XV. TO HERACLES THE LION-HEARTED (9 lines)

(ll. 1-8) I will sing of Heracles, the son of Zeus and much the
mightiest of men on earth.  Alcmena bare him in Thebes, the city
of lovely dances, when the dark-clouded Son of Cronos had lain
with her.  Once he used to wander over unmeasured tracts of land
and sea at the bidding of King Eurystheus, and himself did many
deeds of violence and endured many; but now he lives happily in
the glorious home of snowy Olympus, and has neat-ankled **** for
his wife.

(l. 9) Hail, lord, son of Zeus!  Give me success and prosperity.

Hellenic days of poetry,
From a land of myth,
In legend dwelled the child of Zeus,
Head of the gods,
Zeus created ******* child in tryst with mortal chick,
Alcemene was the name,
Hera, wife of Zeus got angry at his infidelity,
Alcemene expected two, twin boys were on the way,
One baby conceived of Zeus the other was a mortal's son,
Hera had a consultation with Lithia, goddess of childbirth,
Hera twisted Lithia to prevent the childrens birth,
Alcemene's legs were cross locked to stop the birth ocuring,
Zeus declared in oath, child of house of Perseus born that night,
To become High King in place of heracless,.
Hera made Eurytheus, arrive too soon in premature immaturity,
Athena, half -sister of Heracles,
Protector of Gods, tricked Hera into nursing child,
Known as Alcides,
Real name Heracles,
Hera nursed him out of pity,
Heracles gave Hera pain on suckling,
Milk sprayed the heavens,
Hence there created, The Milky Way.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

‘Allowed Rockies, I understand the empyrean choice
for Olympus—why Jove barred all mortals from knowing the wondrous
high atop a peak—the clear air—thin crisp, ever present
breeze that cuts through the body.
                                                           ­   Heracles—transcender from human
to god; immortal fire setting his mortal flesh to ash
to scatter into the dirt so he may sit high upon
deathless Olympus—above man and woman. As the Rockies
stand above the new world—unlike Olympus, the Rockies stand
indiff’rent to the affairs of men and women.
                                                          ­                    Heracles—
who in wake of Asia’s venture to the cave where the protean
spawn of Jove’s lust upon Thetis befell to veil—unbinds
humanity’s one true immortal patron: Prometheus—
whose only want, and whose only single fault: bestow upon
humanity immortal fire—the spark to enlighten
mental parity with gods.
                                             Embers that burst to flame in the
heart and mind of such a fiery thinker as Zarathustra:
who taught to go over not under—over humanity,
transcend the status quo—climb! Rise above—where the
crisp clean air can whisk away the smog of congestion—congestion
of thought—congestion in all form. Zarathustra who showed
us the bellows to fuel our Promethean gift.
                                                           ­                  For the
Rockies are not ephemeral; they will stand tall long after
humans are gone; fire will raze their trees without human prevention;
like Heracles, the flames will only burn mortal evergreen
flesh to ash, and the mountains will endure immortal—from that
ash, that darkness life will arise as it always has for millennia.

The voiceless shores of Ancient Greece
If we are constituting heroes in Greek mythology
Tiresias what do you saidst the will of Zeus
One, the one hath been blessed
Like the music in my ears
That who doubt my prophecy
Worldly truths tell of a boy of otherworldy strength
Nether broad, but, pure
Hera burns in red blush as her eyebrows furrow
The sin is complete and so is the milky way
Where the divine milk hath flown
Iphicles may cry a plenty tears
The charioteer Iolaus is born from the split
As bright as the azure complexion of the sea
Heracles runs like the blue skies, now
The wind fastens him and his power
Two snakes may fast approach their demise
The day fast approaches when his virtues outlive the vice
A broken lyre abrogates his penance towards music
A golden apple rests on Megara's tunic
The daughter of King Creon in Thebes
But the God yields to anger of his ego
As this lover faces her happiness endeth
Heracles rests and pursues the Nemean lion
First of his hard labors under Eurystheus' scion
Proceed the Lernaedan Hydra of immense spine
Two for one and a head for all
Twice ahead and none shall fall
As the final call, Hera sends the mightiest of them all
Iolaus aids in the downfall
A captor may miss the Golden Hind Of Artemis
Buttressed arrows shall never lose or run amiss
Heracles runs as the wind does, however, carries some abuse
It eluded him a year till vast effuse
The pavilion was set on trust quite ostensibe
To conquer every existing monster
In this primordial nature
The Erymanthian boar, who dare deny
The world was ruled by forests once
There were lances as Pholus took his chances
A gift from Bacchus held the balances
Often, the strength of such wine needed tempering
The hero of the peregrination asked for him to open his cask
The wine attracted centaurs far and wide
The divide made the labor a slightly precarious task
Many of the centaurs died from the arrows
The teacher of Achilles' took them in
His name was Chiron
He was the wisest of them all
As well as civil
Poseidon is beguiled to rage and cavil
As Hera reconciles with her child after many, many years
Developing a fond kinship with love to attest to
Heracles also lost to Dionysus in a drinking contest
One may say the voices are still heard
From the remnants of Heracles apotheosis
Came a soul worthy of Mount Olympus told by sages
And lovers that existed and stood the tests
Illud erat vivere
The embers of the golden summer spent in joy
Burnt out with the sacking of Troy

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...!"

Wonthelimar from the Boedromion brought the arrows that Zefian brought, they brought the sleeping bodies of winter to the lap of the spring Boedromion, crossing the lines from spring to winter in the cycle that went directly to the Mercurial Ambrosia of the Cinnabar. Were they discreet detached arrows that he had thrown into the sky and did not return? but if in the rooms, and in the animalism stages that made the duty of rejoicing at the ****** of the Telesterion.  Wonthelimar being once more re-looted, before starting the works of the temple of the Megaron Áullos Kósmos, he returns to the cavern of Chauvet Wonthelimar. It distanced itself from the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree, originating in the arrows of Zefian, to mark the new cardinal points of the zenith, starting with the first two arrows that are placed in the bowstring, each one belonging to trajectories from north to south and the other two that were again violated with the arc of the stormy East, to launch the arrows from east-west with limits of southern magnetism. He carried in his belongings "The Iberian Rings", which would be the migration to the cardinals and points where the Megaron of Vernarth would be exactly, arguing that the phalanges of Zefian would be ordered in Syntropia and organic chaos in Patmos, Pythagorean proportions would be made, in essences of numbers that idly advanced in the temporal steps of Wonthelimar that mobile became of religious arrows and of the Mercurial Ambrosia of the Cinnabar, to help him with the most insightful points of the Constellation of Capricornus.  Zefian's tendency was one of evident delight after the bowstring being pulled, for phantasmagoric existence; presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for late courts imposed from a cosmos, which was directed by committing itself to its will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating to associate with hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychology of the dreaded in-between-tale alive that boils back in the arrows that had not yet fallen, and did not know their whereabouts. Like plates or serial hosts that were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the Duoverso contravened organic, vigorous and in anti-scorch to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in eonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities to vast volumes of light-years.

From the medrones that grow in the Nyons massifs, the Seven Ibic Rings were established.

Ibic 1: "The first was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and brought purity, for all who needed him and were visiting in the dark, and then he would find the light when he left the cave alive if he was accepted."
Ibic 2:” He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the priesthood center on his shelves with the Chiroptera, and in excess of the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Tsambika Cinnabar.  Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of Antiphon Benedicts”.
Ibic 3: "From the Eygues, the waters evaporated for healings of the tormented initiatory processes of raising the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron."
Ibic 4: “This ring was from the antlers of Wonthelimar, here they wore the oikos or threads of Gold from Orphi, for the Himation and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a complement to Mycenae- Aldaine ”.
Ibic 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's neurological and Duoversal hyper brain twinned to the Mashiach."
Ibic 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns of Kafersesuh, bringing the pollinations of the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the gloom of Hellenika and Theoskepasti."
Ibic 7: “It is the grave voice of the Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the hoarse voices, which inquire about the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will go up in synchrony through the final growth medron, up to the millimeter shoulder of the square meters assembly, which will illustrate the Megaron´s Acrotera  "

Ellipsis - Parapsychological Regression Marielle Quentinnais year of the Lord 1617

Wonthelimar was transmigrating to Chauvet, but the Pontias wind carried him from Nyons to Avignon, encountering filigree by Raymond Bragasse; a Former Dominican priest of Cathar descent. He always drenched himself in the estuaries of the Rhone, which came from the Saint Gotthard massif; being master and lord of dreams and of the breaking curses of the despicable administrators of the house of God, and of the Antipopes in Avignon.
Wonthelimar heard voices from some parapets babbling in the parapsychological regression of Vetnarth, on August 4, 1617, when Klauss Ritkke was found cleaning the main stained glass window; he heard heated dialogues between a Friar and a Gentleman, who was once an assistant to the clergy. Klauss could come closer and hear his conversation more clearly, until Friar Andrés, muttering, demanded indulgence from Raymond Bragasse, one or the other.

Raymond Bragasse Says: “My lord Wonthelimar; what grace has brought us together here in the middle of the Pontias, between hopes and reforms!”

Wonthelimar responds: "Your flight is a spell of the grace of André Panguiette, who will find us again. How many times with hope I fought to reform you Raymond... Oh Virga ac Diadema  sed Diabolus...!! Oh, ****** the devil smiled...!!

Raymond replies: “It is a major question to live if in something I have failed, take me to the sulfurous emanations of Hell. But my faith lies moldy at the bottom of the sea, a sacred myth of my truth..., and of my beloved Marielle...! There are fifteen thousand demons that possess my body... fifteen thousand demons for attacking the sacred mystery of the Holy Rosary...! Marielle was my light, my Edenic Eve, an admirable land. Now, she is my spell, my stubbornness or my constant sharp bleeding, without knowing where it has to pass...? I still remember that night, that gloomy night, renouncing my final vows of faith and the consecration of my soul. I broke my ties and ecclesiastical chores, all for Marielle, a noble descendant of the Quentinnais. I would never believe such regret in my destiny. I did love her, but her misfortune knew me. When I approached the edge of her house that night, I entered through the kitchen window. All were asleep, except for the albiceleste reflection of the last death throes of the deadly round of Quentinnais Mansion. I was thinking of rescuing her and saving something from those cheeks kissed by me, but her heart disease dried up his heart and her lungs. It is still possible to recall the last roses that I brought into her hands, they danced with her along with the hymn and the old dirge of the sleight of hand made by the monk, along with the cartomancy plays settling the minute of taking her into darkness, with her beautiful bare feet. What a pain, I could not rescue her from her, and death was dispossessing her! Her parents hated the mere fact of having her heart ruled by an impious priest, so I turned to the pagan and dark gods, to heal Marielle, and her heart to transplant it for mine. Since that day, I continue to burn in a polysatanic hell, to take out the little breath of goodness, and seize the transparent liquids that plague her existence and her serene metallic Diadem..."

Friar André Panguiette upon learning that his great friend possessed by the Devil would fall into some endemic evil infection...; Evil endemic to his love, he crossed himself when he saw that he became a horrible being. The jumbled leaves in the garden were transformed into Bible sheets torn from their bindings and fillings, the wrinkled ***** Saints slid down their columns, the sky proclaimed hemorrhages and the wind oozed foul gases, which in the firmament sprouted in clots of clots on the Papal House of Avignon. Fray Andrés, threw the rosary on the neck of the possessed person, and asked the Demons who were they most afraid of...? The demons answered this question, screaming and falling vertically down the central nave... they went down and flew!

Wonthelimar induces: “From that moment, you and Marielle would cross their gazes closely and love each other. In the following minutes of Pentecost, the two of them went alone to sit on the bench on the banks of the blessed wind that caressed their profiles, as if plotting to unite one with the other. Raymond effusively kissed her; he drew her to him, believing he sensed an eventual and sacrilegious separation from her. This is how it happened when François Quentinnais surprised them...:

François Quentinnais: With this example, you have provoked my anger Marielle...! Hundreds of men like me would react like this when they saw my daughter in the arms of whom until recently, she was hugging God!

Marielle: Father, I beg you for mercy, Raymond of precept sent a letter renouncing his vows!

When the soul of Marielle was entrusted, Raymond escaped seconds before shattered, he did not tolerate the nonexistence of Marielle; vegetating rotten grass of the estuary, emerald swallowed by fire. In a purely inorganic state, Raymond walked away from the mansion, walked through the leaden mountains, and on the cruise he walked through the walnut trees in whose scarlet pods the intense cold of the esplanade howled. The almond trees cracked a baritone muezzin, which one day he wanted to go there, but could never reach the east. His beard reddened, his nails were like ram's horns, and his also reddish hair at the ends of it had black tulips. His clothes turned gray just like his eyebrows, and his breath smelled of nurse sewers of the black plague, the dry flow of his voice announced monosyllables, thus he purged his pain from town to town, from house to house, everyone quarreled with him, and then they were exasperated by kicking him out. Until in June 1617, caravans of people started from the southern town of Avignon, escaping the flames of angry soldiers of the crusades. The fleeting townspeople carried on their banners the inscription... INRI. On the other side, they carried the cross and a colorful coat of arms that in the lower corner said Siccidemy. Then, there Raymond opened his bruised eyes, unable to contain the recovered memory of him, between gunshots, screams, sobs, and screams, the hundreds of steps that were heard around him, led him to tear and save his life. In an instant of stillness, he found himself surrounded by people until one of them took him into his arms to hydrate his mouth. We are Albigensian, and you... Who are you?

Raymond replied: “I fled in search of a miracle that could save a beloved being. I used to call myself Raymond, now I don't know what name to go by. I fled, but I had to face the situation, even having acted behind the back of the Church”. An Albigensian says: “The clergy have also believed that our sect has acted behind the back of the Church. However, his powers and his government have registered absolutism within Christendom”. Another Albigensian says; “We seek the establishment of ancient Christianity, we deny the existence of purgatory, the importance of rituals, clerical organizations and the possession of goods by the clergy. And for this reason, we have been expelled from our lands, from our homes, our children have paid for the Sacred Inquisition, in the hands of those who one day... baptized with blessed water”.

It was on June 18, 1617, the Albigensian fugitives were besieged in Montlimar. The Argentine crosses gleamed like dogs eager to bite the enemy. The open-minded Albigensians gathered together with Luzbel, who floated on a calypsigenic cloud. Raymond and the others piled up essences in the fuels to start the pact, after this event François Quentinnais answered negatively, and strongly took her daughter by her hand, pulling her sharply to the float. The horses slip their hooves before the sloping pastures carpeted by tiny Calypso flowers; the mayoral pressed his thin lips, also raising his shoulders, so as not to hear the despotic cries of Monsieur François. As for Reverend Raymond, he could be seen crying silently, accompanied by late halos of the luminosity of the final and sad day. Sorrows and regrets dislodged his bones that underwent violent arthrosis, populating his body in a sedentary lifestyle and irritation. I myself say Wonthelimar, I am the one who carries Marielle's love in me, I am your Raymond. Remember that night that...: "When the monk retired to pray, you stormed the bedroom, and uttered Marielle..., Marielle:," wake up, in vain I fear to leave without your divine voice. Marielle, what do you have...? I don't think your father's impure will blind your eyes to not see me, or he ripped your sweet voice to not name me...? ".

The Albigenses resigned to the spell, their adherents had largely been reduced, only ten or twelve remained. That later they fled from Montelimar escaping to the west, crossing the enchanted Rhone. The Siccidemy troops mutilated the last demonized Albigensians; nothing would help for their lives, everyone would bleed except the group that fled with Raymond. For several days they wandered the Cevennes plateau, provisioned themselves in Montpellier, and arrived in Carcassonne on July 20, 1617. Little could they remain here, since the congregation of Santo Domingo, without distinction, attacked the population decimated by the crusaders? What a regrettable exodus for Raymond with his black flock fleeing from where his feet laid hope! Twenty-two days of bitter flight, and everywhere the crosses, until Raymond decides to separate and go back to Avignon. He takes a  sailboat off the shores of Narbonne in the middle of a stormy gray day, in his bitter journey he dreams of being born again and having Bethlehem as a lineage, on July 23 of the same year, he lands in the waters of Marseille. When he was discharged from the port, he undertook a light journey to Avignon, near Arles, thousands of fellow citizens started from the hosts of King Godfred of Bouillon, the nobles cooperated by revealing the mobs that gathered in the city, the Hussites, and the Waldensians; Iconoclast heretics, fighting fierce battles. The crusaders took the offensive and tried to prevent them from burning their sacred images, which had already been torn to pieces throughout Gaul. Raymond, distant, helped the most serious, he was afraid of being confused by one of them, it was better to hide in the Cathedral of Arles. Upon entering, he felt a dizzy ***** that shone timidly in the hands of his performer... it was a little girl who, when looking at him, named him Dionysus..., demi-god, save us! Raymond fell into a daze, and falling into a dream that told him of barbaric actions, with masked fellow citizens lying neutral in their gestures, and suddenly angels revealed to him that they were looting the pantheons of Avignon, to burn the rosaries of the saints. Bereaved in their graves, some Albigenses exhumed the bodies of relatives related to the Clergy.

