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From the depression of the distances with respect to the horizontal and the planes that separated them from the surface, below the references that came against, single sediment had been destined towards the high eminence, before the fossal of megatons of aldehyde below the bilges of the final base, where the seventh rings of the goat ibex were perforated, all in the antipode of the Constellation of Capricornus; where the goats were enraptured in the binary of Wonthelimar, behind the floods of absorption that took the Diadocos far from where they should never have left, in order to extrasolar wishes and never to come. From the node of the supreme and poked aldehyde of the horn of Amalthea, with the bizarre analogy of Zeus and Wonthelimar, both mammals with milk from goat's udders, one from goat from Mount Ida and the other from Aldaine in the Alps, with milk from ibex and In the face of Amalthea that appeared in the fossal, all the Seleucid generals had already vanished, starting from the Viper Typhon, who in the retracting sub-mythology of Capricornus was transmigrated to Wonthelimar, swollen with the aldehyde transmuted into this alcohol and into the udder milk of the Ibix that He lactored, while they were all carried away as in the chambers of Auschwitz, in distant lanterns and lamps of the Calypso that he dismissed them, leaving them with the escorts of the ibex or goatfish in laudable stratagems, which vanished them away from their desires from a new polis or Nostos Patrída, sprinkling them with goatskin and flourishing essences of the kashmar of Zeus' nurse; Amaltheum or Amalthea.

The Iberian rings from the medrones in advance reached the two final ring nodes, here Wonthelimar intimidated them with an accurate adjacent bleat of the kashmar that rubbed their back, before the newest and last lux of Amalthea that vanished into herbaceous fruits that always He carried the barefoot medron with him, to start with the antlers dumbbells and re-transport them defeated to the species of snake that frightened the pastoral god Pan who shepherded, and then he submerged in the water after becoming Capricornus Ibex Fish. Being aware of this and of those who refused to continue listening, Ibics rings were unleashed until the seventh medron, feeding back with Wonthelimar who ad libitum created Venus in triads of Zeus. Wonthelimar and Amalthea were remote in the eighth and ninth medron of the antlers, they appropriated to each the portion of the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, and of the thirteenth Shemot so that their dualities and fumes from the unbreathable fossa would remain under the possessed surface of the pendular property balance and positive-negative gender correspondence. Right here Amalthea transmuted her mercy to save the world with her lactation of syrup and honey that was not in short supply, and that was extrapolated into a future abundance of food and nectar, making up for crusts that were uneven in average terms. From this bezel, both beings of the goat genome contributed to the pole of goodness for each one at the end of the benevolent cuirassiers of prospering, and not from the opposite that would lead them, even though they were dissimilar causes, towards a retrograde event that was not a consequence of the becoming of the plagues, and of the malignancy that does not flourish with the Shemot of the Parasha, to agree and lavish themselves on blessed virtues or deliberate wicked ones.

The meaning of a relative synchronic and factotum coexisting does not redeem the disintegration of an existential relativism in Skalá, the Hexagonal Primogeniture from one of its angular visions, metaphysically transfers from its temporary contingencies after its arrival on Patmos, while the temporary Seleucid temporality vanishes, It was affirmed from a contradiction since its truth was distended in the arena of Skalá not implying being welcomed, rather it was victimized by the absurd political dimorphism in a meta spiritual state, abdicating its dispersed retrospective, and now contemplating a compromise of the Hellenic genre, to gradually rebuke the virtues of their banners, twice as good for the purpose of reinforcing the will to accede, and not perish in the attempt to lead Alexander the Great. The criticism of founding the memories are of a revived past where it was not, marking the anthropological fact and false truth judgment, in meaning and contradiction in the polarity of both axiomatic genres, but that is saved when quantifying in who has to defend himself, if seeks to abrogate itself, in the entity that is characterized by induction and attraction of egonies and not of exo-egonies, thus describing it in the theme of "Do not support egos that recriminate other characters of frustration and empowerment of a Vernarthian logic split into Vern-narth. Vern has etymology of Bern or Bern olive tree of Gethsemane and narth of the ordinal scale that speculates its nickname in millions of northern sections of its origin, which subsumes the truth and the criterion of apocalyptic parapsychology, re-life of quantum historicity of the metaphysical and sub-block. -Mythological of Vernarth in his identical.

Everything seemed a strange self-annulment from a clear and understandable limit, but Wonthelimar rose to the surface of the Állos kósmos, finding himself in atmospheres of truth and reality of a Cantabile, who decided about the horse Kanti coming with him towing him from the Erebo de Chauvet Bilocated. As a musical and festive ending, he received them on the upper plate of the happened gestures, where a cabaletta rendered parts of a Cantabrian aria, in sulfurous and remorseful cavatina married with the cross emotions of a finale who sponsored expressions and festive Templar tales, with the descendants of Zeus or minor children, or grandchildren after this had to give him milk and honey but with báchkoi. Among the couplets that received him, some came about the smoke of terror that was confused with the dustbin of a Cavallo or horse acclaimed Kanti, with gasping bustling from a cardex, containing all the repertoires of a cantabile if this scene were to be repeated in The same epic allusion, and in random consequences, that go after a cavalcade that is not abstracted in real characters, but more in conformity with the well-deserved place of epic imaginative beings or in the operatic psychotropic of a duet, which would go flagellating in individuality and in each which is not content from another section of the Cantabrian.

The Universality of emotion and feeling is a tragic Parodo emulating voices of all those who sing from a cantabile galloping in their voices to the beat of the heart in some, and at the same time chanting stanzas and antistrophe in reverse epic and tragic lines, for the purposes of the coliseum that diametrically obstructs the Hellenic choir, which is attached to the intervention of the Hexagonal Primogeniture that was already beginning to rise in height, and in the prayers of Saint John, the Apostle and Prochorus from the captaincy and the ode that would begin to stanza, from the west to this and the antistrophe would follow with Vernarth, Wonthelimar and Alexander the Great from east to west. Ad libitum of their enjoyments, they were eating Greek snacks or Katogorias on the way in bases of Almonds, cinnamon, olive oil, sugar, and sweet wine that they carried on their backs in Rhytas shaped like the horns of Zeus and the Ibix of Wonthelimar, which the same Procorus carried on his golden back. The meaning is affirmed as a meaningless infringement of laws of temporality, and truthfulness at the expense of short evidence, and of facts that vanish in the light haze of causalism and not of effectism, when the adjective or noun is made of a strong verb in the Metabasis and in the imprecations that Vernarth gave.

Vernarth's metabasis: “the verse and the adjective will be subsidized by the noun in the construction of Állos Kosmo Megarón, from where mathematics will immaterially explain sap suckers under the noun in liquid milk of the color white and of the high nutritional value in female lactated, and of mammals to feed their goats or ibex. The soul of this prerogative implies that the verb will be to promote species rather than a nutritious milky elixir for Zeus, and the candor of his **** will tend to the bipedal or quadruped subject self-procreating from a Milky Specie. (Milky species).  Being ****** into milk by self-procreating snitches. Vernarth says (give me some milk, and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not a whole of which I never thought...!)

Amalthea in rituals and relics from prospects of demigods was purposely cordoning them off in Mycenaean deities, from a contemporary Westerner comforting them near a hippocampus; with signs of ibex Capricornus, rapt at the nymph that spoke from Mount Ida in Crete and that she made congruent with the constellation of Capricornus, more precisely in the Cornucopia making this heraldry of Wonthelimar with Fortune, Abundance, Occasion, Liberality, Prudence and Joy. In a woman sitting on a throne, a young nymph with a flower crown, a naked woman with one foot on a wheel and the other unstable, a woman with sunken eyes and an aquiline nose dressed in white, two faces from the past and future, a woman happy with the exuberance of the Cornucopia with children and a palm leaf. Being the abundance that in serial Amalthea bordered all the ladies in different esoteric and Mycenaean prosperity, constantly shining with radiations on the present in the Unicorn Ibix, which Zeus left after breaking its antlers, unleashing kindness and plethora in fruit buds, and vegetables that were appropriated in the Fortune of Wonthelimar reissuing what in their domains they can do, and now in Patmos with its Cornupia being transferred from that liquefied shaft honey and milk cultivated with attributes of herbs contributing to the leisure, peace, and relaxation of the cosmic world that ascended in Wonthelimar as Ibix in advance of Capricornus, from where the Auriga always broke into his expeditions with a trajectory towards the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, where he brought it from the Capella Star for the femurs of the Diplodocuses who seconded Drestnia to watch over the hydraulic pits of the Koumeterium from Messolonghi, before traveling to Tangier.

