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NRIKO Dec 2017
I.
My pillow smells like another deity.

In the morning, I breathe out
from only one form,
daylight to dictate who is allowed to wake,
from within me.

And during that time,
I am one deity;
I am one deity;
I am one deity.

But when night falls
and lullabies are accepted into a place
with four walls and barely a door,
I am seeded into a different
plane of reality.

Hitting my pillow,
falling into its soft embrace,
its plastic scent is dizzying-
because it is not mine.

This way,
vertigo can easily write itself over
my heightened senses.

II.
In this realm,
I exist not as myself,
or just one deity that
wishes to be
skinny-dipping into daylight
without anxiety.

Instead,
I am everything I ever wanted to be-
either something that is
close to this "true persona" i speak of
or something of a far away fantasy.

In this realm,
this void that is a blockage
from a world of judgemental skin,
I have one hand-
the key to the judgements
of the ministrations of the night.

III.
You see,
in this realm,
there are two things your hands can do
in a rather lengthy moment of warm privacy.

You can either use both yellow hands
(frigid, lacking of blood circulation),
to embrace
(without loving, without care)
to snake around your neck or
you can snake one hand
between two pillars that,
in daylight,
bring them from one place
to another.

IV.
While,
far far away,
in a wonderland,
you (or perhaps me?) wish
to be a part of one day-

a boy you've seen in short,
sizzling hallways to arousal
and moments of desire
ー He sings.

V.
He sings for you in unknown pity,
in the fact that he barely knows you,
in the fact that you,
despite never being able to touch
such majestic and soft paleness
of another-

to touch what can be touched,
yet you yourself cannot-

He sings for you until your fingers move slowly
far, far away from hell
yet closer and closer to a little
bit of death.

That is how it is;
your pillow that smells of another deity
that isn't in accordance to the "you"
painted by social sunlight-

That is how it is;
a duplication of you that is somewhat you
and the small waist you felt
your fingers touch-

afraid you'd break their
small innocent body
is gone.

It's morning now,
and fantasies are better
when kissed by blankets
and shown with purple skin
and a clock
that depicts midnight.

VI.
Before you do,
morning comes first
and it is time-

to burn yet another
undecipherable duplication
of yourself-

or whatever left of who you
used to be.

- eozyoh. 14.12.2017. 16:37.
Paul of Tarsus resented his visit, among so many issues of paganism and Christianity that somehow tried to establish it in Jewish orthodoxy, for goods in non-Romanesque centuries of centuries, dissimilar to a Roman statute in the past to decree it today as ****-Clerical.

Saint John the Apostle says: “Christian doctrines were limited when they settled in Jerusalem, nor did they submit to worldly Judaism. He preached it while breaking the loaves in the fasmatémporos or sacralized breadbaskets of salvation, and of the company of those who were circumcised, by those who received the kingdom while they were born into Roman *******. Everything was Estebanian obfuscation as the first martyr of the ecclesiastical order, where the universe points between races, society, and sensual possessions; between Greeks as junk between barbarians and uneducated, and Israelites between Jews and pagans, to make capital laws but hidden among the subjugated codes of dictatorialism, like all the slaves, gathered in Corinth. And of female inferiority to male supremacy, without inheriting the flesh in the reconciliation of shared worlds. His policy moves the bellows of the free winds, for an enclave that begins to be a direct belonging of another man with the Alpha, and finally, this ends up being his landowner in Omega, as a fugitive baptismal sprinkling of those who become attached to the lord, that they do not recognize and if they do it under their clothes and thoughts, that they even carry sores or wounds even on their chromosomes. The genotype is the third month of gestation with embryos that can even be heard with their heartbeats beyond all the galaxies back and forth, colliding with the head of the woman who puts order to the established opinion of the extreme polarity of the genome. The coronation sculptures were made diverse with Gothic forms that differed with duplications of the stars that were built, not specified in any quantity of accumulated energy after thousands of years to be released in the channeling of the corbel, where the Cherubs rested. dedicated today to the lordship of the ancestry of the invocation, and the exaltation of the stained glass that descended from the sky with sectioned iridescence, marking the canonical hours of the first century, the beginning of the fifth decade, where Paul was already pointing to the letter to the Romans, "Where you give free grazing to the sheep, the rams overwhelm the density of certainty with their betrayals, the sublimity of the atrial rebound movement, makes their disparate ears warn of the justification of pointing out where the danger grows". In this way, Pablo de Tarso decided to name himself in the middle of Mataki, as Pablo de Patmos, because his soul still depended on the Marial outlet for his canonical lapses, in fact becoming the main and actant incarnation of faith, with the cardinal points.