Raymond was sweating his hands and forehead, he struggled to get to the Quentinnais mausoleum, straining his precognition, he crossed the interdepartmental courtyard, he continued to haunt the packed pyramidal cypress trees and suddenly a lion-faced him dealing with a snake; with the symbolic image of the Quentinnais. He saw the slab desecrated, on whose horizon his Beloved Marielle slept. His skin prickled... it was the Iconoclasts avenging their own, with strong breaths he squeezed his hand, wanting to wake up... so it happened, he got up pushing the crowds that were holding him back, but his strength was growing. He rode a roan steed, in three bridles that he gave him he flew towards Avignon; his mount seemed to be a hot air balloon that flew with great dynamism. Raymond in his own painful station would moan his hand, his eyes; his legs creaked like the legs of the Pegasus that carried him fast.

Ellipsis Second Sequence Mausoleum Quentinnais

Finally, he arrives in the second parapsychological sequence, noting that Avignon was in ashes, takes the reins and immediately goes to the Quentinnais mausoleum, upon arrival, he appreciates several Albigenses committing crimes, dismounts, and runs screaming towards the defilers; he faced them with stakes, some demonized had to cut their throats, arriving in time to defend the remains of Marielle. For long hours he was with her alone, thinking about what to do, Raymond knew that he could not revive her, so he had no more redress than to invoke Luzbel, who this time revealed her true and evil personality as ruler of the evil spirits.

Raymond: Dear Luzbel, millions of Canaanites looked up at the altitude representing you; today I will do the same from here and beyond the solid roof of the mausoleum! Bring Marielle to life, come and twist her cheeks, since without her! I have had to live all this to protect myself from suffering. Since Pentecost, he hadn't been physically close to her. Now I need her... well, I lynched her...! Beelzebub making him believe that she was Luzbel, ordered him to extract her heart!

Beelzebub: “In Montlimar, I saw volcano crests arrive in such failure of my envoys. But it will not be repeated, and for it to be so, I entrust you to take out the heart of your beloved and tear the eyes from her that saw your gaze. Then open your chest with this dagger, I will draw your blood and heart, to moisten the heart of your Marielle. And finally, I ask you to bring a lip to me to enchant her lips in lilies. "

Raymond: “opinion accepted... that's the way I'll do it!
Being dominated by the spell, Raymond abided by every step dictated by the supposed that Luzbel lived difficult moments since he was a good day, but so many thousands of years of living in darkness, and in the midst of punishment that violently changed his mind. Justo Raymond carried the body in his arms so that the ritual would culminate. Luzbel snatched his beloved from him and with laughter he vanished.

Beelzebub says Mortal fool! Don't you see that I am Beelzebub; chief of the evil spirits and the guide of the Albigenses, Hussites, and Waldensians? Never invoke me in the Mausoleums, here betrayal triumphs. Now a Quentinnais will be my image on earth, giving her the doubt of doing well for many centuries.

Beelzebub took his beloved away, leaving the rosary wrapped in soft tulle next to the scapular in his hands. Raymond cringed in pain, and in an act of madness scratched his face. Poor Raymond, he told himself...!  That in himself he found no reason to live. He left the mausoleum at dawn looking around every corner in case he saw Marielle lost in his sight since recently. He was exhausted; he remained after the confession that was delayed too much because the events that took place in the Pantheon, in a way pretended to be the events that Raymond inexhaustibly narrated. And in a way, he feared for his life at that time unknown, by the mouth of some hidden place they documented his bitter inability to do well, and that he would fall under Raymond's curse. At this moment, Raymond lay lying on the banks of the Pantheon, from that day on, he did not know about the days, he only existed at night and he did not socialize with anyone, his madness sowed hatred for everything sacred and infernal, he dealt with the Holy Rosary found a magical find, until one day a new one reached her ears; she was referring to some crusaders who had intervened in Jerusalem when it was invaded by Saladin. A certain Frederick Barbarossa was drowned in Sicily by..., "Wonthelimar", who with the Diadem of a woman Seized the island of Iconium. This was the other new one that enlivened his spirit. This greatly surprised the worn Raymond, suspecting that the kidnapper of his beloved might be in cahoots. And as the news continued to hear her, it was said that her sacred beliefs allowed her to continue undercover, in order to continue for a long time, even in the other attacked city that would be Nice. He signed to the limit, for centuries that will serve us in future generations…, suffocating the iconoclasts.

The poppies moved from north to south through the Provencal regions. The oceanic eastern Gods Makara's in tumultuous pyramidal ships descended legions and escorts, to aid Raymond's farewell at Nice. At twelve o'clock at night, the prophetic edict of the Lord would be fulfilled, here the last words of that chimerical episode were received, and he feared that until then a first descendant of Raymond; he became a statue in ignitions of the reborn underworld. The Diadem will be transport and refuge, as for Wonthelimar he said doubtfully…; I think he is nothing more than the deviant Beelzebub, who with optical retractable eyes, in Montlimar disguised the initial in double V..., Wonthelimar, but I was wrong! Wonthelimar already transmigrated to Raymond, staying on the banks of a stream, with nausea he regurgitated his underlying spirit state from the lyrical crust. His mouth unsheathed the most diverse and heterogeneous chronolites; Parasitized dust in pieces of temporary stone, flowing in disciples, quarantine fragments, in marriages by sinuous water. Raymond slapped his thighs in anticipation of throwing up there. His blatant, incisive alienation took over his will, with inherent crickets singing to her in isolation from him, shining his conscience, and residing in the grace of the Holy Grail. The conquest of the earthly system amputated the Andromeda Amygdale; Constellation-illusion and spouse of Perseus, who is mysterious vehicles of the solvent Grail, kept him tied to Raymond. Deafening roars erupted from the earth pits, and the mass of the mountain hung above the trees, pseudo purple and violet rays bombarding sarcophagi all over Nice.

Wonthelimar: “Since this day I have been boiling in a polysatanic hell! The Ibex picked me up from the surroundings of the Pantheon and the Quentinnai mansion, where I have never been a human again, only an Ibex in the Chauvet cavern. Thanks to the herds of goats that adopted me that I have been able to bear their pain by taking refuge in the darkness of all times, which never transpires in the past, present, and future? Now I have come in this re-location, to reorder Vernarth's parapsychology, which you are too, and who has never been able to overcome the pains of love, even beyond pale death! "

From that moment, the shadow of Heracles is seen among them, encouraging them to be part of the gods, and of the feasts of the beautiful Ankles of Heba. Thus the words redecorated them both amid the thick fog, in Avignon. Afterward, Wonthelimar left and left Raymond to continue in Marielle's darkness to the end of the world. The blister day and the scorching night, thought one of the other in constant profit, for the good of finding them in the Kalijoron..., the well of the divine light of Eleusis, for those who rest in naive peace in the face of cunning, and the decorum of the gentle dialogues in the comedies of the exceptions, after crossing the Nile, with tributers collecting the faults of the gods, or else with horrific screams that would make them prey to an imaginary Gorgon.

Wonthelimar was now going after the “Íbics Ring”, which were left in the Chauvet cavern, by some Iberian tribes of the early Neolithic age, who were on their way out desecrated the cavern with ****** in the orbit of the Ortho Heliacal. From here, in the last goal, they reach the darkness where the vampire bats were terrified to see them with their eyes in mercurial ambrosia, which enveloped them with the gums in each one as they approached in the sound of night hunger arrests, next to the betrothal death brought by the darkness of the Strigoi, in lost wanderings of their wills following the search for the panescalm sheds, which carried human chiropterans for the regions of Transylvania, subjected to distinctions and exactions of Climate Changes. From here the bronze spear Dorus of Vernarth would go to the right hand of Wonthelimar, to shield him, and to put celery-foot feet on the ineffable Kanti steed, with certain renown of Eacid of Achilles stirring up hops and low bottoms of the mineral aquifer at the base of the den. In a quick figurative gesture of Achilles, Wonthelimar passes his right hand over his nose, noticing that lights trickled from the Auriga and the Automedon that came by order of Drestnia to provide aid to him, and to rescue the Iberian Ring Eagles, to transport them to the cove of the Mound of the Profitis Ilias.

In the eternity of the noise, Vlad Strigoi is in solidarity with him and gives him lightly from the bottom of the final flow of the bilges of his panescalm, condensing air of Gaseous Gold, in Pan-Hellenic regions, and in the Valdaine regions sixty-seven kilometers from that mountain area very close to Avignon. The infected zones of physical virtue were divided into micro-regions that were compressed before Wonthelimar merged into micro space within the cavern, to abandon the burning furnaces that came alongside his interpersonal goodness, in the metaphysical transfer of darkness, and of the wicked gentlemen drawing him towards the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, so as not to be attracted as a human to ******-emotional implications or manipulations, who will snoop in growing voices in the voids of the cavern, and in the failing anxieties of the pompous and ancient effigy tarred from Hades. Wonthelimar limps superlatively with some nervous leave, but eager to apprehend the Ibic Rings. After the Benedictus antiphons were seen coming out of his chest, they were iridescent in magenta and mordoré for those who are ibex, always hiding under the goat epidermis, sponsoring happiness practices, one and the other after their vicissitudes in a cyclical mystery classroom. On the plains, you can only see haze and the experimental change when leaving everything in the hands of those who die without rainwater and bagel, in the most absolute solitude, amidst rocks that will never and never be reconverted, less into mid-plains giving terrifying compliments on flower baskets that stink of wandering Wonthelimar clones… not being!

Wonthelimar with Kanti, they emigrate from the cavern of Chauvet in their reminiscences, standing out from the voids and invocations of Raymond in unfinished by filling space in the hearts of both. Heading southeast towards Patmos with the Ibic Rings on his bracelets, wrapped in Vernarth's Himathion for his investiture!

1.
I cling to the rigging
of the sleek, black ship
as it speeds toward
Crete, seeding the waves
of the wine-dark sea
with my hopes of heroism,
with my desire to refine
my strength in battle,
my cunning in pursuit
of prey, my courage
in the face of inexorable death.

Immortality awaits
the victor, or so
I profess. It is my Greek
code of honor to turn
glory into deathlessness,
to sow the whirlwind
and reap calm breezes
of brotherhood with
the gods, to revel
in repose at their table,
to feed on the sweet
satisfaction of becoming
who I am.

I am favored
in this relentless
struggle to prove
my prowess and
resolve, my power
to subdue my foes,
to dominate --
in this, my seventh
labor -- the sire
of the Minotaur.
I arrived on Crete
because King Eurystheus
of Tiryns has imposed
this labor to try to
assuage Olympus’
Queen Hera's
irrational hatred of me.
I must continue to atone
for the sins she caused me
to commit. With my entire
family slain, she owes
me everything.

2.
As the muscular
offspring of Zeus --
Hera's wily, randy
husband -- and an
ordinary mortal, I stride
through the world
half-man and half-god,
a living mockery of
the Olympian purity
that Hera so hysterically
cherishes: a mirror
that reflects nothing but
delusion, nothing but
a buzzing hive of grandiose,
self-comforting lies.

The gods don their
pearl-white tunics
to convince themselves
they are made
of nothing short
of pure glory, pure
eminence, despite their
blatant self-indulgence
and moral laxness,
despite their privileged
violation of cosmic laws,
despite persisting
in their perverse ploys
without the slightest
twinge of conscience --  
drunk on the ambrosia
of boundless power,
the ironic gift of my
unheralded birth.

3.
I know I possess
the cunning to have
prevented
the Minotaur
from ever pawing
the plowed-over earth,
from ever charging
some unwitting
victim frozen in fear.

I could have
kept this monster
from being born,
from embracing  
the rosy-fingered
dawn of existence.
I could have
saved Theseus, my
fellow Greek hero,
from his backbreaking
battle with the bull-
headed mutant.

Indeed, I could have
stopped altogether
his labyrinthine
struggle to **** the mighty
Minotaur, to curb its
cannibalistic tastes
for maidens and
young boys, to undo
its enormous
lusts and tame them
into docility,
dissonance and death.

If only I had arrived
in Crete sooner,
before this, my latest
labor, stuck in the stream
of imperious judgments
against my fatal fit of madness
that ended my innocent
family’s all too precious lives.

4.
I proudly claim my
birthright as a son
of Zeus and a worldly
woman. Call it the outcome
of Olympian adultery,
an act that ignited
Hera's intractable
jealousy and rage
until she inflicted
insanity on me
and perverted my
innate powers
and strength,
turning them  
against my wife
and daughters,
as I attacked them
as if they were
the Nemian lion.

Torn by grief,
I quietly returned
to my right mind,
mourning my foul
deeds and crying
out against the divine
injustice of Hera’s petty
interference. And all this
because of Zeus’ calculating
dalliance. All this to satisfy
a moment’s passion
that swiftly spawned
eternal consequences.

5.
Now I am bound
to capture the
Cretan Bull, sire
of the Minotaur
and source of
endless chaos
on the fertile
island of Crete.
In its own species
of madness, the bull
has uprooted crops,
and torn down
walls. All semblance
of order has
vanished in its  
destructive wake.
King Minos of Crete
demands that it
be immediately
removed and
banished
from his sight.

So my strategy
is simple: use
my secret stealth
to wrangle the bull
from behind
and strangle it
to the brink of
death. Unconscious,
it proves such an easy
package to dislodge
and ship back
to Tiryns, where
King Euryhtheus
plans to sacrifice
it to Hera. But she
refuses such piety.
She seems sworn
to deny any
trace of my glory,
to devour any shred
of my pride.

If only I could cut
her out of my name.
I would wander
the world incognito.
I would gladly deny my
identity, happily
forsake my fate,
and in the depths
of dark anonymity
unbecome who I am.

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa,
Above the ancient pillars of Heracles
Where rain and ocean are weaving,
Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves
And noble strands, my beaten hearts
Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands
Of Galicia.
                   Where Incomparable, dark
Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian
Fairness, side the valleys and moors
Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive
Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings
Of the ram and moans of ewe, where
Way bountiful seas are over spilling,
In octopus and pearly gemmed shells,
The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding,
Where incense burns with under stars
Encased, the lost Atlantean temples
Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels,
The clad forests of wandering Titans,

Where snow white beaches end forever
Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway,
As was the magi gift of treasured yards,
Enlightenments, of old and golden isles
Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs
Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal,
Galicia.

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa,
Above the ancient pillars of Heracles
Where rain and ocean are weaving,
Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves
And noble strands, my beaten hearts
Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands
Of Galicia.
                   Where Incomparable, dark
Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian
Fairness, side the valleys and moors
Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive
Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings
Of the ram and moans of ewe, where
Way bountiful seas are over spilling,
In octopus and pearly gemmed shells,
The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding,
Where incense burns with under stars
Encased, the lost Atlantean temples
Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels,
The clad forests of wandering Titans,

Where snow white beaches end forever
Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway,
As was the magi gift of treasured yards,
Enlightenments, of old and golden isles
Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs
Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal,
Galicia.

Sometimes I forget that you
cannot absorb as much
as you like to say you can.
I forget that you are human, and not more,
not the impassive statue that you
would like to be.
I have seen you
in your weak points and I
have helped you through
some bad days and I
somehow forgot
your true form.
Forgive me, I
am so full of words tonight that
I overflowed and nearly
drowned you, even as you stood
ready to try and help me safely swim
the dangerous currents
of my own disintegrating being.
Forgive me, I
would mop up these streams and
plug up these holes and even
divert rivers in the tradition of Heracles
to clean out the accumulated grunge
of everything I have dumped on you.
I would let my mind
stop burbling and my words run dry
if only you will
forgive me.

