Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Third Eye Candy Oct 2012
In your vision you are the only thing with bloodshot eyes.
You always wear a robe
that speaks seven languages... and a bank of fog is at your feet
nipping at your naked heel.
In your vision you remember how your arms feel in sunshine.
It is intense.

Your can-opener is hissing an etude
that alludes to wise men...
who bathe in miracles
and roam the world,
untarnished in Poverty.
Your can-opener whispers in hush tones
about barbarians at the gate. And they say
' they've come for the Linen ! '

You are not deceived.

In your vision you are the only thing that can backward engineer
a Universe.

On your way back to the homeland of your algebra
you hesitate. “ you may have left your keys in your Other Robe...”
The Robe that hallucinates constantly~ Carrying on about
' The dire consequences of leaving terrycloth alone with the keys '
and, afflicted with Prophesy Tourettes
the piteous tide of doom ' sayeth the robe '
you must suffer.

In your vision, you are the only one
looking for the keys.
LannaEvolved Jan 2021
In some sense is our identity at stake?
Is friendship a relationship of knowledge, self knowledge, or has it to do with the imaginary, meaning in some sense who we are is imaginary, and we just construct ourselves through other people..? are we knowing the other, or producing ourselves in that relation through our continuous phases of knowing ? 'Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.' Maybe friendship is an imaginative task that has to then meet reality in some way- as a child hallucinates first what they might be, we have to own who we are first, own ourselves, and then meet reality so we can land somewhere- so that it becomes real, in order to own it, so that we can take part in life.
    
    FRIENDSHIP – fragility of friendship
    Is any friendship real?
What is real friendship?
    Sincerity, genuine concern, legit interest

Friendship is
everything and fleeting at the same time
Emily Pidduck Mar 2014
Sometimes to survive you need to be painstakingly emotionless
You need to bite your lip to hold the screams
Block it out
just Breathe

But beware the stories.


There's a mother who at 33 became a drunkard
and she had 3 lovers
and she loved none.
And Dad stopped loving
because it hurt too much to love
even his own son.
And the neighbour had to tell Tommy
he wasn't a brother anymore.
And that family
broke
at the core
           -wailing

And this kind of failing
the kind where each who lost
added to the cost
only to push themselves further under: it makes me wonder
How long can I deceive myself?
to pretend that it's all good
Told my mind
Just breathe it out.
and We'll be as We Should


There's a brother
I've been told
Who sold his body for less than gold
and he is RIDICULED
His Father Beats Him
and his darkness deepens
But his 12 year old sister hallucinates:
redemption as his fate
But his story held a choice
it was Him or Her
and his voice pleaded
that he should be the one
so she might have freedom
and they agreed
Now at night, while she's Dreaming
he's Screaming

That boy said to me
that he holds a dream
of a sister still clean
which means to him
That he's worth something still
and the nights can be bared
as long as she never knows
his type of scared
And this has me bawling
and clawing for air.
And my lungs fight for life
just to get there.


There's a father
with a wishful life
with cheerful children
and a gentle wife
And he's a Grandma's Boy
well, that's all he had left
and at her death
he's pitiful, on the ground
gasping for breath
Now he lives in FEAR
of the loneliness returning
that devoured him as a little boy
for years
So now he's running, so afraid of what's coming
that the path back is lost
and he never
recognizes
the cost

and I feel tears when I watch him chatter with his family
because it's always a bonding moment of one on one
but if you look around, there's absolutely none
And I've started to feel lonely
when it's only me
but I remind myself: you can't go down that road
and you won't
if you can just Breathe.


There's a sister
with a child born out of wedlock
and she's felt fury
from her loved ones
Because of this Situation
Even Though
she resisted *******
And she just wants to find some love
so she protects that baby with everything that counts
and every ounce of resistance she has left
And She Will Keep Every Cry Inside
until that child arrives
and starts screeching
and she's shrieking
until that baby's tired eyes fall asleep
and she can enter her own weary zone
but she goes to deep

I'm having trouble processing
this story ending
because I've heard that beginnings are a beautiful thing
but this child won't even have
a mother to sing
to her at night
so How is she supposed to stop screaming?
and with this knowledge
How am I supposed to find meaning?

And I know

I know

I know there's good


And I know that pain can't win
so long as we hold it in


Breathe in
and out
and in
out
in
out

But Sometimes


I can't Breathe.

and that's when I bellow
right before the never-ending screams
I'm not suggesting giving up, but I want recognition for those who feel the burden of every story and weight they hear.
Have you considered being a *** worker?
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than associating with your own ribcage.
You're an actress
no script, just a character summary.

Limp, age 12, non-verbal marionette.
Snaps her strings when forced to dance.
Clings to the ceiling tiles, like the shadows she hallucinates.
Let's the puppet fall numb under strangers.
Ragdoll to be used for kindling.


When you play your part
You'll inherit enough money to afford a studio apartment
in Washington, or Las Vegas; anywhere with men paid large enough salary to afford your vacant body,
three phone plans,
a hotel room for you to stay awake in
Listening to dull thuds against your wrongfully warm corpse
Invited hoping the stinging could form tendons
adhere together like rubber bands
Snap you back into your skin.
You cling helpless to the ceiling tiles
Watch the ragdoll make mistakes.

"Have you considered being a *** worker?"
A homeless woman asked me,
*"Unoccupied bodies should start charging rent.
Let a man who can afford it pay for utilities.
You might be homeless
but you won't be wasted space".
Ellie Stelter Dec 2011
one of my friends is adored by everyone he knows
the kind of kid who smiles all the time
who can always make anyone laugh
always has something motivational and upbeat to say or sing

once we were sitting in English class
talking about change
and it was quiet between us for a minute
so I said
watching people die is hard
and he said
yeah, it is

and I didn't tell him about my grandfather
who had cancer and died in my house a week later
or my grandmother
who lost her mind eight years ago and slowly deteriorates each day
or my aunt
who had her first open-heart surgery when she was fifteen
and is now a bloated skeleton who lingers in wheelchairs
and doesn't sleep and hallucinates
or my second cousin
who only knows all the "wrong" sorts of people
or my friend
who is breaking slowly, who I cannot fix

I didn't tell him because I'd never heard three simple words like that
overflowing with so much empathy
Reece Dec 2013
Bluebell Lucy danced in fantastic flames, taught by shamanic figures
  when the winter nights grew tiresome
  and lonely boys ran passionately in village streets
She stood on ancient structures and sang her song with uttermost vigor
  even after mild paranoia sets in, she stands statuesque
  breathing harmonic, listening intently to the cloud's chatter
Her cobalt lashes flickered adroitly when she scanned the sky atop her locks
  and let the coming rains wash through that azure mane
  until the kiss of eternal gratitude arrived from a stray bird
On cobble stone paving, her heels were worn and dampened, she nimbly strides
  how beautiful it is to see a spirit so free
  and the obstinate world yields to her alone
Loosely, Lucy with a cerulean aura, gathers the injured and feral in alabaster arms
  she is yagé and the world hallucinates because of her
  a subtle enlightenment she gives to onlookers and thieves
Camu Camu sprouting from the wells she digs with bare hands in midnight moonlight
  her compatriots, the beasts of lost tribes, look onwards
  and she wails a verse on hemerocallis singular sensation
The flower that she is, a wild one that grows sporadically to enhance the beauty of existence
  and everybody incomprehensible in thoughts when she speaks
  because she is love when love had died so many suns ago
K Balachandran Nov 2015
A yellowing leaf,
Meditating on
never ending "AUM",
the boom created by
mountain winds
incessantly blow,
happily hallucinates
a world altogether new
somewhere, not ever known.
Persuasions of a breeze,
with the caressing words of a Guru
makes it gently let go the branch
and bravely claim freedom
from the grief bequeathed for life,
a pain, constant reminder
of transience of life--
From the low hanging branch
of a fig tree on a wintry hill,
the leaf somersaults to a valley below
painted in psychedelic colors,
a territory unknown
It's
falling
           falling  
                       falling
                                  to
                                   what it thought
                                   a
                                  sea
                          ­         of
                              o b l i v i o n
                                  But
in amazement find, the sea is all-knowing
  absolute--------consciousness------------bliss
K Balachandran Nov 2011
a song bird,
credulous and young
in a summer morn,
at the height of his
musical expression,
got in a  flow
where the  singer and the song
merges in  to one.
getting enamored by the lilt
of his own song
he hallucinates that it is another
just like him,  a female,
and in the frenzy to find her at once,
circles, the orange tree branch
on which he sat and sung,
unaware that it is
futile to search for oneself
somewhere else, like most of us
o
nicholas ripley Jul 2014
Sky hallucinates
a momentary purple;
silhouetting crowns
of the Sycamores hitherto
melded in tenebrous night.
July 2014
Dear Little Ana,
Her mother is dead.
She hallucinates her
Walking around the head
of her bed.