Goddess Nike appears again to consummate the victory, then from the exhausted stadiums of the Pergamon amphitheater, Wonthelimar will bring Victory with the other "V" of the goddess Nike, also borne by Athenea Nikephoros. From this duplicity, both are transposed into Vernarth's "V" as an initiatory pseudonym; which will depict the reinforced twin of the Hellenic genesis of Wonthelimar, articulating from this Prótypo with the genesis of the cardinal Mandragoron, which will be Vernarthian architectural and divinized hierarchy.

Mandragoron Geodesy

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

Faced with this geodesic repositioning, Pablo de Patmos makes the context of narrowing the analogy of the cross and the intersection point of them through, the Zohar Light that emerged from the iconographic program that was spreading out of the Ave Maria that was heard in echo intervals, The main one being the one heard by the oil press that Vernarth was holding, to lavish the first virginal thread of olive oil, which joined with the sleet drizzle falling between the intersecting points of Vóreios from north to south Notós, and from Oeste Dyticá with the Necromancy of Leiak to the Kaitelka Peninsula.

All seated began to pray, then the nascent of the Empyrean that came with the sleet emerged, and the ****** olive grove of the first degree, all went into a trance, the soul was overwhelmed only with light that each one could see in their features through the irradiation of the eyes of Vernarth and Saint John, and in the breathing of each being difficult and discordant. In the distance you could see the sparkles of Peter and James, together with the Mashiach, they came to enter the peace of each one of those who were here in the Katapausis, the night was warned by the Notós de Borker who prayed with the disciples of the Mashiach accompanied by the three winds from the south, which transfigured the colt of Bethany that admitted them to take them to the Seventh Heaven, here at the first stone of the Megaron with the Mataki, the seven bread baskets and candelabra, taken by the agony of the chalice that everyone carried in their bodies where they sprang from their interior, along with the thread of oil mixed with blood that had fled from Zion to Gethsemane, thus lifeless with the interdict stained the lights of the Menorah, which was propelled over the gray and agonizing shadows of the bread that asked why hand would be divided? They all say drink with their hands, but the hands of the Mashiach opened the sky first to illuminate the exacerbation of Leiak's Dyticá, saying that the sweat of agony will fill our chalices intensely adorning what is revealed by our disturbing sleet. The Equinoctial became magenta and Eritrean, where glory made it pertinent to leave and ask for an oblation in the natural reaction of the recipient, before offering himself! The shudders only spoke of the rictus, when Vernarth huddled every so often to blow the embers of the incense that spread from Aorion, spliced in the Fourth Arrow of Zefian, to leave the ergonomics bronze point, pointing out the Cherubs that came from Heaven falling, to those who went up with their sacrilegious bodies to purge their errors, adoring them with purely beatific simplicity, to bring them back to Patmos to purge there, what the error will make of virtue the light over the darkness in lives that stumble over the moaning death, whose sufferings ravage beyond life, where they suffer undaunted pains of danger, not knowing how to resist them.