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa,
Above the ancient pillars of Heracles
Where rain and ocean are weaving,
Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves
And noble strands, my beaten hearts
Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands
Of Galicia.
                   Where Incomparable, dark
Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian
Fairness, side the valleys and moors
Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive
Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings
Of the ram and moans of ewe, where
Way bountiful seas are over spilling,
In octopus and pearly gemmed shells,
The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding,
Where incense burns with under stars
Encased, the lost Atlantean temples
Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels,
The clad forests of wandering Titans,

Where snow white beaches end forever
Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway,
As was the magi gift of treasured yards,
Enlightenments, of old and golden isles
Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs
Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal,
Galicia.

I see you in the stars
Somehow you have been changed
From how the mortal eyes have seen you
Your mouth which used to speak
Of hatred and hope oblique
Becomes a beak without your teeth

Rage was born
But it will die
When its thrown into the fire

A brittle constellation
An ancient observation
You invite your guest to **** them
The poison of your being
These wounds caused by your sword
Let Heracles avenge them

All night
I look at you
Such beauty born from hatred

The knives in your hands
Cannot be be held by wings
Your arms that change until you drop them
The blasphemous skin
And fingers meant for ripping
These are the feathers that replace them

The sound of blood
And ugliness
Becomes beautiful music

Beyond the massif peaks of Europa,
Above the ancient pillars of Heracles
Where rain and ocean are weaving,
Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves
And noble strands, my beaten hearts
Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands
Of Galicia.
                   Where Incomparable, dark 
Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian
Fairness, side the valleys and moors
Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive
Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings
Of the ram and moans of ewe, where
Way bountiful seas are over spilling,
In octopus and pearly gemmed shells,
The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding,
Where incense burns with under stars
Encased, the lost Atlantean temples
Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels,
The clad forests of wandering Titans,

Where snow white beaches end forever
Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway,
As was the magi gift of treasured yards,
Enlightenments, of old and golden isles
Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs 
Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal,
Galicia.

And so, with him, the marble body of Apollo would not be so easily outdone.
Look how Hephaestus' muscle-clad arms would not surrender,
    nor would his.
Look how Dionysus would weep at the acid in his vineyard veins,
    eyelids struck with Zeus's violet lightning,
And so the blood in which Ares bathes drips down the fault lines in his chalky palms,
    lips pinker than the silk of a woman, smoother than Eros's thighs, feet bruised like Heracles's would have been.
Our modern day Paris, gorgeosity incarnate,
    even in that livid instant of death.

He shakes the snow from his fur and tastes the air

A young boy leans against an oak
A rusted sword at his side


The wolf leaves the warmth of his den

(They listened to the old man around the fire
His words hang in the air...)

The wolf bares his yellow teeth

The boy would lie beneath the stars
Imagining the tales
Heracles wounding even the gods

The metallic lure of blood. Skades' perfume was heavy on the morning fog

He slept and drempt
He was in the vale again
Leaning against the old oak
His father's words were harsh-
Only a coward would run from such a glorious death


The hunger was, unbearable now
The wind pulled at his hair




In the cold early morning fog
The spear was heavy, but he was strong
The sword was rusted, but he had cunning



They were alone in the valley
Where the morning fog will never lift

Do not find love
For it finds you
And find you it did
Like the first beams of dawn
Kissing the dew
On the slumbering meadow

And what was once
A verdant vale of calm
Is now a riotous explosion
Of cerulean and crimson
Caressed by the velveteen kisses
Of the eastern breeze

The languid shore
Now a maelstrom
Of spraying foam
A gale of berserk fury
Poseidon thundering
Confronting
The forbidding cliffs
Of time

O maiden
Sighing into
The lonely watches of the night
For whom are those tears shed?

Tarry not
For Helios comes
To take you in his embrace
And within the tongues of immolation
Is purifying salvation
That even
The Twelve Labors of Heracles
Are impotent to redeem

And you are no frail Icarus
Jesting and boastful
Impertinent in his youthful optimism
Who eludes and placates
The assault of the elements

Now take the plunge
O Athena
Laughing into the depths
Of the mercurial Aegean
For she who dares the fates and furies
Commands Olympus.

With axiomatic prominences, the God Spílaiaus hung from the Virola from Ibic Three in the elevations of the Kantillana at three thousand meters high in the Transversal valleys, individualized Pichi, Chile. Millions of flying masses of Chiropterans unfolded, anticipating Vernarth's visit to the Celestial Regency of these Deities by accidental and hybrid Hellenic prophecy; coming from the Protocol of Transylvania with the Eternity of the Submythological god of Vernarth Aiónius from Ibic 1. These deities came etherealized by the heights of the Nothofagus Obliqua that was bent at forty-five degrees by the lift singing the melisma of Antiphon Benedictus that this time made the bastion and garrison of the Mikhve or Kathartyrium of Vernarth possessing souls with scabrous megalomaniacs boiling internally through the Underworld bringing Hades Speleothemes, such a tow pulls the Kosmous and humanity into the bowels of the Kardiá of the purified Agoge and the Mikveh or Purification of Vernarth in later Hypnosis Existential hanging on the halberds of the Dorus, Áspis Koilé and Kantabroi waving in the intensity of the conifers before the hegira began at Tel Gómel. Vernarth approaches Spílaiaus and proffers: “My Lord, I had an illusion…, I said that I had to fly over the Palace of Arbela at the expense of the followed “Paraps or Othónes” or Parapsychology screens that took me to wastelands full of Ungulates that rested barren in calcined silica **** covered with Hoplites and Achaemenides cries imploring to escape from disastrous dawn of Dark Angels, safe from other Angels Shvil, Almas de Kalidona, Hellenika, Armas Christi and Almas de Trouvere. Essentially all of them would beg for the circumcision of the open field and also openings of thousands of soldiers when It was arranged by all this heavenly light to crack the heels of every Hoplite. Thus leaving the hollow opening of my soul Mikveh, Kassotides, and Lynothorax that invaded with satiety to get out of itself and become the destination of all oppressed compassion on the way to the Empyrium. The curtain persists that helps beatific concerns of submitology inherent in cultural realities where it subjugates the digressive persist of specimens that recover life from their own exhaustion exercising truthfulness in those that are strengthened by their own incapacity "Vernarth" is a product of Spílaiaus' concern , and this at the same time knowing and having everything given in its analogy and terminology protruding the same root, except that submitology is roots that subordinate the inorganic and inanimate for such an effect that legacies of myths take on a leading reality that does not consider true what is not or it is part of a myth rooted in mythology, but rather of what is subtracted from its own inertia or wear and tear that does not take on a reality present in all things that are not virtuous, much less express it from a Gnostic perspective; where everything is reborn and progresses in paradisiacal cycles and messages of the Merkabah..., They are of an infinite cohesion of that celestial if it had to appear in the astral journey without taking into account what the same time in question allows to appreciate how long it has to last or persist to know that you are rooted in this process itself!

The subsequent stage will be governed by fertile beings or deities. The Genre of Itheoi Deities arises from magnificent submithological gods since they are present in events of an immortal nature doomed to micro spaces that will be configured with Paraps or Othón forming multidimensional links in each episode. The scenographic movement is represented in this work, in such a way to personify a heterogeneous reality shared by some of these gods and others from Olympus. In the case of Spílaiaus, it is specifically an augmented reality nexus of ibicos that are instantiated in this Trilogy from confraternal words where Vernarth Says: “Give me a little Gála and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not an everything I never thought of…!” Here is that Gála is dairy juice where a speleological factor intervenes from Chauvet, Valdaine - Nyons Region - France. This is more than saying that the triggering factor is Mikveh or Purification leads from the premiere of the journey to associate with the underworld of the Kathartyrium or stationary Purgation that will take him through sequences in chapters or Paraps to meet again with Virolas or Anillares composing Medrones, crimping and growth. Later Wonthelimar from the Boedromion would bring The Arrows that Zefian will bring in the Second Trilogy bringing sleeping bodies of winter to the lap of the spring Boedromion crossing lines from spring to winter in the cycle that went directly to the Cinnabar Mercurial Ambrosia. They were discreet detached arrows that he had launched into the sky and they did not return but in the rooms, and in stages of Animalia towards the duty of rejoicing at the ****** of the Telesterion. Wonthelimar, being once again relocated before starting the works on the temple of Megaron Áullos Kósmos, was returning to the Chauvet-Wonthelimar cavern. He distanced himself from the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree originating from Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points of the zenith starting with the first two arrows that are placed on the bowstring away from the Quiver, each one crossing north-south trajectories and another two that were violated again with the bow of the stormy East, to launch arrows from east-west with limits of southern magnetism. He carried in his belongings "Ibic Rings" that would be transmigration towards cardinals and points where the Megaron of Vernarth would be exactly, arguing that Zefian's phalanges would be ordered in Sintropia and organic chaos in Patmos, making Pythagorean proportions in essences of numbers that idly advanced in temporary passages of Wonthelimar that were movably made of religious Saetas and Mercurial Ambrosia of Cinnabar, to contribute with insightful points of the Constellation of Capricornus. Zefian's tendency was evident to delight after being pulled from the bowstring to ghostly existence; presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the gales that would originate the Áullos Kósmos or Megarón, a late pro of some courts imposed from the Ouranos or Cielo that was going determined in his will seized by a dubious Vestal god advocating associating with hospitable Canephores as conjectured Virgins Vestals of Roman bilocation that were resting in their hands..., and quantum parapsychology of the feared live between-tale that boils over in the arrows that have not yet fallen, not knowing their whereabouts? As sheets or serial wafers that were evoked where the origin of the Universe was broken to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burned contravened Duoverse including the divine celestial origin as a *****-ovular parameter, rather eons and instances in Hestia's chimney running in pertinacious towards vast volumes of light-years. The connectivity of the Itheoi gods will make the quantum mobility machination operable between seasonal dimensions that will have to pass through periods, stages, feats and famous moments since it is initialized from here in the stone of lance with its Etruscan horses in Tel Gómel, for later in the Eleusinian mysteries themselves co-participate in eras of connection, as it appears here after the saga of Judah composing their respective seven chapters until breaking down at the end of the Conclusive Meshuva. The Boedromión will be an essential part of Trilogy II, waking up in all the winters of the world as a shelter flowered directly to the component of the Mercurial Ambrosia, a valuable element of Cinnabar or high-grade Vernarthian Sulfur for the Vas Auric or Sacred Medallion of Limassol that overflows decanted at the end of the Mikveh growing in arid deserts.

Cardinal Spilaiaus

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

From Medrones that grow in massive ibix antlers in Nyons, Seven Ibics Rings were taking hold, a Viroliferous process was progressing, or exercise of rotation mechanics of Quantum Rings in the same thesis work that speaks further of a replacement Universe as the anticipatory Duoverse, and the gifted Codex Raedus as a complement or annexation baggage of the Profitis Ilias in Patmos thus generating that pre-Christian annal have a leading role in new construction by presenting a virtual situation or Genius Loci. The Semi Itheoi will have roles in leading each cardinal so that the Gestation of the Fourth Arrow of Zefian is finally re-established, reordering the universe predisposed to receive the one approaching the Duoverse. What happens in Tel Gomel and Persepolis is relevant to the Psiloi Phalanxes and crowds that would face militarized personalities, totally ignoring the origin of the Hoplite as a worshiper of Hera's Wastelands and eternal stables that supported Vernarth just like Etruscan horses and Steeds of Sudpichi summoned Alikanto or ALikantus. His mother Luccica and father Bernardólipo endorsed all contained belligerence if he were not a repentant warrior in the gloomy night of the Horcondising Castle where Spilaiaus would give warlike foreshortenings right there to abduct him at great speed to Gaugamela. Vernarth would go to these latitudes, and then he would be exposed to governorships of Aionius to consolidate and channel this hybrid submithology that would bring together the ancient Hellenic Mythology. The vertiginous passage of time will conceive harsh characterizations and qualitative Paraps or Parapsychologies, possessing the largest arsenal of quantum and historiographical data ever counted and interpreted by characterizations, more than personalized blocks in particular characters, being the support vehicle or generational stem of the summary of understanding more facts and qualities that own characteristics of interlocutors. The vast collection of Submythological gods will be strongly entrenched in identifications of Semi Itheoi or deities that are intertwined directly with the human fictional world. ! Successive Paraps are concealed and accompanied by connectivity screens called Othones, these are a fundamental part of the audio-graphic syntax, managing to structure gods and then decode the final concretion of the conclusive in each Paraps, which is nothing more than a consequence of this imperceptible quantum axon, which does not end or start!

Submythology is an etymological derivation of later stages of mythology that deprives of granting subsistence and comparative biology to cultural, urban, fabulous components or inheritance of great ancient and medieval epic periods. Contributing great accumulations of proposals to such a generation in channeling with original playwrights reinventing their theses, also giving a breath of expectation to mythical beings so that they come to life in a hybrid interpretive horizon, or with alternation of roles considering mysteries in the blink of an eye happening to postulated dissidence or vagueness, losing itself as a gendered practice but not of the real cultist who has been propagated in his gnosis to remote places of the infinite superior. In short, Submythology is an infinite tragedy where the characters represent the work in furtive omni canality, and three-dimensional presence in sharp contact with the thrones of deities that make it even more evident to relate past history through submithological exercises, which itself refers to the prefix Sub " from what precedes par excellence” and mythological suffix as a series of processes of experience where the active voice of the narrator counts, being rather an inspirational pre-constructive phase. What should be experienced when in front of us a Homeric god of Olympus is presented to us telling us that the Olympic archeology has secrets of the Myein revealing characters and successors Submythological Gods with histrionic deities looted in all ages of the Celestial Organic Subsistence.

Ibico 1: "The first was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and he brought purity, for all who needed him and went to visit him in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive if he was accepted." As the only presence of Wonthelimar is of Chauvet's present god ambivalence.

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

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

Ibico 4: "This ring was from the antler of Wonthelimar, here they wore the oikos or threads of Orphi Gold, for the Himation and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a Mycenaean complement- Valdaine”.

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

Ibico 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns from Kafersesuh, bringing pollination from the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti."

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


                             Gender of the Duoverse Itheoi
                                     Horcondising Deities

Previously Vernarth takes his head resting on the ceramic that supported him between the Hydor photo duct, rather bringing his hand closer to the Klismós that Saint John the Evangelist had given him when he passed through Ephesus. In such a way that when he makes the first impulse to get up from the chair he was already beginning to leave the conventional Universe for the first time, then when he sits down again in the chair inaugurating the crystalline body that was looming over himself, he continues to be the Duoverse as if outside the Klismós with its curved legs resembling supporting pilasters of the Megaron diverging to the conical ones that projected concavely supporting the hollowness of its pectoral, which was already transparent like its Invisible Eclectic Portal. Meanwhile he gets up again holding onto the Mashiach who came to take him in his arms and place him in the klismoi that interpreted the elevation of Hellenism to the Greater Heavens and the Itheoi of the Duoverse; that is to say spiritual deities of Vernarth in the classification of the rank of beginning and projection of the abandonment of the Golden Himation. In such a way that the Astragalus was integrated; a floral company that was rooted in the hands and roots that cooperatively took root in those of Kashmar. So Vernarth with the Ibic Rings would begin to syncretize the imperceptible quantum and hyper-accelerated mobilization of physics of sub-atomic particulars that would later second it, unleashing from Alef to Tav to Astragalus and Aiónius, beginning his omnipotence. The sidereal distance began to unlink towards the Calypso air that was twinned with large portions of the sea in the same enamel, making Patmos the union of chain reaction speed with the Dodecanese Valleys and Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi unifying Vernarth with Apollo, Esminteo or ephebeia; that is, three sketches of Apollo himself for the theological genealogy chart of the deity Scarabaeidae with species that multiplied together with Vernarth to become the metalloid Azophar as the main knowable guideline to the unknowable, being Apollo himself in Vernarth's corporeality before rising to the iridescence of the Moshiach.

Astragalus: His primary Itheoi or theological picture would be composed and forming part of his feet and the surroundings of his ex-voto to take to all the summits of the world in the essence and the gift of eternal life represented by the root of the madrigal curdled by his feet, with the root of the Astragalus in flower when it represented the zero-hours by getting rid of his Himation and meeting the Mashiach.