Dear Little Ana,
Hated her father.
That is why
She poisoned his water.

Dear Little Ana,
has no one to love her,
only her sisters
& mute grandmother.
Sha Aug 2015
So I would like to take a rest.

Because my hands are swollen
from writing your name
over and over and over again.

Because my eyes forgot how to blink
whenever I see you buy coffee
in that cafe along 7th street.

Because my ears only hear
your deep voice
and triggers the fault lines in my body
waiting to attack like an earthquake
and cause major damages including butterflies, no, dinosaurs in my stomach.

Because my nose hallucinates your smell.

Because my lips long to call you all day,
all night, every hour of my life.

My senses go crazy and becomes uncoordinated.
My knees go weaker and I can't move but still smile like an idiot at the thought of your being.
You make my head spin
and you make my heart twirl
like a circus girl.
Referencing the song Circus Girl at the end
Andrew T Aug 2016
Fairfax Station’s socialite, a trustfundee
Still hallucinates on a lone hammock
In her penthouse.
Her ex-idols still burn the light green foliage
From the Tree of Experience. Her sister’s a screenwriter
Who lives near downtown in a cobwebbed basement.
Each morning she composes a page of dialogue. Usually
There the fragments of yesterday’s conversations
With an insomniac. She is the turned page
In a worn storybook.

Her shutter snaps mental photographs
Through a blurred lens. The girls’ father
Is a patient in an asylum, in his leisure, he treads
Water in a soiled bedpan. Psychotherapy and straightjackets
Cannot restrain his work ethic for Art. Before his admittance
To the institution, in his studio, on a giant canvass
He painted the green youth that struggles to
Grow in an elementary school. The socialite is undeclared
In her major. Unsure of faith leaping.

Remains pessimistic at charity functions. Vast
Auditoriums with smudged tablecloth. She’s accompanied
By an entourage of underdeveloped emotions.
On occasion she side glances from a hand mirror
At a potential love interest. It’s too soon.
The spring is a late bloomer, blue frost clings
To the edges of grass blades. At a coffee shop on
The corner of Main and North Harrison Street,
The screenwriter raps away at her laptop; talking
To herself.

Her coffee foams at the mouth with expired cream.
A welcomed patron to this local getaway;
This is where her father used to read her articles
From the Washington Post. He nearly hanged himself
After the car accident. His wife’s body smashed
Halfway through a windshield. Around his wrist
Is the Movado, she gave him for their anniversary.
For months now, for an hour before night class,
Our writer opens up her treasure chest of demons
To a word document.

She’s almost thirty. The divorce took her strength,
Along with her two legacies. Yesteryear, or
Was it the day before yesteryear? The talented
Family met at a Hibachi restaurant. They had a
Gift card to use. It was a day after the funeral; there black
Clothes were wrinkled, just a bit. Napkins lay
Folded over their laps. Silverware untouched.
Hot bowls of miso soup grew cold. Visits to
The bathroom were common. Tsnumai of
Mixed emotions: trickled, flooded, filled there eyes.

The foreign chef noticed their mood, he
Could only offer body language. In the air
Swan eggs were cracked into two halves.
The yolk sizzled on the aluminum surface.
Fire soared from an onion volcano. Mouths
Watered, and eyes were parched. Kobe steak,
Grilled vegetables, juicy chicken, fried rice.
They chewed their food with shut mouths
And gutwrenched eyes. They sat and ate
Until every last morsel disappeared.

Over her balcony, she leans on the railing
Of her loft. Ashtray spills Marlboro’s remains
That plummet onto a city of funny people.
She can’t use humor as a defensive mechanism,
Why should she? Her credit card is her alcohol.
Her eyes daydream of elevators
And clothing stores. She lays out in
Her hammock, wondering why an automobile
Had to be the antagonist.
They all live above the billboards, below the heavens.
JJ Hutton May 2011
dance along their tombs with me,
dance along
the season strums free,
with death on our tongues
and snaking amidst our feet,
we can see we really need
no other,
make a sacrifice to me,
you're a wooden doll,
and I, a chipper boy
swollen with danger--
the black birds
confetti fall and veil
our skeletal frames--
the smoking guns,
the sour milk,
and the obese worms
call out to us--
dance along their tombs with me,
dance along
the vibrance hallucinates
a crucifix,
a caricature,
a christmas,
your bony fingers
feel fine
against the sockets
of my crimes--
I'm hardly alive
and
that's so encouraging--
the end
perpetually nigh,
the future stumbles blind,
you're a wooden doll,
I'm your match--
let's stoke the night
burn and beacon
until the flies
blare the buzz.
LGY May 2018
I grew weary of the world around me,
for it deceives me time and time again.
How do I know i'm not a prisoner,
out of desperation,
hallucinates he's at home,
cosy in bed, with
nice warm soup at the desk,
waiting for his master to devour it dead.
How do I know I'm not sleeping,
and this is a all a dream.
I could be a King,
under a spell casted by the devil,
fogging my vision from god.
I can't look back now,
and have to move forward,
discovering the truth,
a task too urgent to be discarded.
Braving through this nightmare,
kudos to those made it through.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Never I forget
what is precious than air

Never I forget
what is close to my heart

And, the last words
Hallucinates inside my head

“Forget me”,
What, she said.
Genre: Love
Theme: Then, nothing matters.
When it gets late and the hallucinations kick in,
my eyes start to pin
and it looks like I'm back on
that old fool ******.
Believe me
looks can deceive.
I am old and tagged with the brown paper bags
of my youth,
where truth was the dare you took and some like me
dared to look into
Pandora's box,
locked again with the key which only I can set free
she
waits
perhaps hallucinates too
thinking of me while I am
thinking of you.
The pictures go on until the long night has gone and I rest,she
knocks on the box but it's best that I sleep,
she will keep in my deepness
sleepless and waiting.
Barton D Smock Jan 2016
father
son
I saw them ****
out of hunger
the angel
could prepare
angel