The entire herd went back to an ancient promontory that was halfway up the mound towards the black styes or abscesses, in the central intuition of the fossa that began to dissipate towards their backs. Amalthea extends into the Állos Kósmos, which came in zoomorphic receptacles collecting the announced blood of the animals that flowed in black planks from the vortex of the fossal, towards the liminal or transitory sleeper of the fossal that oozed acetosities of the Aldehyde to be transmigrated after the bilocation of the Chauvet cavern. All wore willow halos on the crowns or diadems of their caps, including the proliferation of phantasmagoric Allies that went in rows from 780 to 680 BC. C., with fortunes of the Cornucopia that arched in magical arches due to the dissociative changes of the universe, as well as the circumstantial creed of some omnipotence that will cause emotional transgenerational transgression, in the rain vessels that they made fall from the Ombrio de Zeus, in a daily latticework closing the spaces, and only leaving for some intruders and onlookers to see his flashing Astrepé. Right here the diádoc fossal vanished, when it rose above the horizontal that poured into the Chronic Vernagrams of parapsychological personalities of ingenuity classicism and in Astro-concomitance, which would rethink everything that is past and future from a Vernagram, which is more than a compression of a mere future of the quantum spaces and the sacred medrones of the Ibixes with their direct relationship with Capricornus. Diverse capital moments were treasured in the breeze of the Vas Auric that was traced from the opposing moraine that fell in lapse-time, through the labyrinth in storms and thunderings that became planetary with the Lynothorax cuirass that Alexander the Great accommodated in the festoon border of his Aspis Koilé, kicking copiously as a sign of shaking the head of the gods who deceived him to be alive, and who was now reborn in the faith of Saint John the Apostle, favorite of the Mashiach and where he will have to wipe his face with the shroud of Veronica Before entering the Állos Kósmos Megaron that everyone built, in favor of a Panagia or Temple, unlocking the majolica that seeped out from the rest of the transmigration, and his own in the configuration of a corpse with a tricolor gesture.

The presumptive eradicated the side of the forearm rots that was being restored in Wonthelimar's laps, which helped him get up and catch his breath while the Katogorias snack filled his mouth with nectar and almonds with Macedonian Psiloi combat tactics with serum and flames of Alcohol dripped from her nostrils and sinuses in the sweet wine, which in pompous dilemma defied the judges of her life in the choir of the Bilocated Epidary Theater on Patmos, and in the ***** dry Kashmar of the orchard with the pale faces of the grotesque, that rested in the memory or Mnmosyne and in the fauna of the Thracian and Thessalian helmets.

Alexander the Great says: “here I agonized and now in the fresh waters of the springs of the Lerna, I will also marry the glorious mystay and bákchoi, in the memories of Vernarth seeing him besieged by Achaemenides in the stooped position of Dario III, to come purifying and sustaining of my limbs, learning to walk and speak in Neolithic techniques, which extruded me from the Lerna by barriers of the moon that shone from the bronze of my Leonatus helmet. Thus I could see that Vernarth, fought alone against thousands throwing fire through his mouth and his eyes, separating the waters of the Falangists, who plowed like ships deforesting the Persians, and leaving them in their mud, imposing glorious Hypaspists who unbolted from their back some arrows with heads of snakes and Hydras.

Vernarth watched as everyone climbed the Profitis Ilias mound, two hundred and sixty-nine meters above sea level, where the monastery of San Juan is located; here he was suspended in his solitude after everything that happened at the end of the moat that definitely I would return without the Diádocos, with a hint and its functionalities. From here Helios became genealogical, who snatched him from the kingdom of dead flowers, which were to be assumed from the Olympian where he will join him to the essential of Aïdoneus; immaterializing in the darkness of dizzies and the flowers that died in the genealogy of a new species. The scenic swept its cognitive and ferns with more than three hundred frank species that frowned like the enemy of an evil friend, with seedlings that expectorated from the resonance of the bushes that invited to thrive in the salty ripples that made a dreamer fall asleep on top of the kerchiefs or brambles that memorialized Gethsemane, burning his face and hands with psalms, telling him about his Baba. For when it is a luminary by night and by day, they will compare it with the white grayish drupes and mops, like those of the Bern orchard of Olives, in aqueous and resinous colloidal, which was crowned in harmony and syntropia in Vernarth activating intellectual conscious plantations, which will restructure its balance of ultra Hoplite, in metabolism of the Lentiscus flowers, with great brotherhood in the Olives that each time exercised the gift of bending their oleaginous self-species, towards planes of the Cornicabra olives, with large branches and high tree altitude that fruit within of the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko spin, juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, which with large branches and high tree altitude fruit within the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko line juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, and with polyphenols in scale geothermal energy that still leveled the Ponto Sea towards the tectonic plate to give it the flavor that was owed from remote prehistoric times.

Patmos was aborted from an immanent consent and new force of the impending enemy in Pythagorean perorations and an offending thought. From this prerogative is born the generalized punishment of sub-mythological ethics in favor of legacies of allusions to reorder or defragment the enslaving and demolished bio culture, which would begin from the establishment of the Vas Auric found in Limassol, which took possession from Rhodes with clean scenes from Tsambika monastery. The epic ran like icy cold down the shoulders of all those who sweated for the generation of cops, and in domestic evasions in superior lordships to Hades or Wonthelimar itself, both sons of flocks and goats that nourished them by providing them with a mountain perspective, as a magnetic pole towards gothic energy that ruled more in the Magnetic North Pole, and the geographic oversize that reviled latitudes in riches that would dismiss Borker and Zefian, as masters distributors of the ethics of the Áullos Kósmos of Patmos, redeploying thousands of dead from pre-Hellenic times, so that they recirculate through the roots of the Kashmar, re-sulfurizing cinnabar saps as the germ of the subterranean Acheron, which consecrates the living and the dead in the eternity of the infinite Duoverse Universe. The order will lie in semi-shadows that even in the dark provide the pleasant warmth of camphor, with advanced Horcondising formulas, which will appeal to hungry souls by suppressing gifted energies, and by inseminating them with ovules without originally conceived organisms.

From Hylates, Cyprus; Zefian came by order of Vernarth, assisted with the extension of the earthly laborers of the Attic Calendar on the twenty-first of September, from the device of Apollo at the site of Boeotia, and especially of the Boedromion. The arrows that Zefian brought had an instant Boedromion crossing the lines from spring to winter, with seven arrows that Zefian threw into the sky and never fell, but if portentously received in the virginity of animals. The flora with seven golden arrows of the Chauvet de Wonthelmar cavern, condoned the exhaustive end of the fossal where they still remained, in a gesture of tenderness and relative Mycenaean genealogy, from Crete the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree was approaching, originating in the Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points, begin with the first two arrows that they put on the string of the bow, each one flying north and south trajectories and the other two that were once again attacked with the east bow, to shoot the arrows of east-west with southern magnetism limits. Zefian's imagination was of proportions that were not limited without wandering from their phalanxes when they pulled the string, like joys of a ghostly existence that pushed him in each bolt, presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for belated courts imposed from a cosmos, which he led by insisting on his will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-tale alive that rebels in the arrows that they had not yet fallen and did not know their whereabouts. As plates or serial hosts, they were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burn contravened Duoverse to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in aeonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities towards vast volumes of light-years, where eternity has no measure, let alone the existence that begins and ends born from a homozygous arising without a Universe, to hatch from the branch of the Heterozygous Duoverse, bringing different unions of eternal cells by universal divine decree, and not the union of disparate cells. The science of the Mashiach came in these divine arrows that marked the points of the cardinal in the numinous and exclamatory expansions of the exiled universe of Vernarth, towards the perenniality in itself, but being heterozygous for a world that would begin to live in non-organic cells, but yes of divine composition, over saturating the limits of the origin, and destiny of syntropy of the conscious actions of the metabolism of the Alma Mater and of the great doors when losing the bodyweight of the physical-ether, but yes from the platform of the Mashiach that will take them hands without leaving them abandoned, showing them that they were no longer children born of ovule-*****, but rather in the luminous matter, envisioning expansions of prayers beyond from the universe, where it will accompany them in a multidimensional plane..., and will have no end from a human scientific conception.

Wonthelimar says: “Since the omphalos was swallowed by Cronos, Hera's elegy was unleashed, for not raising her son Zeus in free clumps of goats and Ida's honey. I in the Alps went to the herd of the Ibix like a Zeus saved from the darkness of Chauvet in the mountains of Gaul. There are chisels that cut stones in beautiful whirlwinds, but I know that a lot of cosmology would not speak of the Mediterranean Cornicabra and its olive drupe, nor less of the Cornucopia that sinks with sumptuous and ephebian flavors in the fruit, and the greenish heraldry of the binominal that is disturbed in its phalanges eating and sipping honey, in antler pots with pride of the Ida and the Vercors massif”
Wonthelimar Amaltheum, Állos Kosmos Megaron
Bob B Oct 2018
As life in Israel flourishes
For Israelis, it's not so fine--
As many conditions deteriorate--
For the poor people of Palestine.

Chances of a two-state solution
Dwindle, which is not a good sign
As settlement expansions increase,
Affecting the people of Palestine.

For Palestinians imprisoned in Gaza,
The infrastructure is in a decline.
Will Gaza be uninhabitable for
The poor people of Palestine?

Defining what is their land, Israeli
Lawmakers draw a hard line:
This land belongs to the Jews, they say,
Forgetting the people of Palestine.

Cuts in economic aid
And hospital care will undermine
The health and quality of life
Of the poor people of Palestine?

Will an Israeli apartheid regime
Be the ultimate design,
Or will there be hope for the poor
Struggling people of Palestine?