Scarabaeidae: God of the subsoil modality of wandering souls destined for the physical and spiritual decline, Scabaraeidae Aphodiinae as subtractors of all the waste of souls that have boiled in malignancy, and the Scabaraeidae Dynastinae as the righteous larvae that rise from the imaginary soil to feed on the roots of the Astragalus and all the flowers and leaves of the Dynastiae. Increased the taxonomic genus of the species that would have to remain in the underworld to aspire to a better one like these Dynastines or Heracles beetles in honor of this hero carrying the peg that Vernarth would place on all the gardens once he was in Aurion, leaving him in a larval state, before being sponsored by Hera's family for the life cycle of the Horco-Olímpico.

Nothofagus: God's phoneme-photon of divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medron of the Ibex of Wonthelimar, to the millimetric assembly shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera of the Megaron, and the Iridescent Nimbus that percussed between the Áullos Kósmos and the Vas Auric ” in total synchrony with Patmos, at the same level of luminosity and growth revelation of the Scabaraeidae Dynastiae to transform inert matter into another fertile one compared to Poseidon.

Lepidoptera: Like The sixth piece of crowns by Kafersesuh bringing the fertilizations of the Lepidoptera in the Ibico Ring 6, for the central stage of investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti, where everything will be endowed with the greater Ibix called Wonthelimar” that together with Leiak they would transmute to Horcondising.

Azofar: This metalloid god and support of the bed will take and bring Vernarth again when sailing through the cosmos towards the fifth element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to extol him from the neurological hyper brain of the Duoversal of Vernarth twinned with the Mashiach, exemplifying duplicity of Apollo as Azofar device of new interstellar ships beyond all that is knowable.

Ibicus: god of Wonthelimar's antlers, here they will carry the oikos or Orphi Gold threads for the Himation and investiture to anoint Vernarth's body bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a Mycenaean-Valdaine complement, thus they were inaugurating the solemnity and honorability. Here the quadrature will be the perfect Heliacal Ortho of the fourth Ibico with the quadrature of Aurion commanded by Leiak in the cardinal Dyticá.

Vélus: from Ibico 4, from where the goddess Artemis will evaporate in the waters for the healing of the tormented in initiation processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron as if they were surrounding a Castalia for such solemnity.

Spílaiaus: from Ibico 3 in the center of the ministry with the bats, and others from the mercurial ambrosia invoking the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus”. Here is one more bastion of Hades' underworld dressing for the Speleothemes that will take you to the heart of all the dens of the Faith.

Aiónius: from Ibico 1 Wonthelimar who brought purity to all who needed him and went to visit in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive” here Kaitelka and Borker, in total harmony with Demeter, Persephone, and Hestia. Bringing them from the labyrinths with the rusty chains of Prometheus and Vertnarth wandering through infinity.

                                       Semi  I theoi

Semi-deities and great autobiographies of the Itheoi world derived from the denotation that would be reformulated from the Apoinandros that would be displaced by spikes of the didactic Ego or teaching of the authentic apostles that crystallized with Zefian, Borker, Leiak, Kaitelka, and Ezpatkul. Zefian: Reformer of the Universe-Duoverse, possessor of the four Arrows that will illuminate Heaven and all of earthly Greece every time Vernarth circulates linearly through the seas of the Vóreios of the Aegean. Ruled North: Vóreios (Boreal of Zefian) Borker: Demiurge and guardian of the Duoverse. Warden of the Forests of the World and of the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi. Ruled South by: Nótos (Austral de Borker) Leiak: Omnipresent demiurge, the vague spirit of the docile water dancer who lives on the water with his slimy Chin, his playful back is seen breaking lines of wells between flesh and silhouettes. Before the First station, the first of the three remaining nights before reaching the crater of Joshua de Pétra” ruled West: Dyticá (Twilight of Leiak) Kaitelka: Down Whale ruling the Psychic Trisomy of the Duoverse and seas surrounding Patmos of the Apokálypsis ruled to the East: Aftó (Kaitelka Equinoctial) Ezpatkul: Dóntiakul or Augrum teeth or prominent Gold will rotate through the Scarabaeidae demarcating the Vóreios Vóreios in the Horcondising region, bilocating it in Patmos Encinas borers, with such frenzy…!, that of Right there they would extract the strength of the Mapuche north winds from the Meli Witran Mapu, beginning with the Pikún-kürüf.

A great revolution was conceived with the imprint codified in stars that would begin to appear in Alto Kanthillana after the awakening semblance under the Nothofagus bottoms; being a god who would free Ninfuceanicus. This was a Sylph that millions of years had been inert in the space or radius of Spilaiaus very close to events of the new awakening. This Sylph would be the main stolon of the Nothofagus and would provide residual inactive matter from it so that Vernarth could secretly rebel from the stages of darkness and desolation of the species, having been dragged by decanted augers since time immemorial from what is currently on Patmos. This would consecrate extensive recycling, accelerating the characterizations of each organic personality and not, tending to an essential role in Vernarth's plot; because it will be this depression to make of its awakening a multicellular set that would grant the disappeared species of the behavioral axis to be restructured in all the ex-karstic zones of the subsoil of Patmos, up to the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi endowed with a great mineralogical bijective mass to supply powers with signs of substance and later mineralogical dimensions. Ninfuceanicus will be its Exo muscular mineral part that will provide proteins to Vernarth directly from this Sylph, in addition to recreating with her the necromancy attached to Gods Itheoi with Tsambika, Kímolos, and Patmos.The Paraps are nothing more or less than depressions of these liberations of great old geological masses that were biasedly unified under the subsoil of Hades Speleothemes, not exemplifying the stationary world of the relay but rather the Omnipresent Sphere of Spílaiaus together with Aónius and Azofar in the rescue of this Sylph, then Vélus, Ibicus, Lepidoptera, Scarabaeidae, and Astragalus will assign them the predominant rule. In silent and prominent escalations of events, they would intrigue themselves in the Submythological Epic, recomposing themselves in recapitulations that would indicate that Ulysses, Heracles, Hector, Leonidas, and the Great Alexander the Great would come to life from this thermo-geological concoction that would manifest itself by Vernarth's upper pectoral hollow "Called Thunder Kassotides” of which the conversion into tremendous events franked by ancient Greek Mythology would be destined to Vernarth's own and expeditious Hellenic life. This assumes that the overloaded physiognomic muscular exoskeleton of the Hellenic environment will be redirected with the power of natural phenomena beginning in original symptoms of multi gnosis reborn from the sub sphere of thought that intermediates with the interior ones, after the incitement of Vernarth and being part of the gnosis that would lead him to clear everything that is with him and what will be. The Animalia as fierce representatives flow by attempts and at the same time are inhibited from a tacit presence with animals that would conform to Spílaiaus stereotypes; an out-of-phase ventral turbinate of the God of Speleothemes, who is Wonthelimar or ventral turbinate, would propitiate any incidence in manifestations of the noosphere, given the serial appendix of instantaneous analogical relation in the disturbing and super mobility of the Constellation Capricornus, the Belt of Aurion and Betelgeuse. Right there radiating particularity the ontogenesis of Vernarth, already resigning himself from the intimate existential point to focus on the complementarity of other existences on the way to the Empyrium or Resident Ouranos, brewing universals in all unlimitedly comparative when alluding to as being diligent among beings who are not, and reciprocally be revivers of those who will be. Here is the synonymy of Vlad Strigoi that could be supra-spiritual historical omnichannel considering that he is an integral part of a Mythology and a real liberating hero of Transylvania. It still is, but under the exclamatory context that is born of avidity that requires and must collect fungus vines from Canephore and Hellenic delicacies in the prompt presence of gods when it is not enough or there is no legacy of servants or servants under the hindrance of its metaphysics with its empty entrails. Here prevails what dictates a dogma that differs for those who are touched by the edge of the Speleothemes of Spilaiaus to survive in the Sphere of inorganic life of the same god and Ninfuceanicus. This legend narrates the real and non-fictional lived history of Vernarth, that time that in absolute darkness and solitude he met the deity of the Ibico three in the crowded population of the Nothofagus is a totally prehensile approving gesture of a vegetable that authorized him to address Him …, Spílaiaus was such a reference when he listened to him for long hours transforming himself into a real therapist who worthy would bilocate in the original from Piacenza-Italy, when in rare cases of parapsychology he declared himself ineffective to be able to continue the endless sessions. “Gaugamela is the great battle that must be wielded with iron temper as a stalking of a heart that did not scold for another that did not pulsate”

Great raids will be composed of others that will speak of a strong hero having committed superiors, of others that will be based on eloquent vivacity that nothing takes long when it is necessary to induce the cut of Una Xiphos; whose function is dissuasive if the blacksmith is not a god that shows no mercy, but if he is from a job that can be resistant to deliberate him in another that has nothing, nor will he sustain him. The goal is essential in all weakness if a hero is consumed by his stoic bravery, rather it could perfectly reside in his coat of arms as indicated by Hephaestus in the glitter of a forge when the seasoned worshiper of his forges spills liquid steel and not blessed blood of a royal warrior from Laodicea. What Vernarth forges of Hephaestus himself will sound on his lyre descended from precognition of the god Spilaiaus, affirming that blacksmiths of Athens would be decoys that adhere to carcinogenic generations of opprobrious fires, if it were not for one who could carry in his hands a sword certainly jammed by Hephaestus, and that the diluted steel that really falls would make future generations authentic sedated drops in them for the true Spartan or Greek that strengthens it with verve and abulence.

I've been stung by a wasp on the same part of my heart
so many times that this familiar
disappointment shouldn't hurt anymore.
Gardeners develop callouses on their hands
because nurturing others to life with love
is the hardest thing they will ever do.
I can show you the rough patch of tissue
and muscle, right on the epicardium; I've cut myself open
time and again for others to peer inside, that it has
become automatic, synchronized with each beat
and thump. I don't know how to become close
to people without bleeding for them, but none
yet have been able to withstand the sight of
a brilliant crimson geyser showering
from my chest. If day after day I continue getting stung,
suffering like Prometheus when the eagle tore at his liver,
I know that I'll get rescued like him, too. Only I won't
be looking out for Heracles and a centaur- just a person
with open, calloused hands.

Mercurial Ambrosia / Profitis Ilías and Cinnabar

From the rudiments of the votive offerings that were outlined from the Megaron, a grammar was looming that sought terminologies in the lexicons of those who would intervene in the ruling party of the same patron twin; in such a symbiosis by naming him Mandragoron.  Vernarth came already ready after the fringed platform of the Acrotera modules, and in his affirmation of how he will appear before the plinth of Athenea and Zeus, who were awakening from a reminiscence of the Nemeton Druid, to go in the responsibility of the active life of austerity, and in the greyish roots of Zeus's oak that was rummaging, attend to the lively brushstrokes of three-dimensionality of the "V", which could be seen concentrically in the Pergamon frieze. The "V" emerges from the sculptor's cardiac center of escape and perspective, in the polys-perspective of gigantomachy where Athenea apprehends the suffering Alcyoneus by the hair in a deadly belligerent perspective and in convulsions of Satanic enthronement; Alluding to the apocalyptic epistle of Saint John the Apostle, on the vertical optics of the great Maker of pnemo-images or aerial nuances in the semi-open eyes of the giant suffering in Alcyoneus, with lost encumbrances from the maternal power of his matron Gea, for a polytheistic empire and adverse towards the border of the Christ anointed in unison, and of the better-known reliefs of the Athenea panel. Her contracted forehead and her belly convulsively are constricted, which only leaves us suffering and mortal fear. In the arranged thing the giant loses contact with the mother of him Gea of him; Disappearing land leaving you vulnerable. The sacred serpent of Athenea will **** Alcioneo by biting him on the chest (ibidem Vernarth's suffering pectoral from Bumodos, Tel Gomel.)

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

Cardinal Mandragoron

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

The Cinnabar Tsambiko, had bushy inclinations with the Mercurial Ambrosia, for the good of large metropolises of Mercurial Pollen, for those of a single deity coming from polytheistic Pergamum, in a flaw that is centrally concentrated in the monotheism of the Mandragoron, which will rise from the rocky of Mount Profitis Ilias from the height of the rhizomatic basalts, to condemn those who betray them, if they are stripped of the Lepidoptera. In the same way akin to a bucolic immortal, in dietetic miraculous, for basal ingenuities of nomenclatures, from the focal point of indigestion that dies with the digestion of sacred food, led by healing perceptions and sensations of the well-known world of ferment. It could be a Backoi, Kykeon, or Nepenthe, preferring to be swallowed by the Titans, to later filter honey that evaporates and volatilizes towards the Sulphurous Cinnabar, containing the bi-compound and sacred Mercurial Ambrosia, to later be disposed of with a vile gargle to the disposition of mortals who were to be immortal like Heracles. From this mythological infundity, the potion for Vernarth is abstracted from smearing it on his nose and on his pectoral, so that his wound that did not heal does not rot...; perhaps his Hellenic heart in rubble anticipated the destruction of future archaeological works. Or perhaps to imbue it in the chest of Achilles, like Vernarth, but it would be so as not to resist fasting. Liquids with entomology and Lepidoptera from Gethsemane in flocks come to clean the scabs of the heroes, who are only able to resist such effusion and subtle prophylaxis, stinging Prometheus a single sip in this new Mercurial Ambrosia.

When clouds upon the summer breeze all rest
And easeful, take upon their faery flight
Into the paling crimson of the west
Where noonday dreams wilt in the breath of night,
I look into the east, and try to bear
No more a single thought of gloom or tear
For tangled comes my heart in wreathes of drear
For seeing just the day lie on its bier.
Up at the twinkling summer stars I gaze
And far as any falcon, swift, may spy
Lie constellations whose postures can trace
A story of some wild ecstasy;
A tale of unworldly days of yore
When wine flowed free and through the earth did seep
And Heracles stood tall and Phobetor
Was purely myth to scare the young to sleep.
    And as I stare upon these stars, my eyes
    Close then and open to new morning skies.

A hole in my heart exists
Where once you resided.
An aching loss
A tingle where once
Arms encircled me
And I felt wanted
Loved
Needed
Adored
Necessary.
I don't think it's you I miss
For our last kiss was
Like the kiss of a stranger.
No.
I do not miss you.
I miss what you were to me
My darling
My Heracles
The moon that I circled,
A twinkling star,
In the dusk that was my life.
It's night now.
And you remain gone.

.
Beyond the massif peaks of Europa,
Above the ancient pillars of Heracles
Where rain and ocean are weaving,
Lays a fabled kingdom born of waves
And noble strands, my beaten hearts
Haunting, the lost, lush sylvan lands
Of Galicia.
                   Where Incomparable, dark
Haired women, mythic, of Amazonian
Fairness, side the valleys and moors
Of soon forgotten dreams and secretive
Wolves slide amongst warmed runnings
Of the ram and moans of ewe, where
Way bountiful seas are over spilling,
In octopus and pearly gemmed shells,
The scalloped pilgrimages unfolding,
Where incense burns with under stars
Encased, the lost Atlantean temples
Of Egyptian sands and storied Gaels,
The clad forests of wandering Titans,

Where snow white beaches end forever
Unmapped in told footsteps, castaway,
As was the magi gift of treasured yards,
Enlightenments, of old and golden isles
Pearling the coasts, sailing the sweet airs
Crossing Iberian gates, to Elysian, eternal,
Galicia.

The medication isn’t working.  I’ve tried to explain to the concerned faces, but the weight has worn me to silence.  I tried my best to give the Prozac a shot, but it was like tying a helium balloon to the top of a boulder; the effort makes for a pretty sentiment, but the burden remains unmoved.
The heaviness makes my brain move slowly, my smiles infrequent, turns my words into mumbles.  I try to think about when this all started, to reach through the fuzz of time past and memories lost.  The concerned faces encourage me to look back and find the ‘why’, to find the big bang of the world that I carry upon my shoulders.  
I remember flashes and feelings, times where things felt normal, where the apples were shiny and red, crunching between my teeth.  There was a time when I trusted the less-concerned-at-the-time faces to help me carry the weight, which used to be far less heavy, the balloon rather than the boulder.  However, no matter how hard I try, I cannot pinpoint the precise time when the heaviness became solely my own.
The medication isn’t working, but there is some part of me that keeps searching for that Heracles drug that’s going to build my pillars again, that’s finally going to help me stand up straight.  Maybe it’s hope, maybe it’s actually the Prozac, afterall - hell, maybe it’s just naivety - but I’m going to keep trying, and for now, that has to be enough.

