. They will come up to you asking “what’d I get?”, “why isn’t there a mark?”. Tell them that, they aren’t getting a mark, they need to read the corrections and implement them. Have the paper due in three days. Once the papers are submitted, grade them. There will be less grammatical errors. At least for the students who took the time to read the corrections and implement them. The students who did not, will not receive a high grade a potentially face the threat of a failing grade. Hand the papers back with grades. Once this is done, ask for them to write another essay on a different topic. A topic such as “Should capital punishment be reinforced in Canada?” This topic is ok because you can write about any topic, its still writing. Writing is not confined to topics such as grammar, story writing or essay writing. Writing has infinite topic possibilities. But once the essay topic is given out, tell them they have 10 days to hand it in. Once handed in, give them a grade. Don’t give the chance for editing this time, and see if there is less errors for each student, ask to sit down with them and compare the errors that were made. In this way the student will learn and most importantly remember why and why not to write in certain structures while adding certain grammatical content.
With this exercise the student will learn how to clearly write, but it will take a while. It should be mandatory that students take a writing course throughout elementary and secondary school because the statement is true “we cannot escape writing”. Everyone must know how to write. But in society we struggle to remember that, just because someone can’t write something doesn’t mean they do not understand the topic. If I was to ask Einstein to write a topic on the differences of between time and space in APA format, His content would very well achieve high academic standards but his grammar and format would be god awful. It would be horrendous. He did not know how to write in specific manners, he would use his resources to learn but that was because from what we know he wanted to achieve in the highest manner possible. But he understood the content, and isn’t that what is most important? O the other hand, if I asked him to tell me about the topic, would it be more credible? Would it blow someone’s mind because they couldn’t take away marks. He would receive 100% on everything because he understood the content. That’s all that matters. For those who want to write, take writing courses. Or in today’s society, every context course is a writing course, as students are not be graded on their quality, rather, they are being graded on writing abilities. So to conclude, are we teaching history, science, politics, law, child and youth studies or are we just teaching students how to write without expanding their knowledge of the topic. We can’t base content off of what is written down,  interferences are infinite. ****, I used “can’t”. Sorry.

Day One filled with grace
An urge to fulfill
The purpose of birth-
Losing that which
Keeps the path hidden

Resolutions are waged
To add to or to deduct from-
And the bundle carried
Is lighter, for the path
Taken requires less

fire within burning
Shedding light to the path-
Path becomes less foggy
As the fire continues to burn
Welcome Brand New 2016

Used to talk about the winds of change
Blew so hard dreams out of range.
A poster child for too much too fast
A lifestyle that can’t possibly last.
Too many regrets and not enough memories
Shame in my heart makes me weak in the knees
That girl
was never what I wanted to be
That girl
has replaced my identity
This cycle of mistakes than cycle of forgiveness
All because of one innocent kiss
That turned into too much too fast.
Now is my present my future my past
A definition hard-pressed to overcome
Is this an experience I will learn from?
My value is priceless I know this for fact
But what happens when imagined reality turns into act
Does it count? Deduct worth? Hold steady forever?
May have blacked out once but forget it never
Smile on my face song in my heart
Has become the biggest lie, what a false start
My life lacks truth, commitment, and redemption
I need self-control and freedom from temptation.

You,
Add as an ornament me,
I often be ashamed that.

Because,
Yours levities are
About me only
Bear a burden you
Don’t know my deep affection.


At your shadow war
Use as weapon me,
And my nearness
Make as precaution you.
In the flow of season
Me and you
Twist in two way.
You as in
And I also out.
Thus we are
Become goddess and slave.

Now,
I am deduct my life
Wear out olden memories
In this stepping stone.
And you; brooding
In golden veil of dreams
No blossom at anytime
On your dreams
Don’t get my thoughts
And journey words.

At the village ways
In soften silence
Small ants getting
For worship
They are coming
With a row
And roosting
My wet chest
I like it
Because,
They wish
Friendship with me

Am I become whose saviour?
Answer of this question is
Now my research topic
In this evening
Remove you my friendship.
When you re wear it?
Until then,
In freezes dew
Like cursed stone
Me alone
Trembled
Stiffed......
========== C N Kumar.

all i wish for
are your wings ;
( great. powerful. endless flights through places i would call home, just me and just my thoughts and just the wind. )

all i wish for
is your beak ;
( sharp. different from a human mouth. responding and calling out every wordless sound i want to scream to the world. )

all i wish for
are your paws ;
( carry me as far as you can )

but i am not you
i don't have your wings
                             or beak
                             or paws
                             or what i wish for most of all

( let me tell you the most striking thing: reading an interpretation of you, learning about how you could possibly, probably, maybe predict and detect and deduct lies, never being fooled, gazing at people, being able to gauge their sincerity with just a sharp threatening sweep, of your eyes. )


                              most of all i wish for your eyes.

(3 hours. 3 years. A lifetime.)