-

it is wholly birdlike
the thought
that brings oil
to god

-

the sleeping alien
is not without
its headless
astronaut  (the first thing

-

one sees
hallucinates
Torin Apr 2016
I'll cry a little dream for you
And wish on stars that can't escape black holes  
I'll love the way you fall
As I light a candle just to put it out
I'll see you in strangers on the street
As my mind hallucinates
I'll burn my crooked fingers
Trying only to hold misguided fire
I'll take ***-shots at the moon
Trying to **** it
And then I'll blame myself
When its there again tomorrow night
I'll see all the beauty
And feel its not meant for me
I'll feel all the pain
Of the thousand men who loved you before
I'll look at my skin
And only see marks you've left on me
I'll be selfish
When I don't deserve a thing
                         I'll start to see
                         It was never about me anyways
                         Feeding all my love to a void
                         Just trying to feel
                         Like it could be
In a lost paradise where the sea shrinks with feminine conscience, compassionate flashes are ratified in each groove and I calculate footage, this previous present attracts the magnanimous representation of the lightning emission of its speech representing itself where the queen judges the king Consummatum Est, with little difference from culinary art and its very dense genre. Here is the carious aspect of the bluish faskéloma or exasperating of the paws that move the occasional ones in sub-vibrations softening in the shiny mark of the sessile columns in consistency of its weak receptive propagation and masculine science, lacking what prospers with moist regulars of flashes that are cooling from their imbibition. With thousandths of his enchanted parasitizing and prior ego I wonder afterwards not far from a Para-Celestial and sacrilegious lore of Lochnith; Who, what and where would have been able to support such or such, rising on the beams and girders that make a whole for an inaccurate Menthe, going to the arcane of the seventh external love with clear magenta lights, on rounded ultraviolet reliefs, here is where everything lulls from the adverb Eleusis, seething with a consonant flight that suffocates in spite of a Pseudo Vernarthian, where it will go without any exception disrupting the courses of hesitation, leaving no more the divine portent and going back to the loaded Cibatus or barley in northwests that flatten ultra winter, mowed down to its glacial bluish water discharge in unequal thickening of fast secrets with thirds of vox with bordering called in pair of trios, and symbolic of a reborn flashed subsoil of a lifetime swollen in its low course and ministerial occultation that isolates itself on Patmos. The skies were beaten where nothing germinates from dreams waiting for thousands of those like me with acute senses of the Anthesterion, or of March taking me towards an enigma not posed even if it is not clarified yet not resigning from love or smelling in the singular uni-lunar desolate with venerable fulminations and inquinas of the branch of the bakchoi, which was whistled by an Aulós that was remade generic when restarting fasting from a day rebuked and repaid in the emaciated Cibatus. Such light grasses were polarizing prohijadas when recovering from resounding beginnings of the rhizomatous aromatic nuance, and from super life machined from the metallic oscillation of the fires and rites ruined in the aromatic arthrophagous of Lochnith, nauseating at night in flowing enigma and gramineous rictus, intermingling while he longed for the ritual and his graceful plumes in feasts that honored his Canephores transferring mead towards the bakchoi psychic adept revealing himself from the masculine to the feminine in aqueous positive bed and supra negative redemption, which was fading into sharp matter attended while the world was created that they would live with more than forty stratagems, seeing themselves praised before their eminent Truth. Myself…being its own tyranny…, which erects whoever classifies it sacramental, and notices the squalid lack of control of its barbarism flash when I still pursue the darkness of my purge that is falling even without finding where to do it, falling however from its end and of guilty thunderous glances..., what more public decree do I wish, for more rituals that you have close to you when feeling sharp minorities of its aftertaste although in double life and night your memory continues to spy on whoever denatures you from the paganism of Lochnith, more than a proselyte , plus that a lien conceived in dethroned galleys of homeland and fusca haze. Meanwhile, quantities of Omphalos from the ego micro center are distancing themselves from mine, my faded lost throne hallucinates lost knowing that it is a probable sculpted flash subject to the gleaning of the Cibatus in fraction of the cereal ritual, and of sanctified illumination with tableares that have to dwell all the times that they revive from the vivid purple red, and from the debtor clairvoyant mystery sky that is reviving in the revealed luminescence that throws it in ornate nickels and acidic rattles at midnight falling on a positive particle devoid of yours returning to mine, and preparing for the flashing praise that pigeonholes him from his crippled fallacious and previous theory suggested after favors by not being reconverted. Lochnith capitulate capitulation suffers from glare towards her beloved, placing his phalanges on circular and angular waves on the virtual milky river of Eleusis caressing her face and glare from her. “I, Lochnith, was on the cliff with my Canephor Aerse, near his Athenian paternal landlord, I was going to say goodbye to myself and carelessness, not being able to see myself in the reflection of the water separated from my ego, knowing that Aerse would not choose me, much less to my abandoned superior.

In Keri on the Island of Zakynthos, I synchronized the fall of Aeschylus in Leucas, which perhaps without my local would offend me by reputation and snoop on cliffside suicides that only see nascent effigies of the bakchoi as a potion for serials of life and cities of the incongruous dramatic space , where its tragedy and antithesis do not fit in the basket carried by my priestess Aerse. I am flying over the structures of the acropolis, not yielding as a deity who prophesies where there is no room for the world in which she and I can inhabit. Lochnith, jumped after her as she was falling down the frontispiece of the cape..., She watched him as he fell..., forbidding to skew him from his gestures and get close to her so as not to fall where the wind is more docile and free, intervening with pashkein inclination or entangling them of the vipers and rims of the heroic hair in a condition of evanescent reckless touch against her suitor, trapping her from the Omphalus that she had tied to her neck transferred from brilliant didactics before a puerile boxing of vicissitudes, and spring flower shops next to the flayed serpents of Persephone and Kashmar floating on the Lilies of Aerse. Prey to the escarpments and cliffs, she remained possessed among the sedimentary dolomites that emanated near her veins before plunging down the steep side in over cascading prayers for her, always knowing that he would love her on a singular base of enchantments while he looked smiling before fall yielded In the end, forty-one seconds she was thrown off the cliff..., Lochnith passes from one end to the other the Omphalus of her neck by a lofty plume ready for love, imagining herself in the midlands of a ruthless positive affection of the mysterious flashing Eleusino, and by the divided ***** that took them as they fell into a splendid world with serials and images of Aerse, tied to the prehensile sacrifice and the cold hand of Lochnith, together as they fell between their subconscious selves, becoming heaped and vivid as something plunged towards them fleetingly, knowing that he I was going to survive him.