-by Bob B (10-22-18)
The expansions of space
the matrix we learn to re-create
lucid dreaming conquers the mind
lust drains the mind rendering it blind
past issues fade like clouds
pedestrians pass in the confusion of time
inner thoughts expressed aloud
surrounded atmosphere all around
limitations is what keeps humanity underground
infinity: a number of fantasy
kept up like gasses and when the bubble pops acid drops
slipping into the abyss till gravity stops
amid the ashes is where life crashes
so long as it stays concealed in darkness
everything comes out to light
in such sparkling moments
in energy in rebirth
the fallen jaguar rises taking the form of night
chosen by the stars
given divine right
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
concerning the last lines... all we can do with the Cartesian Libra is add adjectives to it, which is contrary to what the existentialists did by simply modifying a furthered abstraction of the compounds 'i think' and 'i am', via the inverted comma(s), otherwise known as dittoing, sic, prior said, or re-, true to the oddity; a king will continue to question his position / being a king by not thinking about it, hence his uninhibited delusions, hereditary, very much genetic; and hence someone who precursors his being with much concern for thinking, the inhibited delusion, self-serving - both are adjective expansions of the Cartesian Libra, just added qualities, given both are facts requiring a slab of marble to look like Rodin's kiss - or approximate, with therefore being the chisel, and so dependent the end product, indeed a slab of marble at first, but not necessarily Rodin's kiss at the end - perhaps a Notre Dame gargoyle...*

i am what i think,
that's what i came up with after
reading some of the bio sketches -
even though the truth is that
i am what i own -
thinking is the part that comes last,
if i own a bed and a roof over my head,
i end up i thinking about being
homeless - but sometimes you do find
the ones that are inclined
to be what they think, the extremes
we call them - supreme anti-materialists,
it's not satisfying to own a house
or a phone, more is required,
something tinged with transcendental
counters - they "own" a home
but rather not live in it, already the
looming fairy of heaven tells them
of an unnatural life expectancy -
some might say thinking a form of
uninhibited delusion sketches,
like i'd be a venture capitalists taking
a weekend away in Hawaii while
some ridiculousness of poverty in India
was to blame for my jet streams and
carbon footprints - they keep the
inhibited delusional in cages without
a chance to sketch - because the uninhibited
delusional have all the freedoms
that Versailles could allow - or...
uninhibited delusions of non-thought,
inherited, hereditary,
versus inhibited delusions of thought,
mutated, self-invented...
            this could very well be a "magic" square
with two further variations, i.e.

uninhibited delusions of thought (psychopathy)
inhibited delusions of non-thought (coma?
DP Younginger May 2013
****** suspicious schemes,
Right or wrong, I see past all communication into extreme expansions of a negative mindset,
Scarlet buttons compressed with Indian shaded tint, through mistaken pigment,
Veins pumping overtime with boiled fumes of something condensing,
You’re running out of immediate clockwork when days brew skyward and panic appears to be tempting your envious iris,
Behind the machinery are the blueprints,
Directed only towards agitated agony and sour sorrow,
Illuminated by locked doors-
I ask you- as the reader- the listener-
See passed my memories and create room for visions of a tangible imagination and leg-pumping adrenaline,
Needle infested wrenches lock arms with the absent intelligence of conscious deprived brain flow,
I see you peaking around my duct and depict an abstract view of confused, focused eyeliner,
Slick and plentiful dew drops linger between a plugged safeguarded build,
You’re running out of precious seconds as Antoine Fisher burns free the story behind a smearing disguise of gratitude,
Amen to the present and many men for this lopsided track record,
I’ve got a key witness in my pocket, along with images of what I lived for, before mistakes took flight,
Continue on with your heart, as nothing more than a stranger in a cauliflower society where I erase the painted tapestries,
Beware of the ticking, as I await my calendar to run dry,
Prepare your own stopwatch and click on the rolling minutes my old friend,
I hate everything you represent,
Everything you expose to the previously tainted atmosphere,
But mainly, everything you have coming home from war,
Tick…tick…tick…
Caleb Eli Price Dec 2011
Can you turn it down?
Loves on turbo, hearts destruction,
Willing partner needs eruption.
Love is rivers, I might drown.

Can you turn it up?
Souls construction isn't flowing,
Welcome warmth is ever knowing.
Love is wine and you're the cup.

Can you still be more?
Satisfaction guaranteed,
Whether chained or will be freed.
Love is knocking at the door.

Can you have it all?
Handled well but simulated,
Diamond eyes were stimulated.
Love, so handsome, shall it fall.

Can you die tonight?
Left in bliss, and still tuxedoed,
Warm expansions, then I'm vetoed.
Love, or is it loveless flight.
Raj Arumugam Dec 2013
time passes, does it not,
trickling away in drops, from a leaking tap unnoticed
imperceptible, drops of our days and months that
tsunami into years

we might grow more cynical or wise
we might allow the animals to howl or to transform
or we might eliminate hierarchy and symbolism
and see plain and clear past the allegory
what is left of the experiment
(an unintended one, an unknowing participant even)
the residue, the remains of the years –
what chemical composition do we have?
What has transpired here? -
as clueless as we are of the first expansions
the time when the universes arrive in another cycle;
or perhaps we could see everything in the cocksureness of faith
and drag on, in suspension, leave in doubt or in certainty –
each but a conditioning, a myth,
the truth shrouded in symbol and plainness
O sweet loves,
Time wraps us in its mysterious archaic cyberspace
an inner space that draws a roar, a bark, a howl
and we have justifications, visionary words, systems
to put everything into perspective
like a Titian framed so elegantly in an esteemed museum
- poem based on the painting “Allegory of Time Governed by Prudence” by Titian (1490-1576)
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
i was in a pub once, talking to a friend, among other things,
the european union came up, i said: i can understand an economic union,
so that economic migrants are no more, i rather like talking polish after all,
but a political union, with so many contrasts?!
that'll never work. then i hear the news,
and the heavy burden of saying things before they happen;
and unlike the insinuations between philosophy
and conversation, with that one mundane origin
of philosophy known as dialectics,
i find writing necessary in prophesying,
indispensable you might add -
when governing to say: the old roman said to the
new roman: the old member boarders want inclusion,
they want the slavs gone, the dream to unfold by their
terms from carthage! i want carthage gone, erased,
gone from the dream of unification, but there's
carthage dictating to the old frail rome known as the vatican!
no! carthago delenda est!
but no, they are replicating a deletion of the past -
russia predates them in propaganda as necessarily
nibbling and knitting so that, as i might add -
old bulgars and roma will testify in fright to the yugoslav -
why such northern expansions?! the whole revelatory book said
concisely enough to market a roman revival as was first insured by
pestering russia with that famous abnormal foetus collection
of peter the great, who was the sole saint in petersburg -
saint built a city! saint built a city! how can francis assisi ever compete
to sainthood by merely talking to sparrows and squirrels
when peter the great built a city?!
well, carthage moved to raqqa - that's how!
or spot me distancing myself from the bookworm moth
philosophies of the library with shush rather than: two for 'un yer bananas!
i am that i am said: it is what it is, a god speaking of the creation,
but then the interaction within it is what it is -
the predation of all ideas and associations, a single noun, moses.
so i am that i am said inside it is what it is to
a noun who had no cartesian relevant past  in terms of
refraining from swish buckle cat's in high-heels and tutu - ***** up! you
break a spine introducing me, forget the family and the child,
you me, we encounter the world changed -
what i said prior: it is what it is will become it is what it's not really.
hence enter the philosophical lexicon: reality... perception...
bulls buckling against *******... enter moses the grand oration
of this famous dusty lexicon bettered. bettered? no really,
just us the same monkey flashback drunk with barbers and better beards -
maldives under the armpits!
i tell you, there are two kinds of world spirit like that quote
about hegel on foot and napoleon on hoof -
one spirit of the world is shrouded with, is cloaked in philosophies,
in thoughts, in the oughts and the morals of DON'T DO!
the other spirit of the world - filled with musketeers and other
pawn shrapnel - expendable creatures to conform to the dictatorial ditto:
napoleon said: marshal ames said: general maccabee said:
lieutenant general nadim said: major general eban said:
major general saburo said: brigadier taavi said: colonel yakov said:
the rest were man of cadet worth with fancy pink ribbons to sport
the wide mouthed bartender of shell-shock and etc.
those are the two spirits, while in the second realm
we have the false prophets governing - with the residing "god" as devil,
but imagine fooling a false prophet from this realm, e.g. jesus to
descend, what would the devil think?! oh ****, 2d!
so a third realm reveals itself - the pseudo edenic ****** ciphered
in the koran disappear, and we salvage ourselves by not imagining
eternal sundays, eternal idleness in such with such a realm: ***** ***** frisk frisk, lubricant;
what, a ****, eternity, as dictated by the kingdom and the koranic gardens;
peasants' eternal fill, no lion, the witch and the wardrobe in sight -
no valhalla! boring! (insert family fortunes' buzzer of x).
i want to be as worthy as a tree to rejuvenate each day after slaughtering
hel's and loci's spawn!
Arlene Corwin May 2017
A Faster Cleanup

I’ve watched the documentaries,
Read the news and watched TV.
I wish I weren’t ordinary,
More pedestrian than I would wish to be,
Surrendering to traps of
Entertainment for diversion -
All those mediocre pastimes I accuse the herd
Of needing, and I shan’t excuse my nerdy being
Leaning on that chestnut ‘will is strong but flesh is weak’.
So before you puke I’ll speak
And say, we need a faster cleanup.