Elegy I

“Behold, I tell you my prince Meton, that my Steed is coming bringing Zeus, I truly tell you that the shadows move on the plasma of the Duoverse and that the lunisolar cycles pose what could never arrive and where it has to go... that It awaits you if I say..., if from the threshold of 331 bC. What will be my own...? If tertians experience without pain that can resemble everyone else that it is!

Etréstles; My debt comes from the Kronia of Saturnalia and Aries, lifting him up from Gea... he is noble in the laws of his geometrical prose calling him from Attica and trying to know if I can take the corner of Stratonx, without a lesser degree of hierarchy and whatever, more than finding Theseus...! If it is of his necessity to hear us through the labyrinths that will approach him of the birth of a new Vernarth, who alone fears for some icy sting that afflicts Alikantus, coming as an Athenian steed on Zeus and on the protectorates of Polia that are plausibly bringing nights of fever in the cold solitude by not possessing them.

Whatever my lord, behold, a polis will have great merit when it occurs in the misgivings, hallucinations, and lightness that are abstracted after twenty-eight days without knowing which will be the next one that will contain it like the kindling of the fire that does not stop burning... nor the magnitude of everything that stops me from being the spoil of a new sprout, but that does not stop me from being superior to the flames that possess their hell. The official acts make me a trophy of hostile anxieties with their dying fire, however, Zeus makes the Duoverse move mounted on my steed that takes him on snows that fight in the contest, and in contests of my Elegy with his equestrian reverie. I tell you that for this they can still loot the feminine beauties that besiege me between ruinous eyes that only see from the attic towards his disjointed daily Odeon.

The sensitive attachment of my Cretan horse neighs resounding from the Odeon, carrying the waters that will be his visionary flowers on female beauties that acclaim him with a womanly voice, which lashes out at him as the bearer of a God, entering into sentences manly beauties that come off the blood Hellenic of Alikantus by Evandria; full and provided with manly arcana resembling a steed made an Adonis. For everything that seems ruinous to you, a head that wishes to be wounded is offered, for everything that seems diaphanous to you like a People in the female physiognomy, a figure consigned in his virginity, who opens doors in which they are semi-open... Seeming that nothing hurts as it runs through the corner of my yearning, with honey and milky emulsion in its porticoes and in the evasion of the Diplon bringing my guests from the Opistódomos, with menus that will be superior to all the vessels where it will take them their delicacies, incontinent. Of the Hydor, that flows from the mancebía and the damp staircase of the Nimbus. Unknown values of insecurity made me attached to the Acropolis, rather knowing that Zeus was on his way to his amnesty and was floating in prose of gaseous clay, and iridium that reopened the double door of the Diplon as it closed abruptly from the canopy tops. Where is it that so much warm wind runs in the colors of the gods who rule the Exile...? So he will continue to be all that he is and will be in what I observe him..., if he stops to look at himself, and not at me who no longer consumes him...!

I tell you with its illustrious shadow that it hides in its untamed ephebos, wanting to make precocious its illustrated cavities that serve an eternal heart, which pours out what pulses and reverses what it repels from the flesh that is distributed convex of the divine soul, making succulent darkness of the apotheosis of the Symposium… burning where they always are, I tell you they are lit in the saddles of time!

How much phobic rogue can tell you what my imperialism binds to say if my beloved were here, seeing her close by like any glow that syndicates her odd sacrifices, with excessive raised and scheduled glasses that speak of a restless being, who cannot tell you that the Christic continues to observe ride from Alikantus, on embers of the Khristúgenna, observing him in pageantry, attempts, and lands of Patmos with a loaf of unleavened brimming with pietism and a new millennium that ends in the pyx of her memories...

Currently, doors are slapped through which my steed will pass with Zeus..., and I will not hear them, because only I have to open their double door Dipylon weeks later... from the agon that has to carry me against Zeus as his relief comrade, clinging to anger in agons that fight each other for ferocious tendons, and herculean verbal incarnations, immersed in irrepressible loquacity... conceiving his heroic chance and submitological feats that are located at the precipice of the heel, and in the breathlessness of his steps that take place in those that are not! "

Elegy II

By what dark decline of Smyrna will my rib complain, and have to move its hanging from here of Selçuk that will consist in its protocols that guarded my lost head, and of corny demigods that surrounds soothing feats that do not hurt, instantly that we all offer the same incarnations of the cult and his victory with Saint John the Evangelist... I tell you that I know about this and I say that I preside and founded the condition of his sacred agonal, from his divine glory in Arbela according to how common it seems to them... if they are to get lost in its decline...! That they do not fight with what is not dexterity and nothing that is not brooding if nothing knocks on the arched door?

The purse that will remain beyond Alsancak in that residence is moth-eaten, I always hoped, I always had to say..., as I have told you that my tongue tells truths that you are tempted to see in the darkness of a dissolute courtyard in Helleniká, but between portages of Smyrna and rubrics that wave in streets that are bordering the extraverted Dipylon... in which instance I peek into the interior wine presses..., seeing its esplanades because if I have to tell you... it will be something that can satisfy you and that takes me to Eleusis...!

So many times I sighed for the stinging hinge and its memento, opening itself up like this, and if it must be wherever it compresses its resonance, here it is what I was going to condescend with dump trucks that transpose to the stage with their marbled misgivings, I beg you with my hands convulsive that I am not fortified, the tribal rain and the Xiphos phosphorus from the southwest, seeming to surpass with their longitudinal footage as if they were laws of the horizontal with twisted millennia that bring according to what should be...? For a long time, it takes the form of an imperfect and vile being by the inverted "V" from Ephesus, towards the intersection of the edge of Pergamum approaching Laodicea.

Guess where the deposit of the Sun of Smyrna derives with its long time-lapse, and with various stony that are attached to masonry typical of the diamond plinth, showing off the docile sacramental of its high shoulders and crowned partitions like those that hurt if my eye everything! Assesses, closing angles of the sovereign challenge, here my sovereign Meton presents me the sacramental infer to the Nymphaeum or a rhomboid arcade lost in his Domus!

Where do paradises shrink from, if all this was being hidden with so many truths between tributaries and conifers that have to be disposed of in their turrets? Its precarious sinister face only restrains the Eminences of the Lycabeto, daring to adorn themselves with Lykavittós, rising among longings that are lost in my Elegy from heights that howl for peaks that have not been besieged, only resided by those songs that shelter themselves obstructed with wide domains, with trainers that guide you, not coexisting lights, that scrutinize your shelter to become your owner!

What makes you of tribulation if my consort is made eternal, now that he shields between his worries for causes and lexical testimonies with my Eggelos, who do not hear the galloping of Alikantus but if the hieratic rocky snorts descending for what their prior does not know... only my chaste unit has to be with its talented polygonal patchwork, unlocking only what it contains in its earthly litanies, softening the sclerosis of a raging carat, being or not defensive of a judicious Eggelos in rocks of fortune...! Only if you have to restrain yourself before they exceed the rate, and of everything that stops you and greases the cranks of what is not worthy of rest without a deponent cheer!

I urge you, oh confreres that your streets and stones expand like runners and cobblestones that have never been able and never will be able to pass through colonnaded atriums surrounded by those who live in Smyrna! And from there I exhort you to serve your faithful hoarseness whose rest adheres to his unconscious reality... Where then only laughs the annoyance and its ominous deities that carve defenses that are arranged for him to house in Skelos or of the legs that are born and die on his heels...? And from where does it only lead him to the vault of the mystery that lies in his opportune vow?

I will mention to you when no one ascribes or praises you with compliments that tempt the supine harassment of whose silhouette it is not, and that it is only the Selçuk catafalque, where the chapel of its neighbors and rye burns that divide the age of the Duoverse, leaving him desolate if my verses disgust those who have secreted and listened to my unheard reflections... Yes, you have to hide in burial mounds that descend from heights that are unknown to you..., you will only have to unravel from your baseness and fading scratches of the factions, with ties and dizzying failures from which Olympians survive and without crowned laurels!

Everything is already commemoration and mischievous funerary daring with portable fluorophores mourners, dressed in crowded slags elongations, and slants where nothing can grasp it of prosapies and past or subsequent lives, where its spits will be of the advantageous parallel that is noticed of a Mycenaean mob. What decorum above all in that setback, that only sees imploring, that they stop behind everything that protects them by the force of the black aura, that hurts and that devastates their vibrations in the triggering footsteps of Alikantus, “He who has hearing and not words that he hears what a stained glass window is in all that he knows and reflects it ”.

What was devouring you by the ardor and his horse countenance with his swift piercing in all that this crusade means... Loading Aerse finesse with herons to tie and perpetuate only those who must not be lacking..., before the supreme preference of a man who errs more than a god, and who was the gift of a PanHellenic fiddling with thirteen shady places, lacerating everything that inferred him, and everything that was an intruder from the earrings of happiness hanging him like an azure earring..., all harassment coming from Smyrna Towards the iridescent Nimbus of Patmos for the puzzles of Pergamum!


Elegy III

I can call all twilight nights princesses in Croesus's scolding, between floods where pseudo warriors who expedition before me, and undivided in Alexander the Great where everything comes from him hiccupping with the Chrysanthemum of Cyrus and Darius. I can make you Persians again if all your history bustled between comfortable Zeroes! And if this besieged crossbow circulates faster than the treasures of Pergamum... thus it would flee with legions and Talents that surpass the treasures of Heaven and its contingent consort.

Third episodes to my teacher Saint John the Apostle placed him a few hours from the Aegean in the lower parts of Pergamum, whose Trojan sons I tell you that I follow the course of his dynasty, perpetuating and touching the scaphoid and serving him with the Lutrophorus! Oh, azure comes with the team of oxen from Thrace that guaranteed the Theologian, and the treasury of his holy angels for this entire mandate and go walking your tired feet carrying the ghosts of Lysimachus? Of your own veracity naming them kings who will truly serve his laudable reign!

I tell you that I have really learned about this and about my own custody that speaks when seeing the victors and the vanquished pass by in the fragment of Ephesus overflowing with despicable arteries of Pergamum, and buskin that was not worthy of a scene of tragedy; between jocular that captivate Jezebel and syllogisms that slice the servants and their harvests. Oh, what a bag it can tackle if they are the dreams of a demigoddess of Sambate, believing to ruin the journeys of the Apostle Saint John by a Vee that unites my own oppression just being in Pergamum very prone to the fourth letter of the Apokálypsis... if these hermits they are confused with my discredit!

In the Symposium Journey, I saw the bewilderment only in the fiftieth fight after 331 BC, since the retreats of my brother and Lord Alexander the Great, dividing belligerents between Lysimachus and Seleucus lying in 280 BC! Behold, I tell you that no novel has to say it... that daring and ****** sleeplessness will be understood with parapsychologies, Magnus battered in blood and having to condone in life the thirtieth cosmopolitan station that will wander without string or staff, only in realms of horror!

“Protervas works repeat from Balaam, perhaps in perjury of those who are not devoted to the ancient expertise of Elijah and idolatrous pagans on Mount Carmel. Days of full consent have decided me to be the observer of an inferior garden no greater than Pergamum, with finery and gibberish of a roasted Faith, and of embellished offshoots that are of the miserable Asmodeus. I tell you that I know of these vicissitudes of tremolos and tarsi that are exuberant of the supra Hellenic Maximus of the west and the east, defeating victorious incredulous who believe they see my retreat from someplace in the west of the Aftó and the east of the Dyticá... all from here henceforth that is not sullied by troops of the Phalanges, they will supply the desecrated foreign troops...! With Roman tropes, levies that will liberate the tetrarchies, the libatum, and their free uncontested successors, repaying Augustus' fratricides and Caesares in the insectary quagmire!

The ill-fated awaits the exquisite court that casts fateful offspring, none attend the charred Symposium and the burning broth, being insubordinate to Parchmentians and aristocracies that get tangled up in the rune of Leviathan, far from a so-called Lord Abraham gifted in the circles! of the power of Yahveh assigned by the Father, and the sleepless sleeplessness of a son, who does not expropriate in wanting songs or children to sleep awake! That makes them consular! I have been caulked in the excuses of Ephesus and Smyrna, where the Hellenic and Roman are lost in the lavish gnosis of a doctor, rub considered among thrushes and blackbirds lacerated from the other infinite... in the absence of Crows and Sisellas dying in their enormous sides and the hemicycle of the Mashiach!  

“Everything that is promoted after the beginning and that was never started has already begun… where the corrections have diluted what the river conforms to the edges of the Silinus, with silverware and Gobelins that are made holly in the refined hands of a maiden. How will I not manage your anxieties proportionate to their sets, if the feelings are greater than the last floor of Babel... and if I had to descend one more, it would never resemble the graceful hands of a maiden talking to me about the next prop? What says more than the plot and its new, different breeze in ****'s indissoluble totality; subsisting with his carpals and with those random scraps of cloaks in the hydromel freshness that the Lord has entrusted him to pour!

What neat heights and challenges I have given you with light half-locutions... that flatter in the acrobatic gazebos of Demeter! With the following high-pitched white dots that are probed from the sunset and the desire of Athena Nikéforos, with travertine arsenals that are the tingling of an Elegy that flees from Pergamum with her feet incinerated and prostrate! What lack of ornament speaks to the adjoining trepanned ear, devoid of ornaments longer than vast, and wider than long when reaching the limit of Thyatira where Attalid kings and ants await me who will carry on their backs the rubble desolations of Pergamum!

Elegy IV

As you have offered what stops me to think about all the horizons that are guarded by agons and Kerveros, what virtues will they make of those who are dispossessed of the rescue and vicissitudes of the underworld of Thyatira! What has to intimidate the senses if the doors are for those who have never possessed a Soul... What has to dispossess us if the soul matter is Thyatira under Akhisar!

You complain of being moaning inks of arid lands where rivers are tributed that have to wade through octogenarian routes, holding on to the necks of the obfuscated Kerveros, and of the henchmen who trembled by the vicinity of the extreme of Mysia, whose urges released elements that mixed with river shelters of the Lycus and the navigable ones of the Marmara! I must point out that the elements are cliffs of Hydor that sink into the seas of Mysia.

That I must tell you of a formidable strait that tried to possess Heles, and that I went to the lower point of its flow to rescue him! That the formidable flash of Pluto infringed what was flashing in pro-Kerveros, not allowing Hades to enter Heles..., that formidable daring would be done if Heracles had twisted such a destiny by allowing it to enter, Or what death throes of the earth did not take him through this darkness where I mostly saw Venus in crimson eyes, rather than borders where the speed of light of their gazes welcomed them with their beings called Mysios?

I am Vernarth and I have arranged that Thyatira and her shallow wayward Nymphs shall rule me in your rod and go with their swifts, hoarding fine silverware that will shine from the heavens, and offer the worthy brotherhood by statutes that are controversial in the friendship of Arganthone and his I wonder if by some hiding place I have to see the black string of Jezebel and supposed regions contrary to Bethany. What a brave ****** has to dominate in full preservative principles, called from where they were punished by the dogs, thus allowing me to purge and follow advances that cleared the way to Mysia and Thyatira. Be clear that the insurgents in this region were chasing my Lord Alexander the Great, and he made the floors of Mysia tremble by crossing the Hellespont where my Heles almost had to get lost in the sea of his senses..., make me be the Ionian blaze that never it has not ceased and will not cease to burn on the Seleucid headboards!

"That you can see if the Lycus and Hellespont are from the same tributary, which hardens its waters to make a firm footing to the steeds and Hoplites venerating their gods and horsemen, seeing my teacher Saint John piously riding on the pagan temples stoning on stony tombstones with the interstices of the New Testament that offers the sacrifice of the Areté, Or of the most excellent eloquent alleys and sacrileges challenging what must never be glossed in the functionality of the file that it is urgent to define if I have died or never Die "

What capital letters are to be taped from the others that are from the Areté, and from its prominent fertility that rehearses the postulates of my Purgation? In everything that is prophesied in the ruggedness of those who boast that they can wander forty millennia with guilds that gather their litters..., all of them doubtful and giving rituals that owe to paganisms that were colonizing Hellenistic nuclei and my help..., closing my Hetairoi's pectoral tail, and then forge more confreres than they ever were.

The regrets of my teacher are scarred in the science of the Lycus valley, as Christians who grow with their sons separated from their daughters, and from the debtor parents of the metropolis of Thyatira, what fortune to be spared if the damages are greater than the reparations, And of the various secrets of the staining of the sky with its purple oblations and antiquities that refused to the progress of time, being discolored by the Adom and the Red blood cells. Here is where they flow through my arteries circling the hills of Messolonghi's Koumeterium, with natural basilicas that smoothly whitewash the candor and licenses.