Lochnith's gleam was northwest of Athens once lost in the scrupulousness of a pagan polis and cult that kept docked in the sands to find her on the cliffs of the acropolis, where they had lost each other after two thousand years since they Theodosius abolished by decree the rituals of Eleusis. With revulsion and unprecedented insight, Aerse remained a recluse with excessive eagerness to self-eliminate, possessing for both the due imagination that he had possessed of the devoid neckline of the omphallus causing the inclination of the avalanche and their bodies towards where they supposedly would land on the divine and Dionysian path which leads to the eschatological of Vernarth's Diokitis. Apparently they were leaving as a result of an immortal Vernarthian existential catastrophe or decline, at the same time of a rhythmic alkaloid hemlock with its Achene that carried them for any pretense by being triggered towards the meeting with Persephone without her or he knowing why to fester at Eleusinos as Lochnith and Aerse in a single concentric whole, and quantum beings of the octagonal by the straight or transversal line that slipped into the hypotenuse at the instant that they were conceived implicitly as they took him from relapses when he went towards Aerse, after winding up from his conclave Hypomorphic writing and Magna Mater Misterica. Under the established power of his ministerial, the redemption that went in adjoining the ins and outs was consigned to resurface from the subgenre, and from himself procreating exultation with the analogs of Vernarth that were prolonged in excremental purges and disagreements of the cult of what should be twisted in the ****** of the magnetic genre and of positive tendency that would be eternalized after the cessation of the active decrees by Theodosius. Eminently Aerse suffered on some semi-dead watery slabs next to Vernarth, she remained after the agreement to centralize what irradiated her humanly as semi-Itheoi from a reinforced gender that was cohesive in retrograde worship to achieve pre-flowering in all the springs of the world, where they could be seen together with Persephone in the finnis that was distanced ultra terrestrial towards a dowry of profusion and disproportionate wealth, not being categorized as a mystery rather as an unknown of a super method of rummaging in the lanterns where no reflection of Aerse could to be found by Lochnith after getting lost in the polychrome figures of the acrotera, lying in watery nitrosities on the escarpment of the cliff. Physiology will influence Eleusis with systematic naturalness for the active hydrogenated elements, and of such unknown prebiotics or phyto-estrogens where remnants of the great sepulcher of humanity are manifested, as it is found to rise from the true hecatomb of July with a hundred halters arranged with foreign beings towards the oasis of transition. The little will of the annals will multiply in millennia of obscurantism, taking him in transit to a more exciting late management by harassing the search for Aerse in a clear mystery already in the jaws of a clamoring night by the reefs of Demeter for those who know about Persephone! even being with the inventive fallacy of a addicted spirit in correlation to the rite and its lineage. Every night that he convalesces, he will look sleepless with the servile promise of divinity from a vision that fades from the winepress and the Boedromion party, moving from the born ****** position of a hierophant towards the mold that dies and that does not renew itself from Boedromia itself. The representation of Aerse was reflected with transfused majolica and Eleusinian threads when she was seen walking from the beginning floating remotely in the meadows of the knoll, from which the cyclical anagram of the lost cliff rises when it separates from its Adonis being able to expose them in mythological treachery and transcended from epic truth to be related to the treaty between Zeus, Hades and Demeter for the rescue of Persephone after being dented from the beginning of the arcana that sprouted from a distorted symptomatology. She aerse carried the flayed serpents even on her body as if she should look for them in an omnipotent volatile gray so that it would come out by itself and be unguarded by her gone eyes, witnessing secrets and resting in anarchy from where there is not and will not be. Archon or governor What a mesmerizing problem is improvised from second after third that provoke astonishment to see him in the course that he could not have of his cursed detection! Aerse was beginning as a curious Canephore, he came to meet his ephebes Lochnith after excessive self-inferred hypotheses by following him at her command detailing the Kykeon that paled her psychotropically from a discarded and mineral exhibition, of which she would be devoured by the numinous portent of the Mashiach with his Sunday appearance or concerning the numen manifested with the eternal powers in front of the hieratic presence of the man who looked at her paternally, with a crass profile like a Damian Hessian drawing them in, plotting in a colossal fascinating stealth. Here she wraps him up but does not approach him and falls, lost in love, such a Faustus dilemma, granting herself at the initiation of the portal of the twelve lunar months in Eleusis, with immutable years and origins where they will bounce to meet in childhood that made them known as Aerse and Lochnith . Here in the greatest trance of life, both would begin to overcome all the twists and turns of the gestated gloom that separated them due to the shaken annoyance and confusion still divergent in sediments of runoff and bark oscillations that emerged from the unevenness of the acropolis, until a meeting in the amazing light and divine libertarian of two tendernesses, and martyrdoms that purely push them back towards a new end of the muddy gleam in a found paradise where the sea unfolds by male consciousness and is ratified mercifully in each flash of the striated. They will meet again in similar attachments divided by the fluctuating one who unmasks the one who drives him away with his dominant ******, and ill-advised caudal space seducing the contiguous public and private astral bodies that have never been coarse or dissimilar in ablution or sacraments of gods the pagans, everywhere nor whatever its fragmented remains by the gullies and ravines of the Kêphisos. After the remnants in politics, the desolate serpents of Aerse flowed down the river, as a link section that declared itself from an initial that was an evident flash that enveloped them as a cardinal canon with bucolic politics in all the nearby regions. Athenians, after the vertiginous regressive parapsychology like an Eleusino flahsback or Anadromí sto Parelthón Eleusia, with the visualizations of Aerse and Lochnith when they follow each other through the learned induction of feedback that was arranged in the inclinations of both, refining their morphological bastimento for the purpose of instituting them as articulators of the evocation of the millennia. Prophecies were reported from the 8th century BC. with ends, and interprocesses of the eternal in the unknown mystery that began to be clarified with the reinvented personality of the amendment of Life and Expiration experienced with Lochnith of the month of Boedromia, fleeing from a federated Polis that would be unified to a substantial dimension and of sacred Eleusinian space with brand new warmongering for the culminations of being incorporated into the Hexagonal Primogeniture integrated in this way in the indissoluble ephemeris of foundation and hegemony of the Megaron or Opisthodomos of Patmos. This is thanks to the beaten serpents that were nesting the reanimates of the question with subterfuges that make the widths of inter-pairs prevail, which are consolidated as a reality of session and space, agreeing on the defeated parapsychological memory or future in the economy of two resignation blocks of the repealed Sacred Space, in consensus of the beams of the Vernarth Military Command forging from the beating sacralized ***** that cultly intensified from its mysterious nature and territorial domesticity to come from the attracted Agoras that were repositioning themselves with the metaphysical agents that they will be restored in the polis with the scope of furrowing in a civic action induced towards someone who virtually recognizes him in the purge of the exclaimed strangers. More ardent passion was added to receive them even being wary of further mutations vibrated with the Faskéloma, or exasperating that moves the tint of the occasional vibrations, similar to the tendencies of the Sacred Space of Gethsemane, with the disastrous passing of the aqueous levels of the Kêphisos, which it would mean the presumptive ordinal of unreal historical worlds. The parapsychology of space was absorbed with torched quadrilaterals that were hanging from the invoked meditation, they were lying on futile folders and anodyne Aerse molecules, which were still welcomed by the magical exposed extra-corporeal substances that were deduced as they were experiencing unprecedented transit preserved of the eccentric deconcentrated radio of the refurbished of the spectral chromatic. The precipitated mental field dared to invade boldly towards another unheard-of generator that dissipated between Aerse and Eurydice coming near the Coasts of Patmos, coming from hypothetical planes that flow for their definitive moderated unions. The static refluxes bounced in simultaneity of bilocation of the Eleusinian exordia that were exorbitating each other with the rollers that were uncrossing the corporeal margins that concelebrated the quantum crankshaft, and the fibrous distinction that was teleporting the rescue rituals unforeseen astrological

Lochnith says: “in the proximity of the mortuary reality there will be no hesitation outside of our body and geodesy of our lost zafral or of lives in transit sub or supra quantum, obsessing in the eyes of erudition and unknowns, while our contraption self-obstructs with our electromagnetic sensory interactions paraphrasing in the convoluted distance and residues of related-metaphysical electros that are reconverted into the appearance of a premonition” The ligation of the arteries of Cephisus carried the emanations of Lochnith to love him in a healing act suspended with beings devoid of physicality, on the way to specters and healings of a perverse, to repair his extra-corporeal suffering confined to those who condescend to the androecium and gynoecium as a unit of mental physical motor gender, at the instant of the exacerbated and ectoplasmic world regulated by means of the Vernarth regression that was going lowering your blood pressure, increasing your red blood cells side effect rivers intertwined with Eurydice and Aerse in the opening Othon, directed at Vernarth's outcomes that came in the bow of the super-aqueous ship with some fabrics from the ship's stowage directing the speculative and autonomous advance that was already dispersing in the waves. Dead cells of the right Lynothorax,  A savvy military mancomunal became syncretic with Lochnith, he was determined to continue reinstalling us in his white blood cells that rose when it was already dawn on the shores of independent Skalá, and in the circled cohorts of Phalanxes and Psiloi that accompanied him in minutes that seemed millennia, all succumbing to the physical dismay of the underlying necrosanct and telepathic prayer that took place at the dawn of parapsychology trances cysts of recovery that descended on them in pure novel regenerative membranes, persé of merciful acts that became thick in the flashes when freezing from the weightless rays of the ultraviolet, which was separating between Sóma and Gnómi or corporal opinion that was joining synthetic networks with indefinite emissaries and receptors, subsequent bodies of the Bachkoi chemist, already deficient for a compensatory universe and varieties that were taking shape in a disintegrated emotional quantum world. Each time the bodies were reinserting themselves into the full unknown and subjective material, the concrete material united in the network with each other as a single force was transforming into the greatest passion and sparkle among their own, reinstalling themselves in the Super Egos.