Plastic on the ocean bottoms,
Record heats and floods and rain.
Deserts spreading, Arctic’s melting: symptoms
Of the odium of inhumane
Expansions everywhere you look:
The Book of Crooked Modern-day,
Modernity’s last supper.
So, we need a faster cleanup
Mr. Trump  
                      and all the others.

A Faster Cleanup 5.27.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin



I'm sure you get the message.  It's a pregnant one!
I'm sure you get the message.  it's a pregnant one!
Tom McCone May 2013
I'm going in there,

the box is locked, but I've been feigning,
shouldering off opportunities,
tormenting
how you lie, how;
you
are too ****
      good,
      too **** sweet,
      for me.

still,
take me with you, please.

how do you manage to,
or, how do I delude myself as,
to get to the matter at hand:
i want
every
last brushstroke
of your co-ordinate skin
surface patch union
in a quilt of
frail, tendre, beauteous,
branching, distant
expansions.
but you're here,
            no mind.

ok, so:

you're a forest fire in my
eyes when
I simply glaze through
your
al-
a-
ba-ster domain,

where your heart sits,
still,
contorted,
left, chinese-puzzled, by a boy you, still,
could never hate.

{nobody ever hates anyway, truly} maybe.
{nobody ever loves anyway, truly} I guess I have proof, otherwise.

And I, well,
I could never not love everything.
Whatever it is, makes up you.
Sorry.

I'm out of sorts at the moment. I'll write something worthwhile, someday. maybe :>
God's Oracle Aug 2021
I am completely honest I am accepting the help from my Christian Brothers and Sisters to at last RENOUNCE to the spirits of Lust, Power, Pride, Sloth, Manipulation, High Places and Violence. I voice out my heart because I have gotten accostumed to allowing this entities to coexist outside of my temple yet have given them permission to utilize my temple whenever I needed their knowledge or expertize or even experience due to their massive years of antiquity. Some of this spirits are a Millennial Spirit with a vast amount of rich knowledge special way to aid it's host on making predictions on other people's livelihoods via astrological, numeral, symbolical allegory of unexplored secrets of the spirit realm. When being able to look at a person's spiritual blueprint and extract his exact 3 most radiant aura colors and if you can suggest a perfect number a number that has meaning in their Life...this can shake the foundations of their empirical and theological or philosophical beliefs...This things are a Spiritual Gift I have unlocked and possess the capacity and capability to allow someone else see their destiny and Life thru a newer more fresher perspective. I have learned that every person has a different spiritual walk either lost in the world roaming this planet with too much ignorance and intellectual theory's that defy God and his existence. What they don't see is that without God our Universe could NOT coexist nor be able to continuously expand and bloom in the vast expansions of the unexplored darkness that is ever so prevelent in the cosmic celestial hosts. Don't you people understand that we are all somewhat related via blood types and ancestral family trees and how we can trace the DNA that proves we all have a genetic molecular modification to our DNA via other unknown entities that somehow gave us knowledge of magik, weaponry, chemical alterations  that can be administered to the human body via energy exchange, ritual accession or even experienced thru drinking, smoking, inhaling, or injecting this Drugs to the human body. Furthermore, knowledge of hybrid breeds of people, astrology, mathematics, science, philosophy, arts & crafts, precious stones, alchemy, spacecraft, portals to travel thru time & space, herbalism, medicine and artificial machinery. What is important to note is that I am relinquishing my temple from utilization from this spirits and in the Powerful Name Of Jesus Christ I command ******, Malpheor, Asteroth, Gremvor, Cthulhu, Sezil and Belial I command thee to leave me be in the name of Jesus Christ and to not ever come back to work within me no longer. I am no longer interested in complying with your requests to use myself as a demonic conduit to allow you demonic spirits be able to work within me...am so glad that I have finally realized that you are evil entities that somehow gave me illusive power that I adored to utilize to feel as if am above others. Now I realize that was pride and ignorance on my behalf...I now will be able to move more smoothly more clear with more clarity and with a special calling to use  my gifts for the good of humanity...now just letting the Holy Spirit to open my spiritual eyes and envision the path layed before me.
I am cancelling all commitments and all demonic spirits must leave in Jesus Name...Amen!!! The Lord Shall Persevere, Endure Forevermore Till my Life ends I'll follow the Lord everywhere he leads me.
Jesus has the power to heal cast and heal desolate temples...he can turns hearts of stone into hearts of flesh...and he is the one that can save your Soul.
Jack D Serna Jan 2016
When all the dust has blown
By all the rust be grown
Change the scene for once more;
Leaf in the wind, and spore.

An infinitesimal seed
So hapless and inconceivable,
That emptiness of heart
Germinates of a green new start.

A negligible bacterium
To the unforeseen eye
Effervesce, bloom and spume!
Company will soon greet you!

O embrace the sobering ground,
'Tis here just like you found.
All the resources will draw nigh,
'Twas in you all this time!

All need words of encouragement,
Some protein and enzyme.
Rest, reactants, in thy calm tent,
Get some shut eye to see rhyme.

But ever haunted of the past
Should the even'n empire return(1)
See a world in a grain of sand(2),
But never Heaven on this land.

Lo the booms and the busts!
Lo expansions and recessions!
Lo the mad and the sad!
Lo multitudes and solitudes!

O humanity I love you!(3)
How generations trapp'd
That live in cells within, imbued
To so idly stay rapt.

But to their good fortune, adapt!
You shall be absolved
Walking with peace as every stepp'd(4),
The diplomat endow'd

Alas! A new variety!
With such resilience
In ev'ry zone, ev'ry climate
Here to live, here to please!
1: "the evening empire" from Bob Dylan's Tambourine Man
2: "a world in a grain of sand" from William Blake's To See A World...
3: "humanity I love you" from E.E. Cummings Humanity I Love You
4: "walking with peace as every stepped" from Thich Nhat Hanh's Touching Peace, or any other works.

This was written under the influence of Walt Whitman, and is a collage of many ideas, original and rephrased.
Tsunami Jul 2018
Sometimes when I miss someone
I feel it catch in my throat
Something between a whimper
More of a cough and a choke
Fireflies flutter in my pulmonary cavities
My ribs are the lantern
Caging my fatalities
As they burn from their expansions.
Igniting even the darkest of nights
They flicker off
One by one
i choke
Gabriel Jan 2014
Continuous reflections of every light that passes,
The detection of my eyes as water simply dances.

Stillness shows a shimmering reverse dimension,  
Tires break the water shattering buildings in its reverberations.

Tiny droplets hit the glass like little expansions of reality,
It is often sad that wet blacktops lead to many fatalities.

But despite the flaws water at night is still the greatest,
Yet the warmer rain brings the sweeter kiss.

In the midst of a rainbow one I cannot resist,
But as we drive down the path.

Seemingly dark and dampened,
You grabbed my hand so tightly.

I never saw the edge of the road,
Flying through the air.

The water seems so very cold,
Now a love of something leads to never growing old.
Graff1980 Jul 2016
It is just a thing
barely a temporary fix
that does not mix
with the mind’s expansions
does not help you grow
or know
new worlds
within or without.

It will not save you
or take you to
new and grand places
with unknown faces.
Unless, it is a book.
A G Billington Jun 2015
I knew you once

I knew the gaps between your teeth
The spaces between your eyelashes
The scratched up map
On your back that showed me
Where you’ve been
And where you still longed to go

I knew the cracks in your lips
The carvings in your skin
The dreams that you projected
On the wall as you slept
I collected those unconscious seeds
And planted them in my garden

I knew the vessels in your heart
The adhesive bonds of your molecules
I witnessed the expansions and contractions
Building to an existential crisis
I saw the moment of realization
That logic may be irrelevant in such situations

I watched as you fled to that forsaken land
Between your heart and your head
In the back of your throat
To keep you from saying anything more
And you stayed there
Until you became a stranger

But I knew you once
Ella Gwen May 2015
He dispossessed me one summer as we sat beneath skies
blazed blue with such wonder that it burnt my eyes
and I sat and I faltered as those days wore on, this beauty
that mocked me because my glory had gone.

I saw blankness instead of the stars of the night
for he left me, bereft me, took the colours from the light
I was angry, inconsolable, annihilated aspirations of
affinity, consciously avoiding living in contempt of infinity.

Those days were sandpaper shards beneath my clothes
and I worked hard to make sure that nobody knows
those depths that I sank to, the sleepless smoked nights,
where I sat and I wondered how to turn off that light.

Life is brittle glass, dazed and ***** stained clothing;
there's no meaning or secret or way to be knowing
where steps we have not taken will force us to move
and sometimes this darkness is our only truth.