I tell you that I know this is what constitutes the forge of the being that is capable of leaving Hades alive, do penance together with me Yes...! At twelve o'clock of the full moon where we become fierce Eleusines, since Battles more than hundreds of all, and we will know if we will be children of the Kerveros or Kerberos canes custodians of the inframundis who discover us like fish and cormorants on lagoons that run through us mutilated... which are decreed in the ecliptic, and in the stratum where Thyatira sleeps under the meters of Hades and Tevel, several meters from the underworld passing through its lost Shemesh beyond the western… under the hulous ecliptic of Akhisar!

You should not fear the suspicion or the courage associated with the three heads of the Keveros, because the three of them brood with me in the same way, for when I run away from them and they feel my loneliness...!, Each of their heads think by themselves, but the gentle Levantine sea is arranging them were groups of stars that are rubbing and washing their ******, prone to marine monsters that dress the mane of the humpbacked Hindhead of the Cerberus. Knockdown what nothing is born of damage and that is born of its permanent movement if the beasts are men with strings of impious men that make their portholes enter more light than beings with phalanxes and armies that come and go... being portals of one eternity from where Etréstles comes with his weary stride.  

How can you tolerate that the hands stained with some Tintoretos splash my Himation? And what is still chromatic with a caged torpor, is the Himation of Theseus that revolts the constellations of history that began from the abject sinkhole, fading the virtue since my sacrifice is offered in the religious and its offertory. You know that I have been able to walk through waters that are solid if I put my heels distillates in classic sounds where they are written with the latent prawns of the Aegean! That you nurture a past that hangs from the immediate future with sacrosanct pilgrimages inaugurating hybrids lapses, and classic smithies that distance themselves from Hephaestus and humanoid persecutions that could be undertaken from a section of the new period, mixing darned meat that is released from the principles of the Energeia, and that they sway in the millennial dizziness of the Olive Tree Bern or of any fistula that would not cease of prosaic oracular ones!

Everything makes oracular sense since my prior agon and his lingual accent deny what I will not reach in its sacred connotation, but if its secular insertion to create the deserved and victorious dew that falls and will fall from the bilge of the iridescent nimbus. I have deposited from their marshes where nothing already contains them..., only a pure divine light that is confused with opposite festivals of lights of an unknown victory that was not always mine, but it took light-years with its traveling mass to reach my thunderstorms with treacherous gods who did not allow theological musculations and derivatives of being refined to emerge from their extreme internal and external beauty who prayed for me, entering their Seventh Heaven and then with the Merkaba doing its venerable kalokagathia; or prototype that does not fade every day to take hold of the inner and outer beauty of it, the fruit of the Olive Tree Bern and the countless algorithmic winds that could be counted since I had joined its Falangist ranks!

I know that four Seraphim will have to take me and that your Charioteer will medicate with thrifty speed from where the day dares to attend me with real locations in the Andromeda wagon. It all to dig into the dark and bizarre hollow of my wound knew that it could have been the Holy Spear of Longinus...! What could happen if my chest did not stop bleeding from the indigo and crimson of my Dorus?

Elegy V

You must feel satisfied with the erected statues that were made bearable on the basis of cults and curative powers, but not of precognitions that were the object of Sardes since she was nearing the penultimate station of the inverted "V". The satyr's stratagems of 476 BC were congenial. And the pilgrimages to it would destroy the entire sacred precinct that it once presumed to be!! Theagenes of Thasos resorted with all his strength to move the stars and his impassive silences, seeing that Sardes was becoming a courtier of a network of unarmed victories that were never for him, but for pilgrims who roamed the roads surrounding Sardes. Oh that more crowns of him exceed fourteen hundred, if only one more will suffice to access the investiture of the Himation of my departure!

Continue along the Pactolo River and you will get entangled with vegetal lines on the northern ***** of the Tmolo. Know that Proserpina runs through the flower coffins of the autumn dead, that Persephone makes her shudder in the Ionian polis, and that it will be if she decided to do so, if Aphrodite captured the Cimmerians who would plunder Sardis, more than any voluptuous! And despite everything, it would continue to be a satrapy that does not lead to Patmos through Xerxes who still burns in Hades in the haze and canine of a Kerveros!  

"Follow those worms who claim mesnades with more blood on their fingers, and there is no doubt that they swirl in Pergamum with more blood than their creeds." And that of those who survive in earthquakes and typhoons that stand for generations of the Conventus and an agora that only relapses in Pergamum and in desolate legions that only devastate, and are built on ruins that they praise, just like Thyatira suffocated in Akhisar. Do you imply that the battles of Alikantus strike the silica plundering tyrannical idolatries and sacrileges, ravaging only hapless evils to come and unrecovered pious revelations from Byzantium? I know very well that Alikantus is coming, I could even dare to say that he is coming very close to the fortnightly reclusive citadel of Sparda..., being able to hear that Alikantus is riding from the ready insolent time and I even think I see that he is coming alone... and that Zeus he went ahead for necessities in the barcarole of Charon! I know that matters of the underworld are palatial stews and prostitutes that flank in kettles that announce tinsel falling from the apocryphal clouds and the adjacent Iridescent...!

Like a helical serpent, everything that my dimension swallows is retro-translational with turns about my own age that is not the deed of another than the axial one that vomits imperceptible years that are not memorized and that deal with each other with the ruins of the dogma of Sardis. Come Oh granaries and settlements that squander synagogues and compendiums of ****** ruins, whose altar is exploded in liquid gold on Artemis's hair in Hellenic theaters, where nothing remains, only traces of olive roots that kindly allow them to enter through its cracks. But what did scare the enclaves, if seven churches fell scattered from the corollary of seven manes that only resided among themselves, differing primitives and incisors, nailing their rapiers into the dead Sardes before becoming an Apokálypsis! In its seventh season… I Vernarth revive her and ennoble her from the secret day of her curse, as she says of herself to survive on her ruins, not as akin to Thyatira lying asleep under Akhisar's holocaust!

The images will be there to bring you in my arms, believing to be myself who brought myself spacing and surviving from a fifth posthumous church..., to save my fifth life in Sardis, but far from the Barcarolle del Charon, eating roots that were attached to the keel in case they poisoned my soul..., at the same time as a failed levitate that would solidify like the crest of Thasos, throwing draconian and grotesque seas that within me asked for a license to revive. Everything was whipping on me wanting to be Theagenes with lugubrious ostracisms that from now on should be cut and sliced into parts of my coexistence, leaving only the pre-existing erectness of me..., except the head that impelled me to take the extrinsic path of Hades with distinctions of a cult that only worked in the hands of a Patmian victor, all by counting one by one those fragments of the victorious minute hand of 476 bC!

The city woke up and tried to ***** obligations that were imposed on them, to remove like polis around a sacred precinct that was proud as a bond of centuries that are of the androgen of centuries that are forbidden from millennia found in double eyes, ears, and nostrils. Which was scared away from inscriptions dating back to the 1st century BC thus I continue to establish a superficial status that did not replace any similar or equal future, which is governed by forty-four victorious miracles and all parallels that establish what surrounds my mortal outer clothes..., as well as perpetual belongings and internal endearing to be created from its probity..., even at the end of the factual powers that succinctly stipulated a Zeus, who would be trying to imbibe himself in the possession of a great competitor who will sacrosanctly raise the arena of agon, allowing me to overcome by not ringing the chime of the Paidotribo or the tutors of impulsive eternal effects, and children divos like Raeder challenging the maximum of the stars of God and his contenders! I tell you that I know of these assertions and that the keys are not left hanging, nor will they be prepared to their verbal agility so that they can be taken off the hook and startled to open the Homeric heaven!

Disappear shady Kefalonias or those heads that are empty crypts in me...! And that the children are greater spirits than those who are not without heads who will spend the night on the east coast, where all the burning days are seen as snowy scarves moving from afar..., together with my Falangist militias who do not stop I have to move their hands and his siege with four encirclements of princes. Behold and hear... what I declare to those leaders who raised the lost darkness in a fortunate Kefalonia that tried to adopt seven churches, but not in Sardis!

As you have noticed… the edges of the "V" of Lacedaemonia are already being touched that come out through the stephanite competitions of the interior and exterior of the Kosmous, and everything dies metallic and with stale stenches granted by the polis and the winners! That specializes in the divine gifts of each submithological deity. You realize that the education of appreciation is in the arena of those who propose you wise tyrants and ignorant democrats, who bind the diet and pantry of those who promote great value at the expense of models that, are impossible to fulfill. Oh, that underlies the organic unity with the appearance of a soul that is vicious meat of bait, and of agonistic parts in the fringes and primal that fall from Ephesus and from the tip of Thyatira hanging like vines from where the true god of sin is born. unconfessed!  

Oh, what a diatribe for those who triumph in the land subjugated to the departure of a triumphant of life over it, and that their high dignity will extend beyond life and lash the decadent values improper of piety before the Mashiach that will be there! to rule us! The cults and the first ones that do not reach their contemplation with a soul that lies of useless pleasure in the suburbs of Euripides. What do I say to you that I know about these struggles, and it satisfies you more to drink with Elpenor falling from the staircase that was not on dry rubble, nor of harlequins who avoided the string of their zithers on and under the formula that makes contain the ethyl with the mean to say...; "That one day he was in The tetraconter Eurídice, and that the swordfish was his desire to beat bites and pots of wine that we have drunk for millennia together...!

Who could or will refute it, I tell you that I know about this, because I narrate what I write and sing his first fall near Circe, but falling on my arms... and from here I take him through the strings of Sardis when his buoyant hologram enters for its main stained glass window, taking us from Aorion very close to Barnard's Loop. Hear that I still fall hard next to him getting drunk together in Eleusinian mourning, free from buskin and funerals that are not the best friend that appears to him, and unless they combine us both with haggard browns before leaving the island of Eea.

The torrent of the Pactolo crosses our heads with its trunks like a sophistic beast... also penetrating my harangues from the Aegean when the pale shadows of Sardis are drizzled with third-degree liquor by the ancient pinch of the Hermo, a tributary that sadly hopes to wash the impious feet from Elpenor and mine. "I do not mention what I never tire of defining, that nothing and no one will hear what a voice would sing to a drunken ear, when its abstinent drops of mead are incubated in aristocratic and Hellenic ethics of my youth that stand out in the lips of Apollo and with telling you Hoplite angels who are more decidedly than learned Greek-ignorant, who do not know what it is to die from being drunk, even beyond the Elysees "

Elegy VI

The youthfulness of the Kosmous was defragmented in the inevitable..., leaving important men to take care of the darkness that was only spoils of themselves, on top of the fierce flames that still continued in the competitive souls with their glorify, where another tradition began to break out of the subtle approach that was attributed to Vernarth's homage, as an inter-Patmian genre praising all that is whole to conform the individuality of the holistic whole, which is not yet consumed by the flamboyant and immeasurable images that expanded in times more than what a Colosso from Apsila is, or a thought that forges ophthalmic trifles. I must tell you that denial is a factual point or hindrance in the denial of skepticism and the subtle embargo… if it is not moderate in the face of crowds!

I believe that summers will trigger the passing of Kairos in all the points and means that make the Sun's degree retroaction insightful, and less than what makes a divergent moral behavior, only endowed with the finesse of applicability, If you declare yourselves visionary **** like Critias! If you are in remixes of the Hellenic universal global warming! I want you to know that the warming began from the Kassotides when it was closed and from there d the abrogations abstracted by the Pythias... If from their ocular cranial and the Kosmous that became opaque, and deviated into the tetrarchy or leadership of the four Cardinal points! Oh, what kindness must pass from their semicircular flying buttresses of the world when nothing falls under their orbits... not even a segment of Patristic light the inevitable will be to ignore what falls under the sphere of the world and what rises to his own, from where Ha-Shatan does not pronounce himself in the nubile flowers of Eden!

The Apokálypsis groans, rolling up its sleeves in Leviathan's pouches, reviling the bends of Philadelphia and its Delphic oceans! With requisitions of verses that do not have and will not scribble on the trailing lines of the serpent that wears jewels that are not of this world, but seek whether to fit them in appendages and on the necks of future martyrs. Or bags under the hocks of the serpent, you will see that its optics are in the wrong and that it blows in the goodness of its victimized ones!

Brotherly love was announced as a final omen, Philadelphia was praised in the Ecclesiastical, where everything mellifluous was civil property and each eye would be the same as it will observe it, it would be before the later and the inferior of the superior of the grace of the Lord, in ethical outrages and tribulation spells that sweat in open fields far from the Dypilon, closing the opposite gates of the darkness of Sardis and Thyatira! I tell you that I know in this icy way of seeing how nothing was nothing more than the revival of free will left by the cobbler's caulking and the keys that will open and close storm doors, that only the golden hand will know if one will be a carrier or not. of new hardwoods.

Hagio is real... and what closes and opens his hand will be a guideline for what does not open and does not close! The key of the Angel of David comes from Patmos with a hatbox that proves who is capable of warning for all those who are capable of sustaining the aura of the Mashiach…! That through narrow mountainous areas they will sow the temple of God with hosts from Jerusalem.

Leading them to the valley of Cógamo and soon to the simile valley of *** Bei Himnom and Hermus himself, where everything happens and everything is nihilism in the mainline of the passion of a loved one in its secant line and of the great inverted "V", and its Monarch Attalo's constrained ties and his deliberate missions that collate the penultimate station of my Elegy. “I am Vernarth; My fraternal passion makes these seven churches only one, each one in my Opistódomos... where perhaps I will have to ignore their lustful language of Lydia and Phrygia ”all are my rivals if I do not follow the honorable mention of my Mashiach and all his subjects, who are mine and I theirs... I must confer that the letters are conspicuous literature that escaped from Smyrna, and what vanishes from the lay verb that becomes all the bearer hands with their punches, which are keys to the openings of what rises parsimoniously and falls equivalently..., and what becomes absolute of error and its restrained evil "

My attributes are the Sun that separates from another section, which is the Venerable deliberator of one who is still attached to the sacred. You must stay away from dies that are typical of scalding nightingales that have steel legs, and that if they were from a Hellene, they would be the copy of "Alezinós, which is True and unconventional", everything is manifested in the best arrangement from where I can install my head on the best flank where everything is well accommodated, and what is symbolic in the authority that is finally of our Mashiach, supplying with King David every twenty-one kilometers lamenting, and spilling what he loves and cannot contain in the caverns…, if I know that they still remain closed for prophetic fulfillments, but if all those that the universe will dare to open soon in the paradises that are pertinent will open, which are from the bias of Isaiah sprouting from himself!  

You must understand that Sybilla's electorates will be kidnapped from the anguish of a famous attack, and every prophecy that makes us live in the transparency of the entire material world and its monochord sense that unites the earth with the Kosmous! Oh, what space between everything that is unspaciable will be able to reverse what is arranged in the upper fraction of the rope… and in the omega that everything makes her feel the last sob…!

I know that you know it..., I know that you will miss it..., and that the last day of our Kosmous will come when the Mashiach makes us wake up with the gift of the hexameter, that everything will come along long correct paths, whose streams of the paradisiac Hydor will come from the trance of the last cycle, the last second-born and the last interval where everything will be the same fractional time. The advent of this period of great apogee will give us the intrinsic poetics that seems close to the Dies Irae if Tomás de Celano tells you like this:  

“It will be a day of wrath, that day when the world is reduced to ashes, as predicted by David and Sibyl! How much terror there will be in the future when the judge will come to make strict accounts! The trumpet will sound terrifying throughout the realm of the dead, to gather all to the throne. Death and Nature will be amazed when all that is created rises to answer before its judgment.

The written book will open that contains everything by which the world will be judged. Then the judge will take a seat, everything hidden will be revealed and nothing will go unpunished. What will I allege then, poor me? From what protector will I invoke help, if not even the righteous will feel safe? King of tremendous majesty, you who save only by your grace, save me the source of mercy. Remember, pious Jesus that I am the cause of your Calvary; don't miss me that day. Looking for me, you sat down exhausted; for redeeming me, you suffered on the cross, may not so much effort be in vain! Just judge of punishments, grant me the gift of forgiveness before judgment day.

I sob because I am guilty; guilt flushes my face; forgive, oh God, this supplicant. You, who absolved Magdalena and listened to the thief's plea, that gives me hope too. My prayers are not worthy, but you, who act with kindness, do not allow me to burn in the eternal fire. Place me among your flock and separate me from the wicked by placing me on your right.  