1. 'and the Doctor said, "are you saying you feel guilty unless you are hungry?"
Discuss, with reference to the roles of female c haracters in the American moderns, particularly  to Plath's representation of Esther in The Bell Jar , the relevance of this quote to your adolescent development.

(10 marks)


2. Should a poet's work invariably utilise enjambment or read in sequence, allowing the poet freedom to let the poetry find it's own form?
(Candidates are encouraged to explore the source to which the question above alludes, and to formulate an original argument with an effective use of rhetorical devices to communicate it,)

(8 marks)


3. Elucidate your role as a daughter, then compare and contrast it with your role as a student. Use quotes directly taken from personal experiences and your own examples to clairfy your explanation.

(5 marks)


4. They are all looking at you and laughing at you. You are a joke. You are hallucinating and haven't slept in days. How does this make you/the reader feel and do you think this was a part of your plotline intended to elicit a particular response?

(5 marks)


5. Love is not unconditional. Discuss.

(10 marks.)


6. "To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering."
This famous quote by Nietzsche presents him as a nihilistic and misanthropic individual. Do you see him in this light or can you find hope in his hopeless stance? Use examples of your own suffering to corroborate your viewpoint.

(8 marks)


7. Is morality a prerequisite for appreciation of art? Are you? Are you appreciating/appreciated? Discuss.

(10 marks)


8. Calculate the 369th digit of pi as the fractal proxy to represent the infinite worlds contained witin each human being, and in doing so determine the contribution that you and the offspring you will most probably never have cannot contribute to the world shared between the infinite number of individuals posessing their own words, continuing on to deduct your own value from that of the mean value of the population considered in this infinite data set and draw up a graph to visually demonstrate the extent to which the world doesn't need you.

(15 marks)


9. Using the individual calculations formulated in question 8, derive the meaning of Y.

(5 marks)


10. Draw the shape of your sadness

(20 marks)


11. Don't you think you should have learnt by now?

(25 marks)


12. Explain what you are hoping for, and substantiate your hopes with empirical support.

*(5 marks)

This is the part I hate,
                                the part
                          where we divide  
                                             assets,

                                 divide memories,

                                          oh, I remember this CD,

                                        we danced and laughed

                        twirling round and round.


                                                        ­ Would you like half of that,

                            or how about the way our little girl

                                   learned how to ride her first                                          

                                   bike and the time we lost our first child,


                    the many times
      I've bailed you out,

                            the uncountable tears shed
                       for each one of your

                    lies and affairs.


            How do I give you half
         of what's left

                          when you've taken
        the very best of me,

                                like my trust & unconditional love,

                            the way we'd sit with out
        a word,

          our minds spoke to each other,
                               maybe
I can divide the many times
          
            we made love
and you'd finish before I did,                                                             ­                    the many friends
                I've given up

                         because you felt left out,
                              & didn't want them around
                or the many nights of
isolation when you went out...


                    We should
separate  & divide
                           the moments

                                        when sparks flew
                             day one at that BBQ
                       You  & I were best friends,

                           we'd even finished each others sentences,
                               sometimes a gesture a glimpse
                        or a look was all it took,
no words
             and we most times then not understood...

14 years I knew the good man
the best friend, You divided him,
                            
                           Vows said and brown eyes
              held mines for 11 years
                                              8 of them were so blissful,
                                 3 of them were unbearable
after you slept with my best-friend
                  
          because
                      you couldn't compete with me
                                                            ge­tting my education
                      why compete
                                      when you had already won,

                  never were you second
                                                    until you put you self there.
                

I can't believe it's come to this,

                                                 *but I should of expected,
                    since
           you've always had
                                         one foot out the door,
                                  like you
               didn't belong here.

Can you divide
                   the many times
                                           we'd have a fight
                                                   for the most silliest & unimportant things
like who ate the last piece of cake
                                                   or who dranked my apple juice
           the making up was so good.

                                                   How about
                   the times we traveled

            and because of me
you got to go to Canada
                     for father's day June 2008

or travel every where east...


            Let's tally up and separate
                            the times
                                    we've danced to no music

                         or made snow angles,

             the times we spent on
                         a mountain top
                                       cuddled by a camp fire,

                                                      the stories of us
                                isn't pose to be over

                                            but  how
                       can we now
         deduct all this, write it up on sheets of paper

            who gets which memories,
                                          who take with them this much
                                             good & bad history?

            The many love letter's
                                            hand written to each other

                                                long before you ever went to jail,
or the times when
               we'd lay in bed & just laugh
                                                     talking of nothing important,


                can they-- them lawyers calculate
                                            and divide the many miscarriages

                    caused by your stress,

                                or the many times your voice carried hate for me,

                        or the times we've  had *** in the lake,

            the first time on your face
                                       when you seen your first ocean,
                                               & the New York high-rises.