But colours crept back despite eyes not meeting mine
and unwillingly I resolved to tear down this shrine
and I won't lie to you and tell you that each day is joy,
simply subtle expansions of life cherished without that boy.

Torrential rains still lash and terrible things still happen
and his name I still hear which causes infernal distraction
but steadily I am limping my feet away from his lack
finding fire in small things to kindle lapsed hope back.

For the wind and the rain bring green grass and seeds
and salted solitude brought serenity; refusals to concede
and there are new secrets to hold which force me to warm,
for hope, heart and happiness return after each storm.

Look up to the treetops and look around to your friends,
you stand tall, worthy amongst many great men
truth is but perception and so the truth I perceive
is there is hope for you, because there was hope for me.
I wrote this for a close friend, but I do not know whether to show it to them.

It comes across best spoken.
CJ M Feb 2016
Blood’s on your lips as you stare into my soul.
What is it you see?

You see a victim.
I can see the carnivorous beast in you and the predator gnashing her teeth at her prey, sending the scent of adrenaline through the air and intimating with the fragrance of potential gratification.

But I am helpless as my ears flick like a helpless doe.
You stalk your pray with ***** glances and sweet smiles from across expansions of room, waiting for the perfect moment to lunge in for the ****.
Finding it, you come closer and let me know my vulnerability with only one word.

Hi
And the rest is history
Little did the prey know that he was the hunted. Our bodies twisted and bent in such ways of pleasurous escape that I don’t realize.
I’m trapped.
Nibble on my neck like a predator crushes a windpipe.
Lick your lips like a satisfied wolf and let me know who my ender is.
Spread yourself over me and don’t let me escape, grip me like you’ll never satisfy again.

And then leave.
The predator has been satisfied, the prey left to the vultures.
How can she play with so many souls and feel no remorse? How can she turn such innocence without the slightest thought of disturbance?
One must keep his lust and his love as separate entities, for if you confuse the two, you might become a victim.


Man-eater
Nutshell Aug 2017
Is it true?
that our mother is dying with blue
making her weak without any clue
destroying her body until its due

Our mother is sleeping for generations
while we **** her softly with excitation's
inches of her body were destroyed by expansions
taking her for granted for our situations

Her long deciduous hair that gives life for us
suddenly gone missing for our lust
shaving it all is a must
not knowing for her kindness to us

Now we shall proudly say
that we viciously **** her everyday
making her look bad until we may
ending her life, so to us I shall say
joren's Feb 2019
so my common sense
expands past
common expansions
this trance is
a prison my sentence
i'm risking
Gaining time here i
wont die here
i try to hear the guards
i lie here
constructing and tinkering
but i fear
my concious and thinking
are not clear
This is a mess. I can't really explain it, theres just a line you cross between normal thoughts and ones that involve actual thinking.
ray Jun 2017
this coffee-stained desk knows everything
count back my sins
is new york as afraid to let me go as i am to leave her?
i don't see solace in suburbia,
no i crave her maddening grid
noise never will stop,
dont think it ever did
the symphony that bursts the mind but heals, the speed that tweaks the soul to reveal
on scribbled yellow paper
i want to dance within this frozen may
i'll miss her most in the shards of glass that sing back the worst of yesterday
in everyday
the light, the dark;
the lovers, children in park
we're all the same as we dance on
just different way into One
lilac expansions of this holy bronx sky
stealing breath,
kissing death;
to love is to try
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
so I says to the moth sleeping
on a kitchen curtain:
allow my hand curled
to be as soft as a laced
napkin, and you'll fly out
from my chamber prior
to the sunrise scything
the morning dew...
        ****!
     and as I lit a candle and
gently uncurled my hand
into a proud lotus
with a sitting Buddha:
the moth disappeared
    with what felt like...
a kingfisher diving into
the stillness of a narcissus pupil,
near figment,
replacement of
a woman's authenticity
of belief, subsequent
gangrene, akin to the one
success story bound
to the rigours of Walt...
****! thin air...
   a moth in this kingdom
of night, is lover
to the kingdom of day...
a fern replaces a laurel...
immobile drench
of autumnal perfumery
of sly, snail *** oyster
gluttony of excess saliva...
no cannon riddle salute...
deafening the living,
bewildering the dead...
my adversary is not worth
the impetus and subsequent
ordeal of gained
responsibility of Cain...
vain vagabond...
truant lavishness of
lavender...
     silence reveals...
what word is best said yet
best unworn...
   hardly woken...
like a child asked for buttocks
before a jab counter Odra...
counter Ospa...
            mid-dream...
           meningitis hepitatis
worn A, B, C, all through to
D?
         I see nothing short
of the clamour of the living
turned, dead,
   and no drunk statue...
only rigid, copper frames...
best seek the concept
of a cube in a cage...
             than a god in a man
in a man in a universe
with whatever strings attached
no more than chance, contra will,
in this circus of stars...
   however the elaborate
expansions of space,
reiterated by the whimsical
musings of time...
there's the bound man,
the rubric standard,
    the reiteration and
sense expanding cull: contract
  reiteration of medium...
the plateau man:
the safety net inferno...
10 generations apart,
and still: without a Dante...
and thank ****
Bukowski didn't mention Dante!
eerie now, my reading of
the "Bolognese" tirade,
and the monopoly
          of "earned" bachelorhood
of... the ma than becomes the gran
and the hopeful bride who...
can't make a broth...
as well as you...
           but of course...
rasta best explains:
     I is responsible for all...
     pardonable am... 100 years later,
and, apparently,
it didn't originate in Zurich...
  
      papa dont preach,  
I'm emeritus...
      Etc. Etc. in nomine
gratia plena...

words have become
quasi iconoclastic
within the confines of keeping
up with the rigour
of crafting logo...
coca cola, CoCa CoLa...
the ******* black madonna of
Częstochowa...

     genuflex of the abstracted
tetragrammaton...
   Y 'ere,
    
    W over d'er

                        HH: rugby.

FeO: iron oxide...
  BBC4 (radio):
      the Ushers...
    Churchill's θ...
    id est:
   not cheesy...
   w'ah'ver:
   w'eh'wee w'eh'wee
      veering on vague:
V(e) 'ucking, 'uck of e
     pringle.

very discrete,
that definite article...
scissor atheist thought,
either an indefinite
article of A...
    or the rubric of lost
items on the tube...
   with a genesis of
  a-;
    oddly enough...
no lost umbrellas in this one...

because god forbid a language
should ever incline to be
shackled to a mind only
safe in confining itself
to running a school, yard,
and brick cascade of
***** counter excavations
of equal numbering,
to avoid the heretical waste...
doon d' 'oobe...
    
    how else to translate
"******", shittz painting?
      poetry is...
the lost art of counter rhetoric...
a poem ought to shut
someone up...
suffocate them...
          rather than be,
what it currently is...
impedium of
replica...

     **** me...
even I had to check the dictionary
to convince myself
of the stature of but three words...

impedium of replica...
at least plagiarising painting
has a thrill of
plagiarism behind it,
a mischevious
         ploy on employing
subsequent experts...

               my tongue, mostly
completes itself,
on how best it confiscates
the flame of a burning out candle,
and less...
on how a slug might burp
in the Royal Albert Hall.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
.you only need a few crux-words, to trigger, the adequate response narrative/diatribe reactions... the "unnatural" suspect, of the inhibited curse, of will, like suicide, people are afraid of the people who express either, an inhibited ("free") will, or, the uninhibited ("free") will... because that's not even worth the staging of an exhibition to begin with.

the thespian curtain:
wish the soviets were back?
wish the soviet were back?
wish the soviets...
never mind...

            in terms of life:
either hard-earned cash,
or just pure brute honesty
"pays"                  "conundrum"
      the,
   "adventures" of a mediocre
life...

       sure, i was 18,
she was 13...
i was dating her sister...
it was ****** up,
this, "love at first sight"...
but then i began to "reason"...
outright rage,
for ensuring a moral
plateau, "compass"?
feeding into these
apathy-zombies,
these moral police waiting
in line cashier wannabes?

fazed...

                there's nothing
alien to the human mind,
unless,
it's provided by a reciprocated
psyche of equal status....

it was, "wrong"
for a 18 year old, catching
a disney snippet,
of a beauty,
of a 13 year old
not acting upon it,
"circumcising"
himself to a reality
of, what later became,
his experiences in
visiting a brothel...

b'ah! b'ah! b'a'a'h b'a'a'h bad!

i began ******* aged
8...
find, me, the *******
******* who
encouraged me to
transcend age restrictions!
no priest:
no Guns of Navarone.