The ****** confused, thrown into the bitter flames, call me among the blessed. I beg you, contrite and on my knees, with a contrite heart, almost to ashes, to take care of me in the end. It will be tears that day, when the guilty man rises from the dust, to be judged. Forgive him then, O God, Lord of mercy, Jesus, and grant him rest Amen"  

I Vernarth, call on you to tear your hearts beyond the last door of the Elysees, the apologies will divide what is like the last syllable of salvation, tomorrow we will be primal feelings of how or which selfless person has to tell you that we are all children of parents that they will always live beyond you, and that the ****** will fall into the bitter flames, if everything is the end in the contrite, make tragedy the daily bread... whose brands taste like the spews of the first registered individuality as bread and healing body angelic, which allows to protect it..., but it remedies the entities of the Garden!

“Among the red mists of Philadelphia, Ha-Shatan's gall lies lost, believing that he has to be a cape of rest and prostration so that the empyrean will grant him rennet and singing honey in his shattered hole..., the typhoons will ignite with his ruse and what expires from the seizure of an unhappy particle emptied by the idolatrous hand. Make the adversary time the habitation of the world that will impiously be infected with the cream that is made the opposite fraction of a vermilion mist, that walks with pride among hostiles when ferocious satiety of God occurs. I tell you that I know what I am saying and that there will come an end with a non-existent verse, or rather held in the arms of an Eggelos asleep in my arms, with Justin's milk teeth from the disturbed circuit breaker of the catalectic verse, which is rolling on Patmia swing doors. Oh, flints of Alexandria, you will know how to illuminate my scrolls and the Canaanite palenques, you will know that Heylel is like a morning star marinating milk with gunpowder and harvests that plague Ithobaal of Tire. Oh, culminate Zoroastrian who sneaks through giant camels and hers King David, very close to Bethlehem, very close from where every angel-like Heylel moves with cloying feet trying their traces from a crushed Latin voice. Both tanned by the rennet that strikes their stomachs... with the vigor of blood, and falsetto between muscles attached to the back of both, I tell you that they are "Ha-Shatan and Heylel"

Elegy VII

“I propose to you a Vulgate and mutilating calamus in the blood of the Mashiach, that would be born here in the metaphorical festivals of the Himathion in my own geodesy, and of all that has been thrown on Gaia and hers Titans of her. You will see that I have learned to walk with lacerated feet and mutilated arms, headless and no apostille that says that my brooding no longer exists in her indolence about Me… the darkness is Laodicea; where it rains the shepherds who by unknown wisdom capsize before the Gods that are to come, all of them from the crippled sky through passages of time, rickety of their colonnades and acroteria that all alluvial splices, where the needy will provide to eat sap that they will recover from their powers, with black wool from the cops and nests of Heylel, and from the under-reigns of Pergamum with annals and diasporas in less wealthy hamlets, without hindrance from the Spolia Opima as rich spolies or trophies I will be reborn, referring to my Aspís Koilé, with blazons and other effects that a general of ancient Rome kept as Apollo's laurel, now I will dispossess them after defeating them with my hulous hand of eternity, incontinent to defeat them with my legion in the Battle of Patmia, and the Triplos Kosmous  Lymphoma "

The Zoroastrian radicality will have to carry out wanderings and limits when nothing was ever to begin... and what becomes noisy in the face of evil ingenuities will make dualisms that polarize the influence of making the day only darkness, and for the faithful the light of day when they were summoned by Ezekiel, and that he must know better than fragments of the day that will contain the night and the portions of the night, the light of day and the resurrection, which is based on eternity carrying the Mashiach above all the infinities of homage twilight that was expiated in chiaroscuro..., thus enslaving the stunning afternoon, which departed from trances in earthly conjunctions, where the usufruct by the Kosmous exorcised the ages that are subjected to its heritage of commemoration You must know that the power of the night about the day as a possession that bills rows of apprehensions that narrow your transit without repatriation...!

Tenure is an inclination during all premature periods, where the day is not ascribed to breadths of unconditional freedom of execration, cruelly leading to the zephyr of the Thuellai with granules mounted on the Malatia, and frolics that engender the life of a Pallid! Superstition in what appears as a multitude of fallen bodies, but without a contracted soul. "Make the even potential morbid that repels the horrendous and terrifying that persecutes the most praiseworthy and kind, who abjures that not everything is good, but rather it will be charitable and you must make efforts from the haze of Theosképasti, extending the relief of not to be classified as a non-living being when it comes to dialoguing with the shadows of Horror!  

The convital substance became too annoyed after counter-vitals that are nothing more than the apparent substance of my speculations, under all the powers that are faithful to it if they make me possess the cosmo-vice of everything hyper-ethyl and of its tempting. Since the cousin and puritanical elixir is disseminated throughout the air that is no more oxygen like a calender that does not bear the vileness of his captive servility, and of the feet that subdue him in the three claws of his shadowy darkness! Oh, what new light will it make of awakening with the preceding light that speaks of genealogies and native ceremonies where evangelical surveyors raise the leafy, that from the dark submission and the unethical fear make us weak martyrs of enslavement of the few frigid hordes and warm Laodicea!  

If my strength is to shelter myself from impudence and Hellenic-Hebraic transcendence, it does not express its ministry in all the children of Hashem, as captives carrying the constituent seed of the perched hands of the Calandria, which despite having wings she is the spokesperson of prophecies that do not have tangible historical records..., you must understand that the Calander has an autonomous and leading flight from Tuscany, but its flight radius is more than an eagle without stopping in those invisible spaces, where the legend can only transmit it..., although someday there will be no birds in the only begotten sky. You already know that I have carried chiaroscuro for their glorification that surround me..., like all that imperishable possession in cycles, they are coupled to cruel and fateful destinies, but always towards an end that for the most part becomes apprehensive of the intellectual aging verb, where their mysteries and they inhabit disembodied contents of the identical globular cycle, where the prostration of their weary skills and wrathful doors will appear from the last eagle that was seen flying free in the hands of Saint John the Apostle, and from other non-resident farewells by their claws of the Gerakis. Why not the Ceremonial Katapausis in the Profitis, or the metatarsal of the eagle that carries last discharges of discouragement in punitive inspiration, if only the calendars free man from captivity, and of unquestionable eagles in the fires of exaltation that will be able to bear it being seen as a figurative immune from Ophel, and from all the images of the supra existential world, containing volatile images of eagles for all purgative humanity forming heads that vigorously face Ha-Shatan and the Iblis, being more than an erroneous translucent figure of the angel ****** and of the perpetual fire of the incorruptible Calandria of Hashem.

“Without regret, I must tell you that the roots of the infinite began to be lost from the pieces of clay that were or are part of Yahannam's credulity, from here on from the dry and solid clay, making the genius of Laodicea one-sided with the hail of springs and of clouds that never stopped ceasing, thus in this way, I suffocate my burning hands that obeyed forces of more than ten newtons due to the miscalibration of their mass and the gravitational force that the Mashiach who converted from his incorporeal angel's geniuses. Make of fire and light your clay that is made homogeneous with liquid ozone, so ****** will come from paradise designated as solid ozone, replacing the negligent potions, which have not been able to free the divine light that for three years has been badly shaped, and have deteriorated only hundreds of the seven hundred pages of Vernarth's Lent, until today that his personal aptitude is questioned in the bleating of his sheep, who could move the fragile leaves of the disembodied forest with their nails, reciting regrets that would relieve the engraved feet on the limestone liquefied and muddy, where they can only emerge before all the dungeons that are collapsed by newton on his scapula, pouring out the expelled sighs of the eternity of the Ohr Hassadim "  

“Observe that cleaning is delighting in the grandiose erudition of what leads us from our null point of existence to the risky point where our objectives bring us closer to our sustenance; So what is Ohr Hassadim…? It is going towards a posthumous desire that thickens the light that emanates from our null point to the widest limit where every human race receives it from the great flow of Hassadim "or purification that is cyclically generated." My beloved readers who speak are the origin of all ignorance, and what is contained in the body purged of it is the unknown revival of a being that instructs itself as the Perdita Mundis or Lost Mundis! " The superabundance of medium prophetic and philosophical biodiversity creates paraphernalia and cavities where no head fits in the earth that have been honest to receive bodies in its mournful abode... makes of its benefits the great desire to receive the "Kli" so that Let us enjoy abundantly from the transparent cannulas of the wattle, which will make the Celestial Hydor fall, and the Manna that will sustain plexuses and eternal insurrectionary souls from the starvation of those who sob absolved of their soul, more than in its very spectrum that is filled with rootlets and clipping, which manifest the desire to play with drops that fall colliding on each leaf, and then fall into our mouths when they are satisfied manifested. Azure water, and nothing else if I want to live or not! Of that blue water that will fall on our mouths and will satisfy us with anxieties and fears that become imprinted when we are fed up…! And from the Manna, which will come with dissimilar entities, even feeding our soul that must also feed on the Iridescent Hydor in a swift vessel called Kli towards Samos…!

Elegy VIII

The eighth and posthumous baptistery will overwhelm all the mountains that became more exalted than all the peaks of the world, showing that the initial date combined the essences of the absolute with the "V" that began to turn one hundred and eighty degrees to the right. “I, Vernarth, have conceived the other being that will detach itself from myself, lying in the Kli or inverted vessel, on all the higher levels of the Ohr, even in those and all the Solstices where the face that makes its materialization is scarce, up to the Xiphos bronzes that would evoke tons from the Speleothemes that would gradually become implicit in my body, taking root more than the vital unfolding that is in my other sub-iridescent body. What is my soul united to the invisible creatures of this world? Take hold of the dizzy that contract in the wind tunnel of Profitis and your Codex Raeder, in what completely makes the ascent of its epitome by its golden steps, leading me to the occurrence and recreation of myself, but with plenipotentiaries who press in Gethsemane in the trepid angles of the Kli "V", beginning to ascend to Keter!  

“I must tell you that soon the Aurion particles will enter through my septum where they have to depart through the nasal pyramid… and that delegations of hoplites are already waiting for me and will return with me to Sparta and all of Greece. And with a Kli of endangered earthly and macerated light, they will be essenced from all the grasses that the calenders by descendants will make at the end a new sprout within me with my Golden Alikantus. The expansion of my light will expand from the radiance of my burnished steed, leaving within my identical hexagonal torch that will make the multi-spiritual thought of its same influx of light into the munificence of its newly created light, it will be from this constraint the Ecclesiastical stele from Ephesus to Laodicea accompanying me. ! If you watch carefully and take your hand out at this time and I peek through the rose window...! You will see that the magnanimous world is established and is going to receive you next to me, lavishing the herb that makes its clothing that shelters our body, and its own light reflected from Aurion itself… "The profound Light that looks from the candid domes of the Seven Churches to the vaults of the Ohr Hassadim, transferring to the sub-Iridescent Mashiach, but contrite of the total immanence of the detachment of its divine light to deposit it on me..."  

Therefore, when both are together, the greed to receive is canceled in the Radiance within, and it can determine its shape only after the luminosity has departed at least once. This is because after the departure of Light from the Kli, he begins to yearn for it and this greed determines and establishes the form of the desire to receive. Consequently, when the dawn is clothed within the Kli once again, the two are related as two separate notions: the vessel and the Light, or the body and the Life.

Observe this carefully, for it is indeed very profound. And soon I have managed to describe the aureole of Hyperborea with the radiation of the Eygues bringing Wonthelimar; Well, if you know how to pretend that you are certainly emanating from the double V or W, which make up your round trip from Ephesus to Laodicea, and vice versa! You have already managed to understand that the diploid round trip of Wonthelimar emanated from two consecutive Vs, making the spin of Wonthelimar carrying its quantum particles of it and carrying with itself the quantum number of the fifth courtyard of Helleniká which is 5, but represented by ε´ raised to fifty, that is; ν 'which is the value of fifty Hellenic. Thus the spinning spin of 5 to ten times its unit will be indicated, as you perceive many dreams will be discovered where those who wake up will never forget that it is this sub-atomic elementary particle in the episode of contrast and extensive change in molecular physics that will lead Vernarth with him in his heart or Kardiá, which becomes effusive in his multidimensional quantum.  

“I have managed to understand that the rotating spaces have been aligned with Wonthelimar, and what is divided in the angular will reflect the mental image throughout the aerial imaginary geodesy of all Hellenic, generating the sidereal coordinates, leaving the intrinsic nakedness of all embryonic forms that it is a sublime mirror of the nakedness of the sidereal chromosome of all humanity. As loci installed in the shank of the Pythagoras monochord, but making movement the tax of certain movements that are more than anything else links of kinetics and gravitational emotions, making the mechanics of the monochord the analogous value that generates the signs of Ohr or light. Pivot at the omega tip of the monochord, raising the re-transfigured ε´ Penta in the form of A, but then returning with Wonthelimar and his Spin of quantum from Ephesus until arriving at Patmos with the essence of the “W” that will bring by essence refounded the monochord in the figure ε´ or V that will represent the quantum experiential bond, or crossing of the particle transfer threshold through the superior axon of Keter to Malchut, equivalent to the tenth compendium of Vernarth's ε´ to ν´ which is the relativistic oscillation of its final unit of ν´; which is fifty "  

Your duties are yours and mine. Mine, I will be the one who will carry the labarum to bear and admit all the tributaries of the creation of my new world, inclined in the Duoverse, Codex Raeder and of everything distinguishable in the refraction of the light that becomes embodied in Ohr Jaiá, or Light of Life for all created things, all creation, and everything that comprises needs to be created in the candles that become receivable in the natures that multiply the remnants of energies, which hopes to be initiated from the new cosmos of the Zigzag Universe and the Zefian Arrows, being the main bastion of the link between the printed matter and decisive stimuli of mercy from where the Iridescent Hydor is born. In littleness, the rocking of the unbalance of the universe is attributed, and of all the wrong applications of amplifying the Bios of a universe that tired of behaving mournfully, being children of its immortal reply...! Understand that nothing will mean more than the awakening of everything that extends beyond the borders of the Mashiach, being cosmopolitan emanating and merciful bestowal and that nothing resides in the material already broken.  

"All the modes of adaptation ended up differing in each form of adhesion within what it meant to emanate in all equivalences and from impels as fast as the buggy that carried Vernarth and Etréstles from Genoa to Piacenza since Etréstles deserted from the Eighth Cemetery of Messolonghi composing all the wishes of the awakening according to the Kabbalah of Vernarth being largely absorbed by the Apostle Saint John. Everything was going towards the kingdom and the surroundings of the Himation that awaited Vernarth himself, swallowing him with all its lights, which were even ecstatic by his epidermis, knowing that he was separated from the undivided light that awaited him in the Megaron, very close to the Opistodome in the Behina Alef, split from his expanded sub-iridescent body of the Ohr, which in turn was levitating next to him, for the vaporous reason of not knowing if his body was a conclusion or a new kingdom that was brewing before him "  

The final phase of this Elegy VIII gave the consent for the world that does not fit in the reason, nor in the thought that was already being installed in all the balusters and limestone stones that would make up its Tree of Life Sephiroth. Your soul is my soul and mine, and I know very well that everyone awaits me on the Profitis Ilias plain, distinguishing me as a whole in the sense of smell that is rooted in the gastronomic world of the Hellenes, and the absolute that my breathing with a few granules of nitrate, making them a divine cause with potassium that became despotic in living creatures that make their essence mine, like my Spirit that would eventually rescind capturing all the sodium from the iridescent nimbus in the intermittent rest and its multi-life like Nefesh!

Beloved confreres Khaire..., receive all the joy that removes the poisons that pierce tongues that become addicted to the drops as they generate more bodies from mine..., or You will be part of my Guf or body that no longer resists lacerations from swords and spears, which depart from my head and its undetectable body from the passage of Time, and from all the fallen heroes next to me…! I see how they fall into their exile diminishing what purifies the content of Advent, of its four candles, dried fruits, its circle between the hands of the Mashiach, and abundant coniferous branches taking my corporality in all the indifference that exists between cognition and loss of awareness of lucidity beyond the Advent Wreath and its four luminaries staying in the Fifth Candle, like the Fifth Chalice of Elijah, taking me very distant with all their desires to welcome and consider that under my initial "V", they will find the synchronization of the Fifth Candle and the Fifth Chalice, which is my "V" in the fifth dimension of the Fifth courtyard and in the shady Fifth of Helleniká!