In the Latest Minute Dogmate according to the rictus mortis thesis, the globules would move like a big explosion interacting with everything, so starting everything from the beginning of nothing to the indivisible with optional digits of coincidence or inseparable digitized, such a phenomenon of meekness of aligning times were massified with the probability of finding them in the vestige of real anomalous presences that occurred millions of light years ago. Aerse replies: “My admiration, the sparkle has a measure of astral body in reason of the vigor that underlies reiterated expiation and measurable virtuosity in its perfection of semblance p and corporal providence, inquired of being transformed far from disaffection rather than a continuous healing . The smallest and most coherent in the fabulous Griffins will join my clairvoyant and component with the ballast of his final game, not reflective of another who can measure or predict him for an undivided being. But I am already here, and I am your infinite…, I no longer know of other bad illusions of trying to separate myself from this life of what Eleusis is, perhaps a cosmic coarse that is and was in all time that passes speculatively, for this flash that is reflects whether it pales visible or not, I hope it will be compact on our intertwined attachments”
As living organisms, various life methods will be postulated as an initiative in the announced Big Bang, for the profit of those who are real close and real logotypes of resonant neuroscience as a daring that will influence the progeny, for ****** volumes, exonerations of bearers experiences and evolutionary lives of the emitter outside of an ignored Parthenon, since the gender of the world is also associated with random ambiguities from anode to cathode, positive-negative towards a Hellenic parallelism of roots in life dressed with lasting vernacular inheritances. Much of Lochnith's electro-dermal conglomerate was in full congruence with retrograde Eleusian parapsychology propagating from Vernarth's Invisible Eclectic Portal, which was nebulously teleported down the Kêphisos River with saprophytic living organisms acknowledging it in indigenous originality. of the species of reborn Vernarth, and super regulation of the euphemism and mysterious underworld below their protocols.

Revelations of the mental-material, made reluctance and support of the estrangement of inviolate perceptions, precognitions, telepathies and premonition, which debuted in this intrepid adventure intuiting in perpetuity with the sensory corridors and interferences of a reality of body in an explosive world incontestable. Lochnith, was already in possession of a hypnotic mental reincarnation formula in the form of neuroscience vessels close to scarecrows of expiration, allocating the subsequent locks of an enlightened decency of the ethereal sleepy baggage and the oracular review. The more we experience the laws that explain his prodigies, the more our perspective of media and complete fiction will increase in something that begins to be typical of the laurel of a true slowed-down ******-kinetic process. Within the curvature and the dim light that remained in the Lochtian days, normality returned to them after this long epitome in the parapsychological biosphere, and the intriguing contemplation and even mischievous tenuity of idea that can die suddenly, after self-incubate in the intangible coexisting passage and medication rupture of lived art with alien morbid beings. For a character archetype, it is only known that reaping is consuming capital from the disruption of a non-profit loss and its incontrovertible paranormal, which is paranormal and parapsychological from the plane of posterity of life, which will be an act of peaceful coexistence in playful spirits, compensating for seclusion in the vaults of an involutionary dramatic past, if its material or monad (spiritual) is not dissected in the cosmic train of perception of unfolding, and of the concept of purging energy that goes out of its way in its seventh heaven. The hypnosis of death and purgation to whoever requires it in the convoy of their conscience continues to be a tiny unruly space that transports us physically, reverting to minimums that are neutralized in alien foundlings. From an aedicule depository to an empty body that is neither independent nor from the lord who claims it (V.g. aedicule of José de Arimatea). The impersonal voices that officiated at the ritual of Eleusis were heard far beyond those who could hear them merely with memorable spaced therapies, recording themselves in interspersed layers of sounds and imprecise electroacoustics in the serial of an alarming complex frequency of the regenerative stumble in an organism of Continuous movement. Everything spreads in bends of abstraction that revives those who promote the perfection of marigolds like buttercups that they wear in the clothing of the Canephores like Aerse, but soulful and latent ephemeral of the ethereal alchemical entitative of ignored molecules. Lochnith says: “My submission heals, it no longer maintains being far from who represents it and where it comes from, I know that its remains in me do not reason, clarifying more my journey towards the crown and vilifications of a nascent humanity that mourns me, and that does not recognizes by rebelling in my desires to attract him"
the sky closes in vermilion digression and you inquire that they should answer for the silence of confusion in the parapsychological aqueducts of Athens with Patmos. The organization of the Sacred Space starts with the bizarre totemic quantum by sacred paths, Megarons, fictitious hunting places, double surrounding lunar ring, curves of virtual walls, Propylaea to embrace the Vernarthian enigma and finally the Telesterion that received Vernarth with a naked torso that perched in front of Aerse and Lochnith, looking at them towards the futuristic survival with five digits in a quarter of the waning of his right hand containing the small coat of Betelgeuse and the Pleiades in inklings of the umpteenth apocalyptic Megaron of Patmos. Scrupulosity as an Electro-Eleusian placebo effect, went alone, dismissing itself in the singular of a Templar niche and towards a Megaró-Omega Telesterion for catechized who endowed themselves with super-resident halos and litters of priesthoods that fled in terror from the Aerse-Lochnith fusion, prior to each rudeness and their contours swearing eternal exaltation and idealism, to be reconverted into individuals saved and votive to love each other with third parties, escaping from small frames that still did not hold up from the ecumenical mess.
Lochnith Eleusis Quantum
susan May 2016
this world
my world
is filled with hope

gooey eyes
look up and beyond
with a hurtful yearning
searching for the unseen
and the unimaginable
grasping every
last
sliver
of what
might be

the weakened mind
hallucinates
sways to the beat of
a drum
only heard
by one

and when rested eyes
spring open
the hope
   the positiveness
is desperately
forcing it's way
through
to show the world
how happy
one can be

although within a slowly beating heart
the truth is heard

and felt.
exclamations and
desperate cries of
truth
are shot down
by one look
of desperation
Bianca Tanig Nov 2016
Your voice in a morning sunshine hallucinates every **** inside me;

it's like a drug that keeps me both sane and high
#love #drug #morning #sunshine
Surbhi Dadhich Apr 2018
Heaven hallucinates me
Heaven of the inadvertent utopia
The sacks of anonymous pleasure
Piled over the funerals of euphoria
Heaven hallucinate me
Heaven in the invisible grain of sand
In the spattering of silvery raindrops
Banging my top vacant storey
Bursting my heart as bombs
Heaven hallucinate me
When that poor ragpicker wears a smile
When gloomy darkness starves for glittering light
The warm hugs of sun
The recreation of nature
Heaven for which I dreamt for
This isn't hallucination
I'm..I'm truly in heaven..
Red Dec 2020
Today I sit and think about words. They are hesitant.
I am at a deficit of emotions to harness and understand.
Other poets ring true and sound curious.
Is it so difficult? A plane sounds overhead. Maybe
passing my thoughts in those clouds, full of rain and
judgement. A bolt of lighting could strike at any moment
and threaten the serenity of which my mind hallucinates.