Frontality becomes ordinal from unity to three, and from duality to four; that is to say, from Vóreios to Notós and from Aftó to Dyticá, making the Escurialense cross with the crossed lines filled with the celestial blue that filled them with the Seventh Heaven. The darkness macerated the embryos on the error of confronted anguish before an impartial body fallen from the discouragement of overcoming it and moving away from the eschatological. The Mashiach moves his hands through the Codices of Raedus pro generating Jubilee, for the branches that climb the thread of the olive tree that was scalding with passion, to hang on the wood of the Kashmar. The Kardiá resembled lost in the minutes of Kairós, failing to rejoice them, to then overwhelm them in some Escurialense demonym, forming the golden cross, whose four arms were already covered by blue and blue enamel, and in parapsychological fractality, making temporality move in the super imagination of Áullos Kósmos de Vernarth.
Seventh Heaven
"You'll Be Remembered." By Kaitlyn A. Warnken

The slowly fating of my heart beating. The rage of hate stirring up while the angers heating. Holding these wounds tight trying to stop the bleeding. Locking doors shut trying to stop the screaming. Closing my eyes, pinching my skin trying to pretend I'm dreaming. But the truth was was that i was leaning. Only i wish i could have been dreaming this night. leaning on seeking to find the fringe of my own life. Wishing for a shot gun n' pistol to take a couple rounds to my own life tonight. Hell my spark would go out in my life light. I'd of done it by now but i have no knife. Yea, that's right. Though i know I'm strong enough to win this fight, on this night and make my life light ignite. They told me to **** myself i responded, i think I'll do it on my own time, SYKE. People are rude, with no respect they don't know what their saying. No matter what you do prove them wrong by staying. Take the words and stop taking them to heart. Once you stop the words will stop tearing you apart. And remember that those scares wont last forever. Just stop the "hurting your body," you'll do fine in your life because i know You're clever. inside and on the outside you will die never, because you'll succeed in your life and be remembered. Unlike others who's lights go out in their own life ember's. So live how you want. who you are is just another life member of which we all have lived faster. And at the end of a long life we give after. But your the kid who made it in life so no need for us to cry. You will always be known so we will never have to say good bye because in our hearts it's you who lives inside. Just don't be that kid who gets a short life because they "signed." You are a smart kid You are smart enough to realize you need realigned. Stay true inside. It will help, that's not a lie. Neither is your life so don't ruin it ever. If you stick to that rule you'll die never And be remembered.

---NOTE----I DO NOT AUTHORIZE ANY DUPLICATIONS OF MY WRITINGS, PHOTOGRAPHS, OR ANY OTHER PERSONAL INFORMATION.
Leila Oct 2020
You want me
It’s true yes you do
I’m a pawn
Another use
But you want more
More of me
Me, me, me
Double or nothing
I’m a status symbol
Something to smile about  
I make you feel powerful
Not for me no but what I mean
You tamed me you see
Marked me when you were inside
That’s all that matters
You need as much of me as you can get
You’ll even hurt me to get your way
You need to feel this way
I wish I could admire whatever strength you claim to have
By doing what?
You think sticking me with a needle means that you’re a god
That scars and bruises are just less dignified ribbons
And the more you do it with more duplications that must mean you’re the best, right?
Pathetic and selfish and so laughable and insecure
I’m begging myself to pity you
But all I find is pain and shame and rage
What is so wrong about me that I am nothing more than a mystery to gawk over?
Do you understand what it’s like to be treated like an empty vessel?
No I don’t expect your sympathies
You’ve killed that part of you since you were a child
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
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i sort of lied when i said that i don't dream:
but it was a white lie -
i do... but with the frequency of a solar eclipse...
that's why i prefer saying: i just sleep...
but sometimes... i wake up: but on the snooze
button for, say... about an hour...
and i fall into a gentler sleep: nothing too deep
where the body rests... blink a few times to catch
some sunlight and then hope...
just one more hour... maybe i'll conjure something
up...