                                 The tear you cried on
                                                            th­e day we were married,
                                         or how about
                            they divide the way you told me
                                                        you no longer loved me
                           you never wanted me
                                     and our marriage has run it's course,

           like most have done and said to me-- you told me

            my best wasn't ever good enough,


how she'll always in your eyes

        be way better than me

but you, still after saying this **** didn't leave...


                        Let's not forget our very first kiss

                                    you sunk it and yet my head reeled.


                                        Can we divide the many nights
            you'd hold me

            for no reason at all
                  or when we first dated & you'd call,

                                            member we talked
                                                          ­on the phone until      
                                  the   break of dawn,    
    our very first fight--
yo *** came to my house
                                   & slept at my door

and promised ever to hurt me.


                Too late
O'too late for regrets when

                    those promises weren't all the way met,

                    because we can't divide

        the lonely nights
   the hitting me and cheating,

                 the hours staying up wondering

if you're alright,
the many times our  
          girls begged me
                      not to leave you.


                    To give daddy just  
one more change, please mommy

                or the many times they've
   felt it was because of them

                         things went from  
  great,
ok,
        to terribly bad,

            or the many
memories of you

                        and that beautiful smile and how

                                            you lit up their world

                     yet sadly teaching them how a man treats a girl,


how for now on anytime
they think their in love

                    it'll be your ****** up
                                   ****** off mistreatment

they'll be reminded of.


                                Remember when  you told our girls you'd

                                    always be there,

                    right here for them & even me,

the many times they'd wake up
from a nightmare
you'd
        sooth all
their worries & doubts,

or even the time's
I'd wake screaming?


                        You'd hold me
tightly & so close,

        but little did I know
the screams
that woke me
                       would be from  the
membrance of

            Us & the disappointment

            I now feel for ever falling
           for you!

Can You Divide?


Always Me K.Ayeshah ®
Copyright 1977 - Present ©
K.A.C.L.N ©
All right reserved ®

I can't believe that every freakin day I wake up thinking of those circles and go back to bed late night getting somewhere lost inside those comic strips. It has always been there at the back of my head for the past few years, but when it started to bite my conscience, I began to solve the puzzle, little every day. These days I sit in the library, stare at my computer screen, deduct lanes, find faces, trace stores and calculate the kilometres that my mind travels in a minute. It makes me high somewhere and trust me, technology amuses me every time I crack one little clue and reaches one step ahead in solving my mystery. Yesterday night, I was watching NASA's live announcement on the discovery of seven earth sized planets and for a moment I thought what if my mystery fell right out of Tardis. Who knows.

I woke up so early to work
Sometimes I don't even see my kids before going to work due to I might be late for work
Working early and going home late
My kids are right when they called me uncle instead of dad
That's madness in the highest order
I don't have time for my family but only for that man who hated me with passion
Yet I work for the growth and development of his company
That's madness

Working for someone who does not value nor care about my professional growth
Working for the man who always deduct my money whenever I attend class for my personal and professional growth which will also help his company
Yet I still work for this man
That's madness
There are many other companies out there
Yet I can't leave this monster am working for
That's madness

But yet I still have to do the job
Because I needed the job for money
I was called all sorts of name yet I responded yes sir accepting all the insult just for the sake of money
I give my best to the man who will never want me to be my own boss

If am told am mad will I argue it? No
If am told am insane of course the person is right about me
Worked under him for five years and no promotion and salary increment
Yet am still working with him

Madness is not when you run naked in the streets and started picking dirts on the floor
I said to my self
Am mad
And I know now
Which means is a step to solving my madness
I have to leave this monster
I have to leave this blood ******* vampire
I have to leave this man without human feelings

That was the solution to my madness

What's yours?

Hold your assumptions
Do not surmise or deduct
That because you are not
The keeper of her affection
That she is heartless
She has a heart that beats
In the hand of another
And she holds his
Shaking but without hesitation
And they have stood like this
For the span of one year
Waiting to see which one of them
Would rip the other's out first

I know a girl or two.

There's the girl that will dance.
She will mend your withering bones,
and deduct the sticks from the stones
But the teal and black
will always bring memories back.

There's the girl that will lie.
Your adolescent hand
held tighter by a broken rubber band.
The queen of "would-be"
indifferently using your insecurity
as a blunt tool of jealousy.

There's a girl who will give you hope.
Indirectly teaching you everything
while transforming your dreams
into bits of meaningless string.
The apathy with every rainy night,
the cracked fingernails and
every hollowed-out fight.

There's a girl who will actually care.
She'll  waltz and she'll swing
and her open wounds will sing.
A hand to help open the cocoon-
the glowsticks that lit up
the unyielding light of the moon.

There's a girl that will tease.
Opening her scabby heart,
taking a hit,
and a forgetting the broken part.
She won't care if you're there;
she'll show her bruises anywhere.

But most importantly,
there's a girl you haven't met yet.
She's tethered in between
your adolescent regret
and everything unseen.
Your journey towards finding her light
is only slightly out of sight.

I know a girl or two.
But the one I haven't meant yet
is the one who will give my life
it's dormant, yet effervescent hue.