Opaque skies of grey
Wounded thoughts mix with raindrops.
A storm approaches
This is my first Haibun!
In a lost paradise where the sea shrinks by feminine consciousness, compassionate re-election in each flash in a striated calculometry, before which it attracts magnanimously to represent them in each speaking light and lightning when represented where the queen judges the king in Consummatum Est, with little difference in culinary artis and the extremely dense genre that generates and does not degenerate. Here is the coriaceous aspect of bluish faskéloma or exasperation of hands that move the indigo in occasional sub-vibrations, melting into the lustrous mark of the sessile columns inconsistency of their flimsy receptive spread and the unexposed masculine consciousness, lacking in what subconsciously thrives in regular damp sparkles cooling imbibition... creeping by thousandths of enchanted parasitic and superior ego.

I wonder after a long way and from a sacrilegious Para-celestial science in Lochnith, who, what and where could have supported him in such a ****** and in such cervices rising in gravels and beams that make a whole for all Menthe ?, where the mystery goes when breaking into the seventh external love..., in glades of magenta lights, on ultraviolet relief rounding out..., here is where everything lulls from Eleusis adverb, where a consonant fires that suffocates in spite of Pseudo Vernarthiano, in what and where it will go without exception disrupting threads of hesitation, not leaving us in hybridization, more if returning from loaded Cibatus or barley in the northeast that flattened in ultra winter, blinded until its pouring glacial azuloid water in arrhythmic thickening of fast secrets, in thirds of vox to call you borderline in a pair of trios and symbols of the subsoil reborn and flashed from a lifetime sheathed in its plain course and ministerial concealment that departs like a shadow from the himself and the end of the world.

Striking where nothing germinates from dreams, I waited for thousands of those like Me with senses of Anthesterion or March, leading me towards an enigma not posed even if it is not clarified, even not resigning to love or stinking in the singular aborted and desolate uni-lunar, in venerable fulminations of his annoyance and the branch of the bakchoi, whistling for an Aulos that is remade generic when restarting from a day fasted, rebuked and rewarded in the emaciated hands of the Cibatus, like grasses lights polarizing and outgrown when recovering in resounding beginnings of the rhizomatous hue an aroma in super-machined life, and of the metallic oscillation of the ****** with fires and hyper-navigated rites in his aromatic and of the psychoactive fireworks in Lochnith, nauseating him at night in flowing enigma and rictus, glimpsing as he yearned to ritualize his graceful plumes in feasts that honored their Canephore by pouring mead into the psychic adept Bakchoi, revealing themselves as masculine on e the aquous feminine in a positive bed and of supra negative redemption, fading into sharp matter and its cared for, while the world in which it would live for more than forty-one stratagems of love was created, its eminent Truth being praised before me.

I myself... being your own tyranny..., who re-establishes who classifies him sacramental, is fixed in the palustrious lack of control of the barbarism of flashing, when I still pursue the darkness of my purging, still falling and not having where to do it, however falling into his final and in thunderous guilty glances... but..., what more public decree do I wish? for more rituals near you when feeling sharp minorities of the aftertaste, although in double life and in double shadow, your memory continues to spy on whoever denatures the paganism of Lochnith, more than a proselyte, more than a lien conceived in dethroned galleys of homeland and a dark haze. Meanwhile, of so many Omphalos of the micro center and of the micro ego distanced from mine, a lost and tarnished throne that hallucinates lost, knowing that it is a plausible sculpted flash subject to the gleaning of the Cibatus in a fraction of cereal and sacred ritual to illuminate in tables that have of dwelling all the times that they revive in the bright red and purple sky of the clairvoyant mystery debtor, seeing itself in revealed luminescence, which casts itself in ornate nickels and acid rales at midnight that falls on a positive particle devoid of yours returning towards mine, preparing himself in praise to flash that makes him pigeonhole in lame theory, fallacious and previously suggested after favors by not being reconverted. Lochnitt's capitulation and enchantment suffer in radiance towards his beloved, placing his phalanxes on the circle of angular waves on the milky virtual river of Eleusis caressing her face and her radiance.

Me Lochnitt, I was on the cliff with my Canephore Aerse, near his agrarian fatherly Athenian, I was going to say goodbye to the carelessness of myself, not being able to see myself in the reflection of the water separated from the ego and myself, knowing that Aerse would not choose to Me of Me, less to my Superior Ego. In Keri on the Island of Zakynthos, I synchronized the fall of Aeschylus in Léucade, which perhaps without my district that would insult me with reputation and snoop on suicides, on cliffs that only see nascent effigies of the bakchoi as a potion in life serials and cities of the incongruous space in dramas where an anti-drama does not fit in the hamper that carries my priestess Aerse, flying over acropolis structures, and not yielding as a deity that prophesies where the world in which she and I can inhabit does not fit.

Lochnith, jumped behind her when she was falling through the Frontispiece of the Acrotera..., She looked at him as he fell..., forbidding him to skew gestures to approach her, so as not to fall where the wind is softer and more virginal, intervening in saurian thought Pashkein, and entangling them with snakes in their hair in a heroic way and in the evanescent reckless temptation of their suitor, catching the Onpahlo that he wore tied to his neck, transferred and shining with didactics, before childish confinement of the adventures and flower shops of spring next to Persephone's ragged serpents in the Kashmar and floating lilies of Aerse, on cliffs and cliffs, possessing sedimentary dolomites that emanated through her veins before falling on the side of the escarpment, over waterfalls of prayers for her knowing that he would always love her in her arms, on a singular excavation and enchantment base, as she looked at him smiling before falling. In the last forty-one seconds in which he fell..., Lochnith passes from one end to the other the Onphalo of his neck, by a plume of lofty winged love imagining in the mediocrity of a positive bleeding love of the mystery flashing Eleusino, by the ***** game that took them as they fell from the outrage of a sovereign world, in series of images of Aerse and the prehensile sacrifice of Lochnitt's cold hand as they fell together among themselves, polarized and vivid as they plunged one another and towards them, Lochnith knowing that he was going to survive him..
Lochnith  Gleam  Methaphysic Alchemy
Oceanic plain of deadwood-
one rebellious tree backstage.
The entangled population
looks on this singularity
with scattered minds.

But oh, what peace a
clean pastoral scene brings
to our disturbances, so that
the spastic heart hallucinates
in Technicolor purity.

Sara Fielder © June 2018
Anukrtai Rawal May 2020
For the first time ,
In that beautiful evening ,
He gazing at me ,
That soothing sound of music ,
Both gazing at stars ,
And our first kiss ,
It all seemed so perfect ,
Then i woke up from this dream ,
And the dream hallucinates me and
Tugs my heartstrings even more .
Now the need to rediscover himself rises over him, he leaves the Machiavellian stupor and the breath of his organism flavored with bile, alchemy, and pours it out until he expels his cancer-causing avital situation. Everything was already clear, Ludwig had a great refuge of himself, he was the superman who locks up all ages, who is senile and youthful; since it is surrounded by the aura of the perceptual smell of evil. That he renews knowledge and does not feel invariable, that he is a Cybernetic and divine Monarch. In contrast, the other is a mastiff that allows himself to docilize his instinct and follow the one who beats him, the one who mistreats him and shatters his will that accompanies the master who makes use of him, who uses him today, still and always. Now almost in his normal state, he decides to smell better and change his appearance, he coughs up his lobes by filling them with broth from Colibrí's twittering. He combs his damp hair and talks to himself by saying words like ...: Hello, how are you ... Who will you be today ...? Although his spirit is reluctant, he goes to the birthday of his friend Sara, a close friend of his, and lends to his benevolence. When he arrives, he repeats the protocol and cheers up his appearance, greets the ladies present, and hand in hand with the gentlemen, in Ludwig's intimacy an anti-desire pierces, the anguish of a weak pleasure that his expiring sap disturbs in the worldliness of him.