- but even to me,
it was ****** up...
    come one,
       liking my ex-girlfriend's
sister, 6 or so years my
junior...
  it's like...
experiencing my
first "thrill"
for liking black girls,
when integrating into,
this, "grand scheme of things",
of a multicultural society,/
project.

       we're talking transgender,
but can't allow ourselves
to m'eh fathom
the currency of
basic transcendence...

     teen love...
**** me...
   i never learned / experienced
*** until i was at university,
and even then,
it was b'aah b'aah b'aad
to glorify Napoleon...
unless...
taught by some surrogate
impregnated canadian
****...

         then napoleon was all cool!

it's not paedohpilia...
what i'm talking about is
platonic love...
         can it exist outside of the realm
of its original experience,
inter-******,
between an older man,
and a younger man?
   can...
   platonic love,
a variant of succumbing to
the experience of selflessness,
become exhibited in
an inter-****** encounter,
i.e. between a man,
and a woman?

       i'd love to see the count
of agreement,
to the counter of,
non-agreement...
      does it change,
once the years pass...
say...
   i'm 33, the girl is 23...
   is the state, still intact,
to make implementations
of power,
to have me to have to
cower in "fear" of repercussions?

if not? then we're clearly not
talking about anything specific,
are we?
       yes, yes,
tame the adults,
while the teenagers are riddle,
rife,
   with antics such as:
sending naked pictures of
their genitals,
because some *******-"riddled"
****** didn't have the *******
to walk into a newsagent,
and buy a pornographic magazine...
to make jerking off
regular, even by my standards:
that's a ******* ******...

what? no clue to the rose hue?
no, no shrivelling *******?!
no "hint" of suspence?
ha ha! gavin mcinnes, proud boys,
all inclusive,
once you tell 5 brands of
cereal brands,
while being punched...
'ere's one...
    buy a ******* pornographic
magazine! how's that?
deal?

           no? oh... too proud
to do it yourself...
i get it, i get it,
the "loss" of ******* doesn't help...
you know where
humbled jews come from?
where i come from...
there's no "loss"
of ******* audacity in the thinking,
i might not be german,
but i am also the one who
inherited
the "love", the, "love"
of russo-german expansions...
took two ******* ******
to **** around with
this one ***** of a nation...
third in the nostrils:
if i were to truly keep count.

now...
we settled?
no, of course we're not...
i'll just have to keep drilling
these words,
into all the available onlookers
and "ponder"
what will happen,
subsequently...

thank god i went to a brothel,
and thank god
i bought a pronographic magazine
before this **** became
prevalent, fwee...
on the internet.

my treat...
     but the litre of whiskey,
is on me,
  for me.
Eli Apr 2020
I am hungry.
If it weren't for toxicities,
I'd swallow the change in my pockets.
Will I ever fill myself?

My expansions seem to be dimming.
I will remain empty forever.

My neglect is my biggest regret.
I argue and I am prone to loss.
I neglect my stomach like I neglect myself
Stephen S Jan 2019
I cannot find the right adjective.
The best of nouns elude me.
Suddenly, a narrow verb enters my mind.
But what to pair it with?

Articles and pages,
Expansions and contractions.
Pieces and fragments.

The grammar isn't working.
I'm not enamored by such an object.
Nervous, I am, and tense
I've built a prison with these words.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
what's wrong with 100 units in a week?
the headline of
the times's T2 supplement
magazine, from Tuesday,
August 21st 2018...
what isn't?!

            i figured, since i can't solve
crossword puzzles,
i'd give myself a handicap
solving a sudoku puzzle...

  100 units?
   wait... wait... let me do the arithmetic..
on the odd occasion an
extra 4.1 units from the cider...
most days?
           40 units... per whiskey / *****
bottle, per day...
    x7?

               ****...

4 x 7?
           3 x 7 = 21...

oh... so what's wrong with 280 units
per week,
per year,
per year in the count of 7+ years
with the odd "rehab" break visiting my
grandparents
for the holidays for a month,
where i, not once...
experienced cold turkey withdraw
symptoms...

cleaned my grandfather's room...
read Prus' magnum opus novel
doll... etc...
   fixed up my grandparent's kitchen...
100 units per week?
*****...

              if you're not hitting
the magic 280 units number...
what are you drinking? ***** juice?!
ha ha... let me guess...
red wine...
     dare i say:
          ******* on rosé pop-sickles?!

****... if not the magic cider...
then always a beer walking back
from the supermarket with a pint of
some Bavarian or Dutch brew...
give or take...
let's just call it 280+ units per week,
per year, for the past 7+ or so years...

   but, if my guess i bull's eye...
i hate coffee...
    my zenith epitome of a dinner?
oven fries,
   pulled pork, a fried egg...
some english tomato chutney...
and a smoothie...
bananas, granny smith apples
from south Africa...
natural yogurt, milk...
a bit of sugar...
   and vanilla extract...

                 it's like binging on your
own farts, or something equivalent,
in a really crowded public space,
preferably a space, designated
for transit, at peak hour,
like the london underground at 5pm...

naturally, there is a funny
proof for the theory of solipsism...
the saying goes...
everyone, EVERYONE "loves"
the smell of their own farts...
men? can sit on the throne of thrones
for 40+ minutes
massaging their prostate
by relaxing their **** into
the throne of throne ****
expansions, and never mind the smell...

there you go... solipsism...
people like their own stink...
can't deny it...
              
(insert snigger):
100 units per week...
   but of course... it has to be "MAJOR" news
supplementary "reporting"...
     i do 280+ in week and
rarely slur my words (since i rarely
speak when drinking)...
and?
     ah, you know...
circa 2 alcohol poisonings in public...
so?
   i stopped drinking with people...
it's enough that i'm the sort of nagging
drunk that pushes the ******* from
mush brain to relocate the alphabet
into words and sentences.
Harriet Shea Sep 2023
With no revenge among est the evergreens
softly dancing through the breeze that
often carries a thickness, mangling through
the calmness which would have loved to penetrate
the beauty of daffodils with affection instead
of distorted thrills of undergrowth lying untouched
below the depth of salvation.

Forsake those elements that force through
silence without a moment that could have shaken
denseness away with breeze kissing all a
sweet night of peace, and love flowing down
a brook of fresh clear liquid of  unbelievable
truths.

Live through the misty nights of unforgotten
thrills of youth, attracting falling branches
soft and new upon the moss, of another star
filled night.

Beware of risky rocks that fall without a
touch to mask away the freedom of untold truths
of lands lost, forsaken, dismissed from minds
that knew love carried unbelievable truths
of knowledge and wisdom.

Only now, realities lost and forsaken, we find truths
that life flourishes beyond our intellect before
today's unfamiliar existence.

Suspended in time we swam deep to grasp the truth
of life and miracles of life cherished.

With each breath we linger forward, becoming who
we create within the depths of our understanding of calm
beliefs exchanged expansions of knowledge we
believe came within the day we were created
to be who we make ourselves to be.

Come forward flocks of independent ability
be the individual you will achieve throughout your
life, indifferent, true to self, cherished, unclaimed,
only free beyond any explanation to comprehend
the truth we cannot accept freely!

With no revenge among est the evergreens, we continue
to explore from one dimension to another!

Copyright © Derena Bree | Year Posted 2023
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
a raw challenge of words - not some tartar genius -
it's a "question" or not - and it's a roulette -
it's a gamble -
it's: words not roasted -
words not roasted in an oven of academia -
esp. oven roasted via a masters in arts:
english lit. or jane austen studies - majors -

i can't exfoliate just yet -
i have to catch the midnight train into tomorrow...
because - "something" needs to be tended
to - and i'm about to become
a very responsible nouveau adulte...
i have no time to talk about philosophy -
how i found the time to read it
is another matter -
but talking about it...
seems pointless if... not also weilding
a hammer - heidegger's:
can we talk while doing something else,
menial - and escape the banality of breathing
by on the side - supposing thought?

the crux of the hammer and the nail...
and this talk - or no talk - escapism of sorts...
the isolated words to be "thought" about...
"representation content" and...
what... "what": "reality" is made of...
a speaking that has to return back
into the yoke of thinking -
and not something as practical as...
hammering nails in... ad infinitum...

knock knock... who's there?
Descartes who? Descartes i doubt the table
but not the chair i'm sitting in;
ever knock knock on a leather chair?
there's no superstition of "jinx" associated...
or i could just as well be drinking...
my "thinking" is already
on the train about to leave: come midnight...

raw tartar steak of genius -
words not baked via an oven of an academic
degree in the direction of... modern linguo?
my way all the way back from:
esters RCOOR'
aldehydes RCHO...
carboxylic acid(s) R-COOH...
all that but above all this...

the austrians really do know how to
make the best coffee...
something a christoph waltz would say...
the austrians are (a)
the germans are (b) - high, low - whatever
floats your boat of comparison -
and i do only have an address and a name...