           i was lucky today...
that code above? it's for a right angle triangle...
i remember this dream from... ages ago...
i was on a *****: ergo... it must have been a right-angle
triangle... right at the bottom...
and i dreamt that i was running backwards and
forwards on this *****...
while... sheep-like creatures were rolling down
the *****... followed by demonic-like creatures
chasing after them with scythes...
chopping their heads off... but...
i had the duty of saving these sheep-like creatures
from a fate mush worse... a fate worse
than getting your head chopped off?
behind me: nothing... an abyss... non-existence
or... as the Biblical translation puts it:
you get to meet God... you are not coming back...
into anything, even remotely resembling
either a heaven or a hell...
   and since nothing: the word itself... is categorised
as... a pronoun... nothing once said:
ehyeh asher ehyeh... so... any more "pronoun" debates
on the plural market of they?
hell... i already absorbed some of this propaganda...
if i had a twitter (****-er) account: in my bio
i would write a royal spoof: preferred pronouns...
one, we...                 there... sorted...
the royal route...

                      people really have degenerated English
grammar very quickly... i'm not even native to
this language and i have more respect for it
than the natives... and... whatever the **** they're
doing with it: it being disgusting...

if you don't respect your language... well...
who the hell is going to take you seriously: in other matters?

but i was truly lucky today... for that one hour
i... i ******* managed to conjure up a dream...
well... when i say: i... it wasn't really me...
        i was sent a postcard from a "celestial power"
that said: well... you're not going to be the sleepwalker
Joseph... but here's a taste of that sort of power...

i found myself sitting on my couch... watching...
the Indian Wells men's final...
Nadal vs. Fritz... i already watched the women's
final Sakkari vs. Świątek -
so i'm supposedly watching the men's final...
because: like hell if i'm going to stay up till 4am
to watch that...
   i look around to my left... moths?
first i checked the meaning of dreaming of moths...
no... wait... it wasn't night-time...
i could see clearly... after all... the men's final
was in the high Californian afternoon...
i wasn't dreaming of sitting downstairs literally
watching the match...
it was daytime...               ah... butterflies...
i can't remember how many... but they were just
fluttering around a vase of flowers...
and some... weird looking cloud of...
    dried leaves... like a glib... was moving with them...
like a jellyfish... like a this like a that blah blah...
and i remember saying in the dream:
what ****'s this?! i have butterflies in my house
randomly fluttering in circles...

obviously since i said something i had
to follow it up by doing what i thought i'd never do...
this had to be an archetypical dream...
nothing truly personal but rather universal...
i.e. not particular... since... like the colour red...
the butterfly is a universal "thing"...
like a dog is... a dog is universal...
an Alsatian is a particular...
                        butterflies... so i looked it up...
wow... oh, cool... i get it... i did write about butterflies
i.e. the metaphorical sensation of falling in love...
yesterday with the sly **** having fire in my eyes
and fire on my face and cold-sweats all over my torso
before i gave "birth" to that abomination...
i get it... this ties in with... my attitude towards women...
i'm transformed beyond belief...
        
    how else would to interpret receiving a dream
of butterflies... dreams, i believe, don't work around
the Cartesian proposition: cogito ergo sum...
i think dreams work in reverse: sum ergo cogito...
i'm dreaming... i wake up... now i have to think about it...
Nietzsche made a footnote: but in the lucid waking
hours of his day... completely ******* wong...
sorry... wrong... perhaps some people are deluded
enough to think they're the architects of their dreams...
a delusion that extends into them having recurrent
dreams... duplications... they think they're the dream
conjurers... they're not... dreams are sent...
you're always on the receiving end... that's why you
get to interpret them: get a postscript angle on
the meaning... i was lucky with this archetypical dream...
there was clear enough symbolism to work with...