Distracted, he continues, walks with her eyes, and stops them in a brown hair, with radiant light he receives the sensual gesture, and the damsel takes her hair with her hand, pulling it towards her back. Ludwig, astonished and puzzled by her, made her look ******, he already imagined receiving from her a smile her, but knowing that he loved her, that her hair would let go of her and engender in him the impression of her as possessing the sculpture of her. He approaches her with a firm temper a little more, glancing at her casually. She, very contemplative, manages to find the vigor of her strength by getting close enough, he very thoughtful, pending her every step it would be easy for him to glimpse the future, to find his equivalence to his unpredictable existence, who for the moment would desire glory and majesty and not fugitive decadence, like something suicidal that instead of satisfying him, kills him.

When he was preparing to meet her, he did not hesitate and the last steps to her were the most solid, wherever he was with his idea of having her, he hung in his stomach the sharp desire to put out his eyes with a fork and thus proceed at a slow pace in his masochism in frisking his agonizing death. There came the other gesture where he would drop his arm and brush it with hers, with a stealthy touch he could see a certain excitement between his teeth, and the saliva was escaping from his mouth when he looked at himself in a mirror, also seeing how it trickled down his makeup chin impatience. He never believed that such a phenomenon would happen to him, so it was where Sara, who was tasting a delicious menu, was going to tell him that she was leaving her and that later he would call her. As he left and went through the front garden, he felt the birthday song being sung to the piano and at the same time he saw someone outside with an immutable expression --- And Ludwig told himself that the strange-looking one was an Augur del Budú, that It weighed on her stoic peace of being normal, which was just her high-profile imagination. Then he walks through the Prehistoric Park, crosses a low-level tunnel that endangers his balance when he barely sees his hands, but he manages to advance without paralyzing his limbs and reaches the main street where he sees a dog run over, takes it, and says to himself. ..: "I will take it to the food chain of my Green City, where the pure bacteria will gnaw its tissues ..." With great strength and noble spirit, he entered his Floral Forest, where he points the Cypress to the Sea, thus releasing it and sheltering it with his Deist energy, which is more than medullary and unbeatable. He withdraws and cannot help turning and looking at him, as if said Energy wanted him to resurrect the dog. Believing in his conscience, he asks permission to rest, he lies lightly on the humus; where photosynthesized leaves inoculate the percentage dreams of vegetables, trees and flowers. What the archer in his bolt threw, his chest oppressed unbreathable pneumonia, driving him to sleep for twenty-four hours. When he wakes up, still lying on his humus bed, he wants to lighten his heavy load by eating well, and drinking himself into alcohol. He did not know how to proceed, whether to beg or rob the wealthy of his leftovers, or humble himself with God and disavow him from throwing misfortunes, carelessness, cataclysms, the self-criticism of being imperfect, and whether he has to bleed or He has to defecate, provoke personal disgust, and may this lead him to lust, baseness, sin.

The more he brooded, the more weightless he became, and the murderous scavengers lurked around his will. Like a narcotic effect, it loses its cognitive capacity and reverses itself swirling through the funnel of reverie, where the sub-world circulates and where repressions, oppositions, and powerlessness collide. At the initial place where he hallucinates and sees himself entirely, he leaves the vigil and goes into the subconscious ...: He sees Debra in her moderated state where she was leaving that space --- Ludwig looks at her and so does she, but nothing is said to each other, only he says to himself "I prefer to love her to my distant ideal and not body versus body, just as the thought of her makes of her a kind, sweet and current portrait ..."

When he begins to walk renewed, he sees several Debra in reproductive phases, they worked ardently in his subconsciousness. Some kissed him, others beat him, others confused him and others hurt him. In favor of his life and for his salvation, the virtuous side would mercifully go to dismay him and open the floodgate of reality, to desolder his eyelids and flowing air go with its dreamlike substances. Already fully awake, he sees through the window of the branches how the clouds moved and how everything moved, the bushes with their branches and their flowers. When seeing with alienated simplicity and electrifying the sky, the radiant light beams touch the vibrant colors, which touch his heart like a disquieting shout, although at the most acute in his decay it will be like the noise that broke his eardrum, or like the chard that her stomach upset. He gets up and straightens up, by the time he's standing, he takes a paper and writes ...: "How relieved I am to dabble in sleep ..., now that I make the inscription tangible ..."

When he left his home, he was accompanied by a splendid sun, the birds fluttered with indescribable happiness, the prevailing clarity and cleanliness of the environment was already perceived, seeing that everything was hubbub, he continued to be a victim of his endogenous suffering. But the children's laugh made him laugh, dissipating his sorrow. Passing through the Prehistory Park, where he always believed that trees were Dinosaurs; he remembered the jerks of his father when he took him to school. He concludes that there is no place on earth that is not ancient, and here in this park you can smell the sacrifice of the primitive to survive. In the same way, the Mammoth in instincts was the same as **** Sapiens, only that it took its spear against the animal because it evolved faster, without knowing why ...?, Perhaps to see this inhabitant moistened in the Jordan, very close to Jesus Christ. The world revolves around the man in need, who invents what is necessary, in this case fighting his hunger. In this way he kills the Mammoth, cutting it into pieces to then eat it, and whoever takes the food from it, simply dies in the struggle to survive before his ambitions.

When he got out of his mind, he set out on the path to follow, and when he crossed the Fountain of Geysers and Hot Springs; he saw at the top of the Waters of Delphi, that woman with chestnut hair; Sara's birthday. She was alone and with her eyes without detaching them from the vapor, from the liquid element, so excited Ludwig approaches her almost calm, with a racing heart that he could hide when talking to her --- Well he said to himself ..., now I'll talk to you ... - Excuse me, You. I saw you on Sara's birthday, I saw you surrounded by many people. Look, I would allow myself to be by your side, I promise not to get in the way --- Thus, the soliloquy continued, with great shock I watched her and seeing how delighted she was, I could even kiss her, achieving it with ease, because it was daytime, perhaps where it was. found in the nomenclature matter.

After a while, when she was thinking of quickly moving away from the place, from the Source that inspired her enchantment, she spoke to him and said ...: “We women are not very fixed when the man casts his insatiable gaze, but we do the vanity of feeling admired. That's why I remember you at that party, I even got really worried when the saliva ran down your chin, I thought you were going to faint. As you can see, if I remember you.--- He did not take long to ask her name, and he told her that her name was Antonieta. Ludwig thought how beautiful her name was --- she has the name I like the most, and she illuminated with adulation cleared her eyes making them greener and more feminine in her manners. He knew that he would be calmer if he met her again, asking her to be so. She affirmed his request, but it would be in a few more weeks; because she had to fulfill a contract with the Ballet Company. Since she was an actress and a dancer, this was going to take place in the city of San Lorenzo. Thus it is that the ballad mishap was fulfilled, in the thick of the Park, one and the other had the magic of enchantment; her with her eyes of her green sea of the rocky shore, of the green algae and the salty green fish with the immeasurable shine in her eyes eager to dance and interpret the steam dance of that deep-rooted Thermal Spring.