Der-Franz (Vienna since 1929)
A-2512 Oeynhausen
Sachers Strese 7...
hazelnut flavour... coffee...

hans landa eating a strudel -
is probably the best strudel in the world...
and on all days...
but this... it's also a hugo boss uniform...
it's crisp cut... and...
say all you will...
when a girl might wish for a cindarella dress...
any boy would wish for a hugo boss
that clean cut and readied
for: being ironed twice daily...

as of yet: i'm yet to expect a darwinistic
furore - fever - of the coming of
the close of the 19th century and
the opening of the gates for the 20th century...
second coming of darwinism leaves
me hardly convinced -
oh but it's true - oh but yes yes -
some of us are working in the knitting
of the kingdom of the Brine -

this so-called culture war:
words make bad bullets and sentences
are hardly rifles to shoot them with...
paragraphs like bombs: would do...
if congested into... non-paragraphs...
end of james joyce's ulysses or...
jean-paul sartre's iron in the soul...

the rare events of a postcard being sent by
a philatelist...
or a lepidopterist coming clean
on the metaphor of: the most forbidden fruit...
of which king john of england
would never find out about:
sooner the magna carta...

i'm tired of and i have always never tired of...
byzantine chants...
what can anyone actually remember
of the remains - apart from the chants...
or the bureucracy?
the youth that riddled them with canons
and a library that contained only one
book...

i can't even bother to stomach the correct
grammar -
unless it's a translation...
english: red herring...
french: hareng rouge
german: regenbogenforelle
you wouldn't expect me to succumb to
Ablenkungsmanöver / heimlich maneuver
of a spin-doctor, truly!
english: rainbow trout,
french: truite arc-en-ciel...
german is already given...
polish: pstrąg tęczowy...

nietzsche was right... we are the slavic
equivalent of the french...
we share most of their grammar 1-2 1-2...
why i didn't learn it proper?
they write one thing -
then say another -
i can only see excesses of letters
in written french... once they start
talking... all those letters come
and disappear under the suffix- umbrellas...

otherwise... i'm tired of having the need
to sharpen words -
words: would be bullets -
are not pencils -
sticks and stones and all things
associated with infering information:

otherwise just as last night - attempting to fall
to sleep: giggling and imagining myself...
having walked into the north sea off
the coast of norwich...
shouting: i'm a whale! i'm the beast from
the sea! i'm a whale my primordial
mammalian ancestor! i will swim to Denmark!

talk about living through a drought of:
where the english seems to be the dream-a-lots
having never felt a leash of metaphysics
around their necks tighten and give themselves
unto catholic mantras of central europe -
or how the italians are still christian in name only...
otherwise the go to:
aestheticians and romantics of the fig...

these words are not...
how did i perfect cooking chicken ******* without
the torso or the limbs -
the torso and at least half of the limbs
went into a most perfect chicken soup...
the remains and some frozen goods
went into a **** chicken marinade...
thyme... thyme... check y'er dubliners'
on the surd of H in that one...
it's θyme... otherwise's it's t'inking: time...
not so, paddy o'brian? patrick?

snail-paced grammar:
2 steps forward... 1 step back...
at least in the confines of this leftover:
catacombs of Latin...
we are all the children of Rome -
the hebrew were wrong about two alphabets...
the greek and the latin...
spot on! spot on when it came to...
persian cuneiform and egyptian hieroglyphs!

back-up... the glagolitic and the rune scripts...
somehow accomodating the overlords
of judea... otherwise: really stretching
the history for a personal experience...
what alphabet is this?!

- concept of beauty in the 1950s:
none other than the bleach mingling with amber
that was marylin monroe - the blood of which:
and the modern "beauty?
ava lauren - otherwise i call it:
the mandible jaw of ***-appeal gymnastics -
leather beauty - some worn, torn and -
the jigsaw puzzle that comes naked and
there hardly a kennedy romance at stake...
because even in her mature years -
it's "something" that would appeal
to Rodin's hands...
it's already... it leaves me at ease to ****
like a shotgun into my one "crooked" leg folded
and hunched like a crow perched on a windowsill
of the new-born Papillon -
marylin the icon? untouchable...
ava lauren the limbo montage and:

even this poo'em is proof:
why lament the crux of a would-be Liszt performance?
"views"... if that's anything to go by:
i have an *** and a ****** -
implies... i have more than a head a spine to prop
it on and a tongue's worth of an oyster
dissected between the 32 shells...

that views should count: a fountain of youth!
of a body i am certain...
of a soul: i know what i have -
only after i have lost it -
shared company - rejoice soul! hell doesn't exist!
as they call say: via their slavic proverbs:
the devil is without a soul...

perhaps i'm asking:
are not some of my words infantile?
d(evil) and go(o)d?
do or do not...
come to think of it... what makes people
invite the ****** eye into their ****** *******?
to boast or gloat?
i hardly think so...
from the times i watched...
and from the times i was the protagonist 1st person...
sometimes the third person attitude
is... well... imagine being in a 69 position
of reciprocating each other ******* & "*******"...
faber & faber...

if you have a ******* **** in your face...
and you're slurping and slurping...
what out of body experience can you expect
to have... to really and you really
want to appreciate the face of a woman
pleasuring herself and somehow you
on the side...

bogus and boring the same old
*******...
in that cocoon of: under the bed-sheets...
like two foetuses *******
amphibian bode -
placenta erections and:
the place where no two mouths meet!
otherwise:
she rodeod to the point
of a complete tail turned coccyx erosion!

*** is ***... no need to bring grammar
into this "debate" with a bilingual "schizoid"...
otherwise: hello Chloe...
is Chloe ready for a circus?

for all the *** in the world...
it's never something appealing for the eyes...
it's numbing for the parts that
imitate ******* snipping...
and otherwise... it's always more fun
casually: in third-person...
very much akin to reading a book...

because this piece of writing will not topple
your below average amateur post
from the free-range harvest of:
and this one tested this *****...
and this one was showing off: how she can
still get frisky when pregnant...
and... this sore loser is hardly going to...
because...
the greater pleasure comes from music...
to me *** is a most:
dyssynchronyous act...

how some people still manage to focus on saying
something is beyond me...
i'm left with onomatopoeias...
half-wit compositions of somewhat consonant
leverages - somewhat vowel expansions
of breath...

never does god even into this brothel...
i show him the "niqab" and all that's visible
is either silence of the hebrew definite article: ha...
why would i somehow
fathom a god in forms? not words?
with a c.c.t.v. focus etc?

- ******* on the roses, eating the roots
and sniffing the ashes -
variations of the modern: fine and lean
cannibal... because none of this invokes
the mandarin: specialz elephant ivory
"herbalism"...
cos if beijing don't sniff it...
we'ez knot snifz it... woz!
n00b wording and "get some"...

ל... find me a F(ucking) in 'ebrew, levite!
kametz = no aleph or ayin...
chirek? "i"?
well... it's и in cyrillic... א in 'ebrew...
but the latter is: an A...
the other gay Adam to Ayin...
and: whenever jeffrey "napoleon dynomite" dahmer
went along...
hiding vowels... and two vowels
treated as consonants...
you'd have to be born in London,
Golders Green to keep up with
the Hasidi...
because wherever they go...
the quarter is followed up with a ghetto...
like a bayz payot caduceus... listening: sparrows
chirping!

would a myth of Eve the prozzie Lilith
even matter at this point?

it only comes down to: integrating
or keeping with the purity of the forbidden fruit
that isn't *******...
but... cousin *******!
i've seen how this old forbidden fruit looks like...
it slobbers... it doesn't speak...
it's wheeled around: it doesn't walk...
the old fruit of eden: ******* your mother,
******* your cousin...
because i know what the next forbidden fruit is...
the circa 16 year old...
but that doesn't invite genetic: non-chernobyll
"status teases"...

inbreed far enough so that no outsider
will ever want to meddle with the ****** politics
of: the first ever niqab ultra...
because the muslims were never:
but really were about... the power dynamic
played out in rumi's *******: sufism...
a tier up from: gentlemen! let's broaden our minds!
Lawrence! ***** in the air! adhan!
compensated by the christian *******
at the altar...
religious gesticulation toward proving
the existence of incubuses: a very feminine affair...
when the broomstick stops "working"...
and there's no sabbath to attend...
and high-tier french socialite society
moves to London...
and the Viennese patisserie was always better
than the Parisian yoke-riddled flat and custard
agitation prone...

i poke my head out of my whittle
hermit cave...
and oops is supposed to happen...

or... drink enough cider and a shot of whiskey
at the same time... and...
it's almost like you're part of
the baltic culture of eating... kashubian herrings...
or generally pickled herrings...

why the **** did Amon Goeth say...
casimir the great - so called -
told the jews they could come to Krakow -
well, even history says:
first they were jews...
later they were polaks...
or: no... they weren't polaks to begin with:
not with that history allows us to entertain...
likewise...
"they're" not h'americans...
israel seems to be...
somewhat of a safebet gamble...

if i heard that one palestinian had roots
in saudi arabia...
like all those "pakistanis" circa 2001 that
had roots in saudi arabia...

the subject - the **** -
the tender geopolitics in between -
the 7 year madness of nebuchadnezzar
that never made it into a ben-hur esque movie
****...
shame i say...

of course this will not reach a far greater audience...
ah... what am i missing?
a ****** - a plump *** - a decapitated madame tussauds
monsier de sade *** toy / would be barbie or
an otherwise ripe cucumber...

my agony: extending the *******
into a cusp of a bone hard hand...
rather natural -
not unless - the proper deal is associated...
me and my ******* and
the girls being circumcised...
well then...
that would almost be like me...
being james cook having just visited
the Easter Islands!
Harriet Shea Nov 2023
With no revenge among est the evergreens
softly dancing through the breeze that
often carries a thickness, mangling through
the calmness which would have loved to penetrate
the beauty of daffodils with affection instead
of distorted thrills of undergrowth lying untouched
below the depth of salvation.