that being said: my attitude towards women...
at 35... meeting women of similar age is... rather a revelation
in itself... they have already made their beds...
they're either single mums...
well... Jeminah was... is...
she was probably impregnated by some older
guy in the financial realm of careers...
he pumped her and dumped her...
then she started growing old(er) and figured...
play the cougar card... she met her ex-boxing champ
through her son... her son was friends with
another kid in primary school... who had an older
brother... blah blah...
                beta-not-many-bucks-deluxe...
women: men are supposed to feel ashamed of
having parents... that's what i never understood...
i have to... forgo having my own parents...
so i can have a relationship with a woman
and thereby reject my parents... in order to embrace
her parents?! i need... ******* surrogates?!
well... it worked for my father...
since his parents rejected him and he was raised
by his grandmother and her second husband...
sure... it works perfectly for a man
if his parents are not in the picture...
if he was raised by his grandparents...
but the whole idea of... breaking away from your
father and mother... to be with a woman...
all the while as her gravity pulls you toward
her parents... this whole son-in-law *******:
very unbecoming to simply shun your own
origins... sure... perhaps my mentality is that
i'm being "clingy"... i wasn't raised by my father
from the age of 4 through to 8...
or by my mother from the age of 6 through to 8...

clearly there's a gap... but...
just giving up on an "alliance" like that...
in order to satisfy a woman's needs of HER being
clingy to her parents... a man's parents simply
fizzle out... well then... the woman can fizzle out...
if she's armed with all this ******* feminist propaganda:
i don't need no man... good...
it's not the 19th century... there's no Jack the Ripper
mentality out "there"...
            there's a shaming tactic in reverse...
men vs. men... what's generally termed: simping...
paying E-girls for bath-water... perhaps even a sample
of her glorious juice that's only really her ****...
strip-clubs... well... unless you were me in Athens...
with two strippers either side of me... snuggling...
giggling...
           touch touch... you're going to be spending
money anyhow... i don't want to spend money
on food... i want to spend money for an hour's worth
of intimacy... no dating game...
hell... if she gives you a line of ******* to boot:
not that it did anything for me... i prefer my cognac,
my bourbon, my ms. whiskers - all the right spirits...
and hey... *** olympics are good to go...

   recently i've picked up strange adverts...
erectile dysfunction *******... if i'm not in the mood...
i'm not in the mood... my phallus doesn't have
an inbuilt on/off switch... i have to prep myself
to perform in the bedroom... lucky me for not getting
it regularly... i stop drinking... i ******* without
******* a few days prior... i do concentrated
cardiovascular bicycling sessions... i try to relax...
and then i go in for the ***...
it's a bit like... the comfort of being married:
but sleeping in separate beds...
      
         obviously i can't **** shame any woman
if i'm celebrating my "campaign" with prostitutes...
"body count": that sort of died a long time ago...
i like well worn leather anyway...
mandible beauty... virgins seem tense... frigid...
ergo: i'm no Jack the Ripper... it's not the 19th century
where one starts killing prostitutes...
one celebrates them...
           why? well... if the remaining "available" women
are all single mums... or they have a bad credit score...
in shambles of debt raised by their ex-boxing-champs:
didn't she (Jeminah) mention that he went
to rehab in Thailand?
          **** me... i tried psychiatrists once...
or rather: they tried me... i was usually interviewed
by a professional and a budding student...
i was a case study most of the time...
          they couldn't figure me out... i was never subjected
to the confines of a mental institution...
they... i guess... just let me roam...
they let me loose upon society...
           and my my oh my... what a bunch of fun years
that has been...

but i did tell on psychiatrist...
  i'm reading Kant, Heidegger, Kierkegaard,
R. D. Laing... no... not all at once...
i'm getting my armour ready...
                there's absolutely no chance i'm going
to lose myself in fantasy literature...
i'm not going to be day-dreaming since:
i dream so little... i'm going to be attempting
to chase dreams...
               i was lucky today...
   hmm...           huh?          ha!
                     who would have thought...
                              of all creatures... butterflies...
i'm not even going to look up dreaming of an elephant...
better still... imagine dreaming up a mammoth;
anyway... this is already proving to be a bountiful day.

— The End —