I'm a dreamer, it's the fact
This is what I'm able to deduct
After looking at my special tract
My dreams are like seeds, protected by a bract
'cause I wanna shine, due to my powerful tact

I shall fly, like a shiny bright light
I'm gonna be, in the perfect sight
Am still hoping, and I want to fight
Until my dreams will be accomplished, to be allright
I stayed awake, awake overnight
You couldn't know how I feel, because it's so tight
And deep in my heart, isn't that right

Listen to me carefully, mate
There's no time for us to wait
Our dreams to be real, we'll be so late
We must get them out, 'cause they're innate
Yes you believe me, we're all able to change our fate

So I stumbled upon HP one day,
not really, I fell face first
with a glass of wine in my hand
giggling like a school girl
except that uniform hadn't fit in
30 years so it was kinda more like
a 50 year old stripper pretending
she can actually still giggle without crying.
I made a few friends, well, I say friends but we were all ******
working the same lame dead corner

Of course, some of us went on to marry well and some just felt they
could no longer worship a vengeful
God and probably stuck a knitting
needle in their eye, or something.
I'm not going to name names here!

Let's just say one went onto fame,
self publishing was cool way before
YOU ever thought of it and another
just yanked the chain around their neck so hard you never even heard
their spine crack and then one dear
friend got ganked by their own self importance.

Trust me *******!!! THAT is a loaded gun.

But this is all Ancient History to the
those that were born during the
I Love Myself with Hate or
I Cut Myself with Love era.
I'm talking about friendships
that fossilise over time
creating deeper bonds than
I love you, no, I love you, no I love you times

So, watching all those that couldn't hack the pace of the streets died
one by one.
Marriage, Suicide, Shot in the Foot
until the brain bleed out,
they all fell like over bloated flies
gorging on the rancid meat left lying around.
A few survived the sickness by purging,
You know, when you stick your fingers down your throat and expel the garbage from within except,
that kind of concept can be deadly
when you have blood red ****** nails...
The remaining 'Oh Heavenly Father, why do you forsake me' ones
retreated to the HP Elysium Fields, passing on their wisdom to a baby kind that will never care about anything but their own grandiose style of taking a dump in the wilds of cyberspace.

So ****** days sadly came to an end at the fork in the road,
yes peeps, pun intended
until one day, I met a guy that ran me over,
literally hit me with a car and left me
a ****** mess, stood over me and said
"How much ***** and you better deduct dollars for the dent in my front fender"
As I chewed on my blood red ****** nails and spat teeth into the street
I offered him a hand and he said
I'll take that and your mouth and
let's see what you can do with
that heartbeat
We drove to the Motel Dive
and I asked him if he knew where all the other hookers had gone from the same lame corner where we all carved our own slices of heaven and he threw me down to the ground and ripped off his shirt.
Upon his flesh was carved each of those names that I had once kicked up heels with, ****** around and laid under the street lamp with,
watching all the little preppies in their pretend Oldsmobiles cruise by without a single worry on their shoulders except for the boulder sized chips and
their own inadequacies riding shotgun on their lips.
The one HP friend that threw me to the ground and carved my name upon their flesh is also the one who resurrected me.
But I think he may have killed all the other ones but, they were dead before they knew it!
But hey!
Hell is where all your friends are right?

I'm in self destruct mode
I'm about to explode
Stand back folks, watch the show

I'll drink like a fish without any gills
Don't try to figure out all my ills
As I swallow down a handful of pills

This self destruction I will not fight
Hell, I don't even remember last night
Needless to say, my head's not right

Slam some Jack and his old friend Jim
I'm seeing double and it's getting dim
I think I just might be on the rim

I'm in self destruct
Please over look my conduct
As more pieces of my being, I must deduct

Parts of me must die
It hurts, so I'll do it on high
Body on the ground, spirit's in the sky

Feet firmly planted in self destruction grind
Like a vampire craving the sunshine
If you look now, you'd be horrified at what you find

Needles in vains
Like pills down the drain
Anything to stay insane

I'm in self destruct mode
I'm about to explode
Stand back folks, watch the show

Bad habits form like sins
Less than a month and you’re already stuck
It’s from the moment you begin
.
Some say they can be broken- with some discipline
But knowing the type of person I am, my body would erupt
Bad habits form like sins
.
A few uneasy starts and you’re already hooked- much like heroine
Simple reasoning, and I can deduct
It’s from the moment you begin
.
Other routines start to seem so foreign
When your dance with the devil begins to corrupt
Bad habits form like sins
.
Your everyday life will start to fall apart, left in ruins
The time you got hooked will leave you dumbstruck
It’s from the moment you begin
.
You can sit and search for hours of the origins
But still fail to see the beginning of this misconduct
Bad habits form like sins*
It’s from the moment you begin