Forsake those elements that force through
silence without a moment that could have shaken
denseness away with breeze kissing all a
sweet night of peace, and love flowing down
a brook of fresh clear liquid of  unbelievable
truths.

Live through the misty nights of unforgotten
thrills of youth, attracting falling branches
soft and new upon the moss, of another star
filled night.

Beware of risky rocks that fall without a
touch to mask away the freedom of untold truths
of lands lost, forsaken, dismissed from minds
that knew love carried unbelievable truths
of knowledge and wisdom.

Only now, realities lost and forsaken, we find truths
that life flourishes beyond our intellect before
today's unfamiliar existence.

Suspended in time we swam deep to grasp the truth
of life and miracles of life cherished.

With each breath we linger forward, becoming who
we create within the depths of our understanding of calm
beliefs exchanged expansions of knowledge we
believe came within the day we were created
to be who we make ourselves to be.

Come forward flocks of independent ability
be the individual you will achieve throughout your
life, indifferent, true to self, cherished, unclaimed,
only free beyond any explanation to comprehend
the truth we cannot accept freely!

With no revenge among est the evergreens, we continue
to explore from one dimension to another!

Copyright © Derena Bree | Year Posted 2023
(All rights Reserved)
Harriet Shea May 2023
With no Revenge among est, the evergreens softly dance through the breeze that often carries a thickness, mangling through the calmness that would have loved to penetrate the beauty of daffodils with affection instead of distorted thrills of undergrowth laying untouched below the depth of salvation.

Forsake those elements that force through the silence without a moment that could have shaken denseness away with breeze kissing all a sweet night of peace, and love flowing down a brook of fresh clear liquid of unbelievable truths.

Live through the misty nights of unforgotten thrills of youth, attracting falling branches soft and new upon the moss, of another star-filled night.

Beware of risky rocks that fall without touch to mask away the freedom of untold truths of lands lost, forsaken, and dismissed from minds that knew love carried unbelievable truths of knowledge and wisdom. Only now, realities lost and forsaken, we find truths that life flourishes beyond our intellect before today's unfamiliar existence.

Suspended in time we swam deep to grasp the truth of life and the miracles of life cherished.

With each breath we linger forward, becoming who we create within the depths of our understanding of calm beliefs exchanged expansions of knowledge we believe came within the day we were created to be who we make ourselves to be.

Come forward flocks of independent ability be the individual you will achieve throughout your life, indifferent, true to self, cherished, unclaimed, only free beyond any explanation to comprehend the truth we cannot accept freely!

With no revenge among est the evergreens, we continue to explore from one dimension to another!

Copyright © DerenaBree(All Rights Reserved)
The empires of the world collapse and unleash hegira of instigation, the dynasties become obfuscated and lost among the instigated themselves. Vernarth was still intertwined with the figures of light that were reflected in the personal back tent after the expansions and debits of faith, looking for the limbs that vanished in the exotic stubbornness of everything from now on being only his dimensional air that would continue after infinity that marks lines that freeze at the end of the Vóreios, and are scalding in the average of the Mediterranean, later when the Kassotide is the environment of Helleniká transhumating the resistances that were from the shady gap of the Seventh Cemetery of Messolonghi. This Ellipsis would mark the final epilogue of Alexander the Great who would now be in spectral form with Vernarth. They were going to face the sequence of this parapsychological ellipsis from 326 BC. In the Battle of the environment and stonework of the river that resembled spirits of sooty ignition such as Bumodos, but being the Hydaspes who managed to notice this duality of parapsychology as the serum that pretended to be divine blood, for a fortuitous exhaustion of the physicalities that crossed in true existentiality through rivers of final blood, as it would be in the Hí Emphasis to volatilize with the ethereal mixture of blood that ran through the rivers escaping from a forced destiny, which was only based on colonization of areas that would burn like Carmania or Bactriana, being now Grikos and Skalá between latitudes that would laud in regulas and helmets, collapsing on rings in how many lives of beings that could hardly bring the biosphere of expedited death or euthanasia in the Katabasis, where the decline and redemption of successive struggles would be definitively marked, to fall in the dizziness of the fumaroles of the eruptions that carry him unscathed in the psychic depositories of a messiah a going to the true Messiah, in addition to an early biological dysfunction to later be reborn in an agitated spiritual life where empires of antiquity are founded to give the first ideological falsehoods that would change the climatic atmosphere, since the Kassotide source was extinguished, quantumly uniting the An ancient period with the ipso facto moment of the sacred word that gives glorification to its roots, to understand that the heights of the Thuellai and all its genetics will bring the new vigor, lato and the prefigured that all blood that spews a dejection or a geyser, which is the homeostatic sublimated of the colossal body of the world, which resists by all its extremities, when its scriptural postulates are concluded or disallowed from flaming among the dissipated lineage of a ****, bordering on the projection of the opinion when it dies alone, the body also and a piece of that extensive mind that becomes part of the rotating mist of all that in covers the existence of a Hoplite, further away than the elegies of Saint John the Apostle, which would appear considerably real to avoid any unconscious gradation or destruction of the Hellenic patrimonial, discarding all vulnerability of beheaded frustrated genes, for whoever was a Hoplite with all that he conserves and cultivate, if you can treasure it? It would be the symbolic significance of the transient wandering in all its echoes and screams in unison through the shouting of the Kidron Valley, where the antichrist looks at the stream seeing that it had blue eyebolts, in its feverish fiery ardor on the upper metacarpal end, remaining in the opacity of the light that soaked immortals and that at the same time was a hindrance or utopia of a refutation of the dawn that never had the origin or destination of its transient sunrise. The holy complacency of the sanctity of their thoughts has the tendency to be ruined in the middle of the city of Jericho, or in an ugly situation in parallel that would bring it to those who amplify their tonnage of immanence in the face of a particle collision situation that they had alone. The target of the omega blade was instantiated in the omega storehouse.

Says Vernarth: "Because if the Anemoi extends north all humanity follows ...? because mercy rushes to where someone ponders the latch of the lazaret when whoever brings salvation cannot wait without holiness ...? Because the immaculate is multi-sacrificed with the life of an unborn if the passing of the millennia is who should do it? Why does writing travel thousands of light-years from the celestial pretenses without hesitation or stopping, bringing writings that renew the heart that sets the scene that a writer can progressively revive in the word and the body that is the essence of God ...? Because centuries pass in a second, and fewer and fewer centuries remain without being able to tell what someone omitted in any of them if the light or ink that should be stolen from the night is scarce, what the secret of her and only her could testify that a Being of Light can write with the light of its lights, as it would be then and perhaps before, fleeing and forgetting or not dare to take the fountain pen or an eyebolt, which surrounds him while the figures from the unforeseen they inspire the being who writes ...? "

Everything that glittered in Vernarth's Epiphany and Linkage shop was summed up in the finesse of the memorial, traversing the neuronal Katabasis of the emotional subclavian, exterminating emotions that carried no greater weight than an artery capable of penetrating all its bearing, where the light shone. adds as in a cruet on the table of Apollo, and no more than writing that should do it for him, since it is exempt from having emotional extremities that replace everything that comes from the darkness opposite to the Light, being written with calamus and with living blood.
Katapausis
Harriet Shea Jun 2022
With no revenge among est the evergreens
softly dancing through the breeze that
often carries a thickness, mangling through
the calmness which would have loved to penetrate
the beauty of daffodils with affection instead
of distorted thrills of undergrowth lying untouched
below the depth of salvation.

Forsake those elements that force through
silence without a moment that could have shaken
denseness away with breeze kissing all a
sweet night of peace, and love flowing down
a brook of fresh clear liquid of  unbelievable
truths.

Live through the misty nights of unforgotten
thrills of youth, attracting falling branches
soft and new upon the moss, of another star
filled night.

Beware of risky rocks that fall without a
touch to mask away the freedom of untold truths
of lands lost, forsaken, dismissed from minds
that knew love carried unbelievable truths
of knowledge and wisdom.

Only now, realities lost and forsaken, we find truths
that life flourishes beyond our intellect before
today's unfamiliar existence.

Suspended in time we swam deep to grasp the truth
of life and miracles of life cherished.

With each breath we linger forward, becoming who
we create within the depths of our understanding of calm
beliefs exchanged expansions of knowledge we
believe came within the day we were created
to be who we make ourselves to be.

Come forward flocks of independent ability
be the individual you will achieve throughout your
life, indifferent, true to self, cherished, unclaimed,
only free beyond any explanation to comprehend
the truth we cannot accept freely!

With no revenge among est the evergreens, we continue
to explore from one dimension to another!


Copyright ⓒ DerenaBree( All Rights Reserved)
when you gave it your whole heart the
baked porcelain shards you picked up from the kiln
tell you
there really was so much there
too much
so much moisture that it expanded too quickly
too fast and you exploded
landed over by the thermocouple
hit the reflective coding at the top of the kiln and
was hurled down to the corner
that pieces of you even hit the center, too
and that others landed over the vases other artists had fired along with yours to bake

your whole heart did not rip or break: it blew open


fell into every part of the kiln, ate space and unwillingly
in a burst realized  expansions

— The End —