Even when she wanted to start saying goodbye to her, he was imbued with her beauty, like the wind of pure air that lifts her hair with pacifism and open disposition, with the peace of a face that looks at the ****** world and at first instance positive and very beautiful. Well, Antoinette said ... I have to go. I would have liked to be here more, but I have to continue rehearsing the Work. She telling Ludwig ...: I want to let you know that we are slaves to fulfillment and we all seek to communicate, that's why like you I will also go. Together they left without saying anything and when they reached the exit they said goodbye with an injective kiss of love, with sweetness and psychology. The latter, she leaves the place until lost in the hazy gray of the day. When Ludwig wanted to talk to himself about what had happened, the preliminary virus entered her brain, so that he could not remember her clothes, only her hair from the Thermal Abbey with her spells that he introduced stiff and sharp the benefit by clouding his unreason produced by the virus of unreason. He believed he was Troilo and she Créssida, raising his suggestive and despotic view of her, whose order tells him to walk away ... Perhaps where ...? Maybe to drag the golden threads of her dress destined for her debut. By introducing his instinct to a simple will, he remembers Sara and puts forces in her footsteps to shorten her arrival. As he passed through the jasmine trees, he approached his house in a tiny way, up to the Eucalyptus massif that always welcomed him, expelling the unmistakable and pleasant aroma of his house. Before it struck, Sara said ... come in, and he came in but didn't see her, and he started looking for her around the dining room and the living room, until she came out of somewhere fast and well dressed with the scent of a great woman, with the better scents that surrounded her satin dress with attraction and grace. She tells him that she is going to the Aula Magna to see a group of Medieval Music. He tells her that if he left so after her, arguing that he came to see her and tell her how beautiful he found her friendship with her and how good it feels to be I live here, She tells him not to worry when she smiles at him, and he agreed to her words telling him how happy he was after the sun that rose magnifying everything, even she felt willing to improvise their good moods.

He answers her by making her words difficult as if intensifying her anemic and soft ductility in her breathless lungs. She rebukes him by saying that her illness should be treated more regularly. And he answered her only by shaking her head moderately, telling her that when he was not with someone like her, he believed he felt that the weight of the calculations of the geophysical world and the floating voices did not leave her hope in the peace in peace. her brain. Sara takes Ludwig's hands, giving him her comfort. My poor friend Ludwig, Alma Matter, you have now awakened the affection that I have never felt before for someone I hold dear and feel good today. She gets up and serves him a Vermouth, to go to the exhibition. In the fourth sip he wanted to fall into the hands of a certain audacity, he could not avoid falling into the ******* of the vision of paintings and sculptures, he wanted to stop and go to the garden to philosophize, perhaps with a butterfly such as the peaceful and healthy essence, full of transparency and stillness. She in this way she stretched her nose towards the ****** leaves, filling them with pure color, with pure airy candor. Sara, looking at him through the glass door, understood his state and wanted to caress his head and face. She immediately called him Ludwig ... come on, it's about time ...! He waited for him to close the door, before cutting off his overexcitement, until Sara quickly arrived and they went to the car. Upon arriving at the Aula Magna, both were in an excellent state of predisposition. They went in and up, sitting in the box. They instantly cheered up and Ludwig, shocked, was getting ready to tell him of his well-being, but the lights just faded to initiate the presentation. They begin by instrumentalizing the works of the 15th century in Spain and France, to later continue with choral music from the  Gregorian´s chants  Solesmes.

In the intermission, they commented on the lightness of the performers with their instruments and the fiery auditors acclaiming the variations and colors of the voices. His gestures also said how perplexed some attendees were by the perfection of his mastery. As they continue, pairs are introduced performing music for Bach's Harpsichord, and ending with pieces by Vivaldi, El pastor Fido and others by Telemann for Guitar. In the final moment, Ludwig remembered his youth and among them the metallic sound of the instruments that his father carried to compose in his house, assimilating the inexhaustible sounds of those volumes in his sensations. And so the aerial images escaped beyond music and love, from that inexhaustible resistance of his body, from his doubtful states which destroyed the apogee of his evolution. Those great awakenings of little serenity like the great clamor of union that he saw in his parents that later he did not seem like that, but belligerent on all sides, and how hatred broke out and disordered in his person increasing in swearing mouths altered in not measuring his words. Very close together on the step, they said goodbye to the Auditorium, and with a melodic sound, Sara appears singing, Ludwig not understanding that mixture that she sang in her French hymn. He seemed very bohemian and spoke of the pioneers of the Juggler Song. With telepathy he carried the fulfillment of his wish for a magical state, which had no input or output, only it corresponded to extracting an abstract thought from what was divinely related to music. Outside of Ludwig, Sara sang with satisfaction the appropriate atmosphere appropriate to her, but not so with his who was about to spill an ocean of liquids from eyes and ears, in which would come the remnants of quiet time, of the conflict of the others, maybe Debra with a handicapped part endocrinately composed with the flow of mineral and organic acids. In order to open the necessary contact of a soon to relieve, to suspend the claustrophobic tormenting existing, derived from the seizing and painful gesture of her unbearable wanting to heal and not getting it.

Ludwig said intimately ...: Uz ..., Uzzz ..., What a burning sensation I feel, it will pass ...! When the fatigue was overcome, the derutinization begins, to receive the delight, the music of the plumber ingredient of early life. That if it is spontaneous, it is capable of generating great proportions of delight and externalizing the result of the bodies in agitation that still emanated from its rhythmic musical cortex. They said goodbye to the Aula Magna "Bernardo Courtois", leaving a memorable satisfaction in his already enlarged spirit.
Weirdly Emigrate Chapter IV
To succeed, be sure
to slaughter the innocent.
A fever is a fractured
wisdom which hallucinates
landscapes that long
to host your victories.
To the East is clarity.
To the West is attainment.
Even in this dangerous world,
momentary trust is the wisest thing.
Yenson Jun 2022
O 'captain, my captain
at the helm you steer sublime
in squall you hold steadfast unflinching
through the tsunami you rook your slants to roll
and in the flippancies of ragged sails and howling storms
you find the lull that soothes the vicious whispers of the tempests

O 'captain, my captain
with steady hands emboldened
you glide cantankerous waves with ease
telling Poseidon Neptune you chart this map
for in the longitude of courage the latitude of reason holds
and the laps if the gods do sway to the sanity of mist less horizon

O 'captain, my captain
below the dank and heaving decks
deckhands and maddened old salts hallucinates
in mutinous madness they gabble shanties of revolution
below deck minds see wrecks bones and journeys of no return
some mutter cap'n sleeps with the figurehead mermaid at the bow

O 'captain, my captain
unbowed you sail at bow unsurpassed
in the rip roaring rough waters you excel
in the calmness of a fair wind you exemplify bravery
a captain of all seasons from the equator to heating the Attic
where snow look like humans but crumble an melt in the sunlight
The waiting

Art can caress, but does it speak?
Words cannot tame, but gravely hit.
As the rock of the world is founded on a butterfly's wing-
I wish I could say I am tired of waiting!!

The Jacobin Cuckoo, hallucinates the prospering smoke-
Tirelessly in every sky, for water she does evoke;
As I wander sleepless through this nightly pounding,
If only I could say I am tired of waiting !

I saw needle and vein engage in a kiss,
That would lead to ruin , not permanent bliss-
Even, for all the nights, I was scorched to the pain of loosing;
I could never say, I was tired of waiting!

I saw the bright truth, behind the veil of death's bride;
And death row's ragged strangers crucified-
If love is symbolised with a fancy red heart- does that heart stop beating?
So, why do they complain , they're tired of waiting?

I saw the face of love, embrace the Rose union-
The patient farmers, sweating in famine's dungeon,
A sleepless eye, can never lie, the pain of tireless blinking-
As it searches for respite , never tired of waiting!

Yes, I stared into eyes of love and hate,
Yet, most carried the cross of cruel fate-
If love is a fire, in the darkness of life; shall it stop flaming?
I wish I could find a flame for me waiting!

The Dove does descend from the sapphire blue skies;
To show us, all is one and all is free-
Can a son ask his mother to delay her dying?
If only he could, he would not be waiting!

The April rain heals in verdant springtime,
Like the poignant whispers of love sublime.,
Oh ! The intellects, the supremo mammals, can you for once stop mating?
And free that albatross, as an ancient mariner is waiting.

And I realise in the Rose pink dawn-
There is only a brief light between two dark eternities,
As I numb my senses, to love's thrill and wailing,
I wish for me, there's someone waiting!!
Waiting is a big human trait and we learn it daily

— The End —