I haven't written about anything serious lately. My mind is pretty occupied these days. I really don't know the reason behind MLA format, why deduct points because I didn't double space. I don't know, it's not so important. Everything is blurry sometimes, reality is pretty awesome once you get the hang of it. Winter is coming, I haven't really bought anything warm in a long time. I don't really regret diving into the ocean of psychedelics, I just think it was really stupid of me to get caught up in them. I'm walking by a group of adults smoking cigarettes, I love the smell. I don't really know why, but it reminds me of a lonely winter in a forest. Maybe one day I'll fully understand why I can never write about one subject at once. Until then, the art of life will be in the same paragraph with the art of death. I was reading this artical on the internet, and it said that the most natural way to die is to die the same way you came out from your moms wound; crying and covered with blood. I've thought of the many ways that could possibly happen, it wasn't that heroic. I'm remembering so much at the moment. I never want to feel any doubt, I've had enough of that. I just want to make people laugh with my stupidity, and have a lot of ***. I love sharing thoughts with people, but sometimes I love the satisfaction of being the only one that has access to them. I stopped relying on people this year, I feel different. My priorities are starting to get together throughout time. Keep my heart baby, keep my heart. I found love finally. I used to be buried in whatever feeling that was when we stared at eachother. Although I will never face it, everything I love is going to leave me one day, and that's just real **** I'll say with no doubt, but what's the point? I will always feel for eveything.

I've only been good at logic puzzles
But this is a puzzle I can't get
These little ones that rattle in a box
And sit on my shelf, simply untouched
Those put-together puzzles
With the frustratingly beautiful blue sky
Frustrating because somehow it all fits together
But I can't tell if this is a cloud
Or a bird
Or maybe dust because I haven't touched it in a while.
It'll be a pretty blue sky and field
With pink flowers and red trees
So maybe it's late autumn
Or fall accidentally forgot it was supposed to be spring
But either way its frustrating
Because there aren't any solid lines in this puzzle
And I can't deduct any solid answers
So I do the only thing that seems somewhat sane
I give up
I put the box back
To let the clouds collect more dust
And let the lines on the pretty red trees
Become more indistinguishable
I put the box back so I can pick it up later
And hope that maybe next time
The lines will be a little more clear to me.

The miss and hit and miss and
kiss it all goodbye,
the men who **** the men
who die who die to ****,
and do you think that this will ever end,
will
it
never end.

Destroy,construct,demolish,deduct
and in the finale, the big shebang another
gang will come along
so, say so long
the parties have gone to another parlay
another role play
an acting for the actors class,
another show,it must go on,the hit
and miss, the **** and orange juice
so what's the use of this abuse,
an utter
waste of time.

Most guys lead away from being themselves...
As if attaching from their bodies to live to be someone they aren't only to get women..
Fitting in to be accepted, as if you said, "Let me not be who I really am.
There's a girl I've been digging since freshman year but the guys she likes, I'm nothing like them...
I mean I bought her flowers, but I'm not the most muscular, I'm thin and I'm slim.
Well maybe if I tell her she's a bad *****, I'm considered cool...
Let me deduct her with these words, since it's the norm to be cruel...
I mean, I see the other dudes do it and everything seems right.
Let me wear the latest Jordans since that's what these girls like..
Sag my pants down low, yeah they like that sight..
Get that Gucci belt? Yeah I might!
Bring her closer to me, and she'll be catching my flight.
I need to look flashy, I'll rent a Mercedes, and get that club booth...
Throwing money in the air, showing off my gold tooth.
Buy her the latest drinks, she's now drunk and feeling mused.
Body all golden lying sluggish in my bed...
The girl I once bought flowers is now about to give me head...
I mean I thought she was beautiful but now she looks used.
Eyes low as mine but I like this view.
I mean I thought she liked nice guys but she's probably just confused.
I feel a little bad but my ego surely doesn't.
Besides I'm drunk and high, and I've been sipping on robitussin.
She sees a guy that cares, though now all I want is to be pleased."
Thinking to yourself like "who is this guy I've became, it's no longer me..."
I then forget those thoughts as she  slowly gets on her knees.
The feeling I felt, she had brains on her like a college scholar.
I mean she did graduate top of her class and this pleasure was an honor roll...
The way she rolled,
her tongue on the tip.
The feeling I felt, in each and every grip.
Am I falling through lust, this girl is too much.
Do I love the feeling or am I saying I love her...
I started to say "I luhhhh"then The feeling made me slur..
It suddenly hit me, and I remembered where I met her..
The same girl I couldn't get being myself...now has her face in my lap!
All from a club..where I had to impress her at...
That same church girl, that's supposedly Christian..
I met her in the club and she indeed did sin.
To step away from being a gentlemen is now what most women find attraction in...

I want to pay him back.
I want him to feel my pain.
I want him to feel what it is like to have your bones uncontrollably shake.
I want him to know what it is like to go without eating for 3 days.
I want him to feel what it is like to be choked
until your head starts to pound.
I want him to know what it is like to feel nails cutting your knees.
I want him to know what it is like to be told
you are the reason a family is failing.
I have had to feel all of these.
I have dealt with so much more than he can even remember.
I am no monster.
I am better than he ever was  and will ever be.
I will be the son who stops the line of abuse,
the train of pain.
I will not be the one to deduct respect
for ******* a ***** in the wrong direction.
I am a man.
I want revenge.
He Will feel my revenge,
my wrath,
my pain.


some day.

.
We deduct from the equations, strategies and situations and a
vacancy arises in the house of few surprises,
you apply.

don't know why I never thought before to turn the handle on each door instead of ripping hinges off the walls,
but we learn or burn from our mistakes,
for some it takes a bit more time,
two drops of lime to sting our eyes

in the corner someone cries
Eureka!
it's another
seeker hiding from the thoughts he
should have had before,
one more handle on the door
one time more and each equation ritualises
the prayers we send
and
science despises what it cannot
comprehend.
in the end it all means
exactly what attracts me to
the light that shines
the two more limes
the many times
and
times to come.

Divide your heart
Multiply my love
Add my life
Deduct your strife

it seems strange that by the will of myself
I stumbled across a person like you
that sees only the good in destroying oneself
and never thinks about the consequences
of words, actions and thoughts

I noticed how swollen your knuckles were
on the day that I first met you - nothing has changed,
I suppose you still find adrenaline and comfort
in punching walls.
They can't feel, you know.

you always hide your hair under a hat,
but I can't deduct why. I know that very few people
have seen your bare head, your bare body, but why
do you hide it, when I know how beautiful
it really is?

your pasty skin, your prominent bones,
your cut up shins and bruised arms
and the rise and fall of your chest
when you're laying beside me
at midnight

It has become an unbearable thought to drag around this body that no longer feels like my own

I hate that I know its limits and lacks,
It's excess and ungodly elaborations

I hate that I feel stuck

And erasing my outlines won't change the already coloured-in picture,

So I guess I'll have to make use of magic markers to add and deduct some inner colours in order to feel weightless once again.

I’m tired of the clapping, young kids a trapping,
No capping, same problems we attacking back when 2pac was rapping

Talking about illuminati and the super rich,
You Connect the pieces, through a panel stitch
We all slaves, quick to share the conspiracy link.
We all know George Soros, but not Laurence Fink

Black rock, black stone, black power.
But all we can talk about is trumps *******?
Not the people we empower, Bc we get our news from Matt Lauer?

Fake news just means thing you don’t agree with.
The Subjective facts, turn truth IN to myth
To much noise causes perspective to shift
Happens so swift, you think it’s gift
But really you just fell for the grift

Ronald Reagan is the devil. Ya I said it
The one that started the crack epidemic,
AIDS, he didn’t get it, and let millions die in the pandemic

But, all the presidents are crooks.
Even Clinton cooked the books.
We went from a vision for a globalized economy
To drone striking little kids with autonomy

WERE ******!!!!
and it’s hard to see, all the different ways that you’re no longer free. All the different ways, you ain’t got the key, fighting the daily struggle of just to be.

WERE ******!!!
You know what they don’t teach you in schools?
How to do your taxes, WHY!? They think you’re all fools
Meanwhile you pay all the taxes you owe.
And big corporations, well… you know.

But, ROME, we need the corporations, to survive, they give us jobs, while we’re alive. Don’t they pay for most of the taxes in the land? Well, kind of, that’s payroll. And that’s not the plan.
FIRST, they took pension plans, but here’s a 401k
We’ll lower the pension but, Mach what you pay
And PLEASE don’t ask us if the stock markets OK… that’s not my job, but be patient and stay.

SECOND, companies, unlike YOU!
Deduct all their expenses…
This company car, ain’t it expensive…
These company shoes, I like to expense it
Let’s all go to the Bahamas… the tax game commences

So you got 1099’s, well write off your ****.
Don’t let the man, charge you fines
Expense it.

You don’t even need an LLC
Just file a Schedule C
Take the standard mileage deduction you see
Then write off All the **** you be

Credit is a system of trust designed by the white man
You can’t play unless you stick to the plan.
We live in a world where the rules are set
And the rules are designed to make you upset
So you look around, and what do you find?
Someone different, that may have stepped out of line
Now they are the  focus of your loathing
Become the reason of why money, you ain’t holding.
But you took your eyes off the prize. You forgot the game. May I surmise, you’re the one to blame.

WERE ******

HRA value our potential
deduct the sum
later
paid to us
as performer..

Trade me for a magic carpet in an ancient tale;
I can be bartered for the lost scrolls of Petronius;
I am worth at least as much as a chunk of comet
That was discovered in the desert;
You can borrow great sums against my library,
Go buy an island and fill it with bonobos
         Who have found the secret of living without prayer;
My fortune allows me to dwell in a vast kingdom
And in my castle is a desk of ocean wood and pearls;  
I own giraffes and peacocks in my gardens
With rouge and scarlet maple trees;
Under them I play arpeggios on my guitar;
I can afford to give a check to saudade
             And not even feel it;
I have holdings in several galaxies
In the exploding cosmos;
I have a full sack of love that I can scatter
Like the apple seeds or the dandelion feathers;
I have my own plane which I call my wings;
I have been called the world’s most valuable player
Every time I score a goal;
I am the hope of all the utopian anarchy
And give my poems away for free;
I store my compassion in maturing cases of wine
From the most expensive of vineyards;  
I cannot even count what sums the brick-a-brac
On my shelves might bring at auction...

But as to my net worth;
Well after you deduct the taxes, debts, and hidden fees,
Brother, can you spare a dream?

I hope you can forgive me.
When I said I am,
I meant I seem. And when I said
The Earth is round, I meant
It looked round. You don’t
Believe much in science. You think
There is no chemical response
when I tell you I’m depressed.
Sorry — I seem depressed.
Literally, a flower is in front of your face,
And you question it.
Here is a flower. No —
I hold what seems like a flower.
When an earthquake occurs, you’ll say,
Those movements felt like an earthquake.
It was, and is, an earthquake.
You can’t deduct truth from a situation
Using language. You can only be precise with it.
Oh, be. You hate be. To be, an anomaly
In communication. What is be? Assume a state?
Turn into another thing, far different from the
Previous version of yourself? Be concocts
An idea of an abstract future. Is. Are. Be. Was. Been.
It won’t matter much.
I’ll be leaving you.
You are an *******.
You don’t seem like one —
You are actually one.
I am stating that as a fact. Pontificating, if you will.
I am tired of your *******.

Come, see the men
waiting for the silver
metro side with
pound-penny eyes.

Their little pistols
of breath break
the morning into
loaves of ash.

Look - the train
is a giant's rattle,
churning us all,
tattooing the path.

The cleaning woman
escapes the door into
a cleated brightness
full of hexagons.

The man in the suit
with the sad wrist
avoids my gaze
with leathery intent.

Look - children
chase a lost sparrow
that flew into
the station vault.

I exit the orange gates
out into the empire
of the sitting sun.
The sounds of the metro

decline into the earth.
Deduct the moment
from your day,
be glad of who you are.

Etréstles says: “Vernarth's Aeternitas immortality trembled with the fury of his engrossed isolation, after descending from the top that lowered him haggard towards a spiced underworld, without ischemic pain or complaint, causing transient cellular fatigue, wanting to have another nickname May it renew you, under the pretext of digging into the eternity of unnameable silence full of earth of beech leaves, above your non-germinated senses. Abbreviated topic of placebo and iconoclastic speeches that were exerting an accumulation of cloaks of once ferment and matter in a desoldered period, disintegrating it into perpetual, exiled and physical-dynamic movement, but not eternal. Drilling into the continuity of his perpetual preaching, where nothing and no one emits or auscultates him out of focus, nor outside of every overwhelmed unknown universe, becoming independent from the effects of full irony and moaning in the tragic noses and dying lux, separated from two broken rehearsal mirrors of a life among thousands, like every inflection of not fearing to be in a life watching his crazy imaginary seduced, for which he is inflexible, seeing rolling evolving chariots of fire and the accuracy of an eternal minstrel.

When we were on the deck of the Eurydice I saw how we danced through Vernarth's diaphanous fingers, already leaving the same color of the Ouzo throughout the enraged sphinx, falling on their own feet, where others were already insinuating that they apprehended to be counted in their ovations and emotions, to discern them in the ashtrays of Aion. Powers of the potential begin to become cautious In Aeternum; in the straight line to her clone, but without beginning or end, without time or matter, now being her own God, rebelling against the correlated dam and the notion of the concept of "Being instantaneous, immune to the cloister of effective and continuous knowledge. to become concrete as God ..., god of Berne-Gethsemane, among the songs of the waves of abyssal seas, before the perfection of a song ceases to exist, out of tune with the court of Aion ”. I Etréstles; I command the zeal to stay in the twelfth cemetery, being able to symptomatize the ****** and their Harpies that bloom from the veins of pious beings like Vernarth, after these beautiful winged women, became pregnant just by observing them, after swallowing them with all its evil thicket, remaining in snowy genius and its menopausal gynoecium. All of them with their sharp claws broke their hearts inside, as many times and almost as they were towards the tear, before emigrating for their banal philosophical philanthropy, and how their days were lightened, to deduct from them how they found out, not being the subsequent equal. Nothing is suffering with this flute that solfies when his ears are listless like herramentous ****** making him tremble with harmonious notes and tears on his emaciated surface and his mask. Behold, his simile face is a disfigured universe, not being possible to count the distances between his equidistant eyes, and the tears running wildly down his face, at the end of the mouth that kisses the hands of his relative beloved, disintegrating his own, turned into nothing.

His sufferings due to the emotional sugary universe uncheck omens of destroyed futures described in some branches Olivácea Bernianea; posture towards a presenteeism of multiple features, father and son hating each other of so much love between the decaying orbits of all Albacete's horn and its indurable plain; in areas of beautiful roots and tubers of Beech with reliefs of insane curves ..., called Empresses of Vernarth, like the In Aeternum stretch falling from the autumns in the high grace of the maker, in radiant relief to the final pinnacle, ready to his light soul, stepping on leaves after vacant leaves, recreating the minor variations of his eardrum tinnitus, hating the Tchaikovskian  Romances ..., recent and smooth, when they spread to him near the Volga. Vernarth landed with his mouth towards her facade, amid gutted withered papyri and late musicals; called Scores of illusion and of religion when the sidereal harp sounded, which was nothing more than another harpy, coming when it fell on the keys of a Muscovite bell. The borders, in themselves as a space of reality, accompanied him, making them feel that he was still outside the Hermitage spaces, even though he did not know anything or the cold that would attenuate him in distinction from his Bern-Time that jumps to the emotional deck, making him feel compunction and even hypothetically mortal. His mechanical life fell from Van Gogh's hesitant lectern, as a mechanics of an unspecified model, in a singular dizziness still imprisoned by his thin dermis, on the way to uncovering the figure of knowing who he is or was, knowing that no one before would model him in his hyper-Ouzo, which gravely opens the slander in his Bern-Time space, of the fences of his cursed hysteria coming out of the bellows of his veins and of ferocious ******, that sing cruelly and laugh with great art, for those who he defies and deconcentrates his sorcerer and imp with those evils that are still in his pockets. Rolling he asks to circulate through Florence-Tuscany, diavolo in his multiform cosmogony, "Possibly Dead Reviving" has decayed himself, running towards himself to give the last range of mole and lung balance, in expansive hopes to validate him, perhaps of a false revival . Receiving from the liver gargles, and from his grave goal injured desires to intoxicate the unknown universe, in pretending to decipher the key on its back, full of grains that hide particles without mass, nor gravitations that overestimate towards a pendular digital heart-Longines, like a hedonistic tale and mischievous ending with a profile towards the trees of the Hylates forest longing for him.

His verses are confused with pains of conscience without trace, or trace, or world that falls short before closing the prima lux, passing in front of loves of In a Gadda Da Vida, for whom the symbol of the one who sketches it, his shadows Let them highlight his soul, as a solemn tangible metaphor, portraying the adolescent face of those who sleep under the attentions of their ascendants, removing the harshness of prophetic doping. That tortures and invades him on the haunches of Alikanto, who even carries him on it, when his steed got tired; he himself carried him in his arms resting his sour grief of a Hoplite slain horse. His iconology, is and will be in the hexagonal baptistery of Ein Kerem, solfing choirs on Templar choirs, which thunder in the spawn in sheaves until a An altar that calms him nothing, in the finitude of allegorical deities, who tempt his tortuous veins in moratorium and ******, suffering when resisting the sprains of the obtuse world, trailing themselves in his cold Berniform tail.

Against an Auric medal that prostrated her on her arms, she covers herself with a well-tempered cymbal, nourishing herself with the turpentine and the alliance with the Ouzo caramel in a plummet of the thick Hellenic toasts, she sobs in perpetuity with sagacious attacks, of a heretical and sado-narcissistic, wandering into old age, in which the fame dictated in thin and expired laws is adorned, under immutable and tasty decrees to love over the same aphrodite in love with Himself, while Vernarth stocked himself with the medallions chained in the armaments of happiness inscribed, in the precise numbers of sighs that would name him as Vernarth, son of Sisyphus, guru of pending conclaves and vacillations, “Behold, of whom he spoke and allows me to delight him with his prowess, in self-punishment of trivial branches , in nettles varying the ******* and the spheres that degenerated from heavy lightness to the metallic ones of confusion. He bites the row of his comet, and falls on it knowing that he is the savior of the enlightened Buddhisms, in penance within it, that he will not let him sleep on its immobile stars, but of a mobile astro, mobile range sapiens, the primordial beginning of its chaos bibliographic seized with ideal abstinence, which he figures on his ink-stained wrist In Aeternum.

Ever since his adolescent temptation, he has to launch aeroliths of sighs to the castle of his court, he claims to remain imprisoned in the obesity of its walls, which will be postponed for the other winter, going through the same passage that made him come; on the petty north *****, by the sweet necropolis that would later ignite by not getting lost among the living, rather by the fallen who would seek the living among the dead, to help them correspond between close and resurrected verses of their In Aeternum seduced alive in his life. Vernarth refuses to come and go up the ***** of his court, she has to remove the dagger from his wrists, which almost cuts the arteries threads of the scaphoid and pyramidal, stamped with tender fire and a playful irrational object, "I instigate In Aeternum to my onerous mind, whose world map and its impolite parallelograms cut out the valleys of Bern-Universal ..., planting in Adonis of square cycles, ... only by alternating temptation ...”