As the creation, I have been imbued with the euphonic harmony of creation, from Bethany to Patmos, of all the balms that are more capable than physical receptacles within all the higher entities that are more than the unknown, and of the infinite and imperceptible! Of the essential number of the geophysical height of Delphi, close to the elevation that will occur with my departure at the elevation of 583 whose essential number will be 16 and six plus one is Seven, and the Profitis Elías is 565 adding sixteen, and its number essential is one plus six equals seven. All this makes it prevail that my soul will reverberate from the indigo lights of the Ohr, to be sent between two poles from the altitude of Delphi, making these two spaces the equanimous and providential emanation of climate change, due to the disparity between these two latitudes, But of equal essential numbers, creating the closeness of Vernarth and Apollo as they met in the Kassotides, before departing from their assumption to exalted Aurion.

GULA

Castor and Pollux
joined forever at the hip.
I could split myself
into two halves just
so they could each get a taste.
I will etch into
both their ribs and lungs
so when they exhale, it’s my
name that warms their breath.

ACEDIA

I have done nothing
but consult oracles to
find a solution
and like Oedipus
I will sit here on my throne
to repeat fathers'
sins. Dear God, am I
the miasma that reeks here?
Would I change, if so?

LUXURIA

Eros and Psyche
have yet to match us, dear boys.
In confessional,
I speak of the flesh-
bruised like rotting fruit, marks
of desperate youth.
Heads bowed in prayer,
this is Dionysiac
ritual madness.


AVARITIA

Will Hades greet me?
If I spit coins from my mouth,
will the ferryman
take pity on me?
He must know my odyssey.
This is déjà vu,
a fable passed down
by generations. A hymn,
Homeric and worn.

IRA

Adonis river
runs red like veins filled with blood.
The anemones
for my two brothers,
a crown for each of them to  
decorate their heads
before guts are spilled.
I know this will end in war,
no glory for me.

INVIDIA

Heroes never die,
they say. So was Heracles
jealous of Linus?
To know forever,
to escape the throes of death
sounds like Hell to me.
What lives on except
curses and their tragedy?
I am no hero.


SUPERBIA

I will take my fire,
let it blaze until I die.
Prometheus would
have been proud of me.
Maybe from this, I will kindle
something from the heat:
Write poems in ash,
for the ones I have scalded,
or the ones I love.

(Maybe those two things
are not unlike after all.
Maybe so, maybe not.)

I notice the night's no longer whole because you never call
yet a big part of me still wants to see your face...
just so you know I still hear your voice down the hall
and smell your fragrance in the air polluted by the flowers
with the part of me that still believes my arms are your place
your final destination as you're my constant hallucination
so I spend every little micro second of my daily hours
hoping for a miracle, wishing I were an endless tentacle
or even Heracles, to divert the Augean of your Heart
and have the magma of your passion flow back into my soul
so that I can once again be the whole
_______________
You were right and I was wrong, without you I ain't strong
Am tired of waiting for a tomorrow, that's free of you and free of sorrow
Tired of holding my breath, it ****** feels like the sigh of death
And my mind wandering, why won't you come and save me?
come and save me, save me love..
_______________
I have run, from wine to ***, to every end of this cold earth I could roam
your silence is deafening loud, hitting my ears harder than echos of a drum
hanging on perilously like a derailed speeding Tram...
for am out of ways of lulling my mind from chaos back to calm
My life's a dark night without a single star, my soul a million a scar
you were not my world, I was wrong about that too
you are my galaxy and there's no existence without you
I'd surrender all this to just one more time hold your hand,
a thousand years to see your footprints next to mine on the sand
for a minute with you, I'd give away forever, be it for a second or less
after all momentary completeness I guess is better than a lifetime mess
you should see me now, shredded like a sensitive document no longer needed
maybe you succeeded
________________
Y­ou were right and I was wrong, without you I ain't strong
Am tired of waiting for a tomorrow, that's free of you and free of sorrow
Tired of holding my breath, it ****** feels like the sigh of death
And my mind wandering, why won't you come and save me?
come and save me, save me love..

He told me that the world was good.
Maybe was carved from ball of wood.
Sadly 'twas invaded by wood worms.
Who spent hours daily nibbling.
However: it isn't really wooden.
Despite the pain 'tis really good, good as gold.
Our world protected, loved so dearly.
Close to ending,
Only nearly.
Protected by the word of various lords,
And mythical souls.
Hercules in full support,
The weight of the world on his shoulders.
Heracles despatching lions, well only one to my knowledge.
Gods and prophets will do their best.
Adam and Eve conceived their sons and Noah's floods and Lot's salt pillar.
Angels soothe minds of the troubled.
While gorgons, witnessed turn to stone, their snakes are hungry their dying for rats.
Samaritans will save the world, not just lonesome travellers.
And Jesus, he turned water into wine, not mine, loaves and fishes to feed them all.
Let us pray.
(C) LIVVI

Chapter VI
Strigoi frigate

In the spring of 331 a. C., Alexander left Egypt returning to the port of Tire, where his fleet was. From there he went to Antioch, crossing the valley of the Orontes River, and reached the Euphrates River at the height of Tapsaco, where he founded the city of Nicephorus to be a stronghold and deposit for army supplies. Here he learned that Darío was in Arbelas, so he crossed the Tigris and headed north along the eastern bank of the river. Vernarth's troops would depart from Tire where his fleet was located, which came from Sudpichi, from the Horcondising Empire. Legend has it that in the heights of the Gulf, when his army had been sailing, a mysterious tempest of hot winds from Hormuz broke out on his squads, at the heights of 665 miles from Um kasar, they had encountered a ship from present-day Romania . When spotting them and intervening inside this frigid ship, there was nothing but the creaking of their masts and their main **** spurring, they presented palisade curtains that came from Sighisoara / Transilvania; where the very like Vlad Tepes was sitting behind the captain's camera writing at his desk. Every so often he would take out a handkerchief to dry his ****** nose like drops of slimy, slimy jelly ink. He was writing a letter in the text of which said:

Vlad Tepes says to the Vernarth captain:
Mardiath,  his noble and loyal hussar of the sea. Head of his Gulf fleets, he came across the deck, as he turned around by the bowsprit, picked up and struck by some parasitic ropes that shone like lost thighs of gods in prayers they felt for the whistles of the wind. He approaches and descends the dark ladder stairs towards the water pump whose heresies this ship Vladiana was hanging.
“When I train myself to write saying who I am who I am, I only receive from the purulence of the multitudes, in centuries by centuries, not finding a basis to answer me. They say they do not know what to answer because there is no content that compares to those who have no Age, Life or compassion. That I only have to communicate with the Strigoi messenger articulated with the souls of the dead who come out of their graves at night to terrorize the neighborhood. That it is the same as me condemned to sail and swarm the World of the Nosferatu aristocracy, survivor of all human vanity, in all the empires of the World”

Now I know that no one will answer my thoughts. There is no ink that dares spread a comparable feather that resists my words of ammonia Strigoi, usurped from a Balinger ship to some Flemish pirates, seconded by a Panescalm barge, which was throwing 64 thousand massacred bodies of the Bubonic Plague.

Mardiath, graduated from the balinger and left her sword to Vlad next to a geographical table to find her destiny in some maiden who attends to her disorders more than her ganglia suppurate discouragement. He heads back to Tire to meet Vernarth. And her minions,  to finally head to the wild fields of Gaugamela.
On the gallon of the Macedonian Wine cruet Vlad left him a notice...:

“In order for Strigoi to leave their victims alone, seeds must be scattered with nails hidden inside them. These obsessive creatures cannot go their way without first counting the seeds by throwing the brides' lace to the altar. When they ***** with the hidden nails, they start counting again… ”

In the frenzy of his prophecies, Darius had recruited a new army after his defeat at Issos. From Babylon he advanced north, passed the left bank of the Tigris, and continued toward Arbelas as if guessing that he would never escape the Alexandrian shadow, where he established his supply and his harem. Then he directed the army to Gaugamela, a place that had a wide plain that would favor the movement of its numerous mounted troops but not on Hellenic horses with Homeric gales within reach. He even proceeded to level the terrain and remove obstacles as if emphasizing fearing that the moon would resemble holes in his strategies where his dreams would fall, turning Gaugamela into an immense field of maneuvers suitable and great and indigestible for his chariots equipped with scythes to move on the oppressor wheels.

Thirty-sixth Oases in Siwa:
Alexander Magnus after founding Alexandria he marches to the Siwa oasis, where he is proclaimed by the priests as "son of Ammon", god already identified with Zeus by the Greeks. With this, he consolidated his own divine ancestry, as a descendant of the Argéada dynasty, which went back to Heracles and, therefore, to Zeus himself.

The entire dynasty moved from its acropolis under the limits of each empire to what would be the final battle. This time Darío does not want surprises, so he arrives at the battle stage in advance. As always, he has his cavalry on the flanks, with the heavy infantry in the center and the rear. It also has more than 50 war chariots with sickles on the wheels and about 15 elephants.

Alexander launches the attack diagonally and the Persian left wing defends himself as best he can. Vernarth, Simultaneously harasses Strigoi's allegories by subordinating the Persian chariots that speedily launch upon the Macedonians. Many of the drivers are headless by the arrows of the draconian archers. The rest pass by as the Macedonian infantry opens. This strategy is complemented by a second line of heavy infantry called the Force of the Dead from in the Siwa Mountains, which receives the stray tanks, while the first line turns around and attacks them from the rear guard surrounding them. Opening a gap between the Persian lines, Alexander's cavalry managed to wedge themselves in search of Darius. As in Issos, the Persian king is stuck and unable to maneuverIn this onslaught, see how the prognosis moves more fluidly, after the textual support with Strigoi in his Balinger he was able to allow himself to advance the ellipsis of the ****** battle and more importantly of the defenders of the embolism of the tyrant and secular Gods, in his caves of lost and soul pains. Since this last festival of the Siwa soils, the events of Alexander Magnus and Vernarth can be seen.

He only separated the lashed rows of threads from the majestic Bumodos, before entering the back room of the great fight. It is now thirty-six times that he needs the therapeutic methods of Walekiria, to supply him through his veins with ****** essences to immortalize his stout columns that support the beams of the Hellenic world.  Caryatid that flows through the delta of the cries of all the heroes,  devoid of helmets under the limits to resign.

Ellipsis Tomb of the Patriarchs:
Vernarth says: You are not a vision ... nor an illusion, nor a lonely image, because if so, include my image to accompany you in this tragedy! He tells Walekiria, his seductive valhalica.
My little Walekiria, not the slightest disdain, will make me leave you halfway, we are in the same position to remove the terror that creeps through the spaces of the plain of the Gaugamela cemetery. Here we will scare away all the demons that betray our plans. Only you here in the Charioteer's particle crypt. Mardiath tied to the acacia and Alikanto spitting out more fiery fires that will reduce the unproductive paperwork. To improve that others optimize the sharp means to use to overcome the medium that has darkened all hopes. Now we are going to plot the plans that we have improvised in this barracks.

Walekiria says to him:
My mind together with my feeling make me closer to you Verbarth. It seems that now more than ever I will hold on to you more. Since our gross bodies lack any possibility of holding together.

Vernarth when leaving says to him:
Of the cosmic forms, yours Being has been hit in my box in Andromeda. Vitalizing and healthy part will strengthen what remains of your exploded mind and my elevated feeling to the ethereal worlds, will make rainbow emblems for your resentment.

To be continued… / under edition

Alguien recorre los senderos de Ítaca
y no se acuerda de su rey, que fue a Troya
hace ya tantos años;
alguien piensa en las tierras heredadas
y en el arado nuevo y el hijo
y es acaso feliz.
En el confín del orbe yo, Ulises,
descendí a la Casa de Hades
y vi la sombra del tebano Tiresias
que desligó el amor de las serpientes,
Y la sombra de Heracles
que mata sombras de leones en la pradera
y así mismo está en el Olimpo.
Alguien hoy anda por Bolívar y Chile
y puede ser feliz o no serlo.
Quién me diera ser él.

VII. mitosis

i...
i love him
and i will pay with fire and brimstone
maybe i’ll realize
that the plot arc of my life
doesn’t really make any sense anymore
that i don’t know where i’m going
(i never really did)
and i’m falling i’m ******* falling

the potter's wheel lays in disuse
the clay has cracked
much like ourselves
crazed in the heat of our crucible
the teacups are but shards
and no golden lacquer remains
to mend, to smooth sharp edges

we cherish things until
we can replace them

"fragile, handle with care"
i didn’t test in an inconspicuous spot
i didn’t reset to factory default
i didn’t come assembled
but i didn’t come broken either

we were dealt the cards before
we even knew we were players

and i cry for innocence had,
and innocence lost
innocence misplaced,
and innocence taken

my nightmares lathered
in sterile surgeon cyan
after all, we lobotomized machines
could never feel

what pleasures lie,
in those frosty windowed wards!
arched backs, bucked hips
gossamer cauls of flesh unwillingly broken
bulimic hearts, skinny love
i need not drink but the viscous
milken nectar of our lust
what pleasure, achilles!
what pleasure?

what pleasure is there in
the supplication of sutured flesh?
iphigenia, astynome...briseis—
flesh blemished, removed, replaced
housing haunted souls

heracles, phaethon, oedipus, icarus...
are we too consigned to eternal song,
that bitter deathless death,
like our tragic forbearers?
our glory, our hamartia
lies only in our love, philtatos

when wisdom brings no profit
to be wise is to suffer

the proud will be humbled
and the humble will be exalted

quell your arrogance
mitotic spindle

my name means glory to the father
and i am the prodigal son

all is equal in the chaotic omniscience
of mitosis, of death, of entropy, of war

we? we are indivisible.

As you have offered what stops me to think about all the horizons that are guarded by agons and Kerveros, what virtues will they make of those who are dispossessed of the rescue and vicissitudes of the underworld of Thyatira! What has to intimidate the senses if the doors are for those who have never possessed a Soul ..., What has to dispossess us if the soul matter is Thyatira under Akhisar ...!

You complain of being moaning inks of arid lands where rivers are tributed that have to wade through octogenarian routes, holding on to the necks of the obfuscated Kerveros, and of the henchmen who trembled by the vicinity of the extreme of Mysia, whose urges released elements that mixed with river shelters of the Lycus and the navigable ones of the Marmara! I must point out that the elements are cliffs of Hydor that sink into the seas of Mysia.

That I must tell you of a formidable strait that tried to possess Heles, and that I went to the lower point of its flow to rescue him! That the formidable flash of Pluto infringed what was flashing in pro-Kerveros, not allowing Hades to enter Heles ..., that formidable daring would be done if Heracles had twisted such a destiny by allowing it to enter, Or what death throes of the earth did not take him through this darkness where I mostly saw Venus in crimson eyes, rather than borders where the speed of light of their gazes welcomed them with their beings called Mysios?

I am Vernarth and I have arranged that Thyatira and her shallow wayward Nymphs shall rule me in your rod and go with their swifts, hoarding fine silverware that will shine from the heavens, and offer the worthy brotherhood by statutes that are controversial in the friendship of Arganthone and his I wonder if by some hiding place I have to see the black string of Jezebel and supposed regions contrary to Bethany. What a brave ****** has to dominate in full preservative principles, called from where they were punished by the dogs, thus allowing me to purge and follow advances that cleared the way to Mysia and Thyatira. Be clear that the insurgents in this region were chasing my Lord Alexander the Great, and he made the floors of Mysia tremble by crossing the Hellespont where my Heles almost had to get lost in the sea of his senses ..., make me be the Ionian blaze that never it has not ceased and will not cease to burn on the Seleucid headboards!

"That you can see if the Lycus and Hellespont are from the same tributary, which hardens its waters to make a firm footing to the steeds and Hoplites venerating their gods and horsemen, seeing my teacher Saint John piously riding on the pagan temples stoning on stony tombstones with the interstices of the New Testament that offers the sacrifice of the Areté, Or of the most excellent eloquent alleys and sacrileges challenging what must never be glossed in the functionality of the file that it is urgent to define if I have died or never Die "

What capital letters are to be taped from the others that are from the Areté, and from its prominent fertility that rehearses the postulates of my Purgation? In everything that is prophesied in the ruggedness of those who boast that they can wander forty millennia with guilds that gather their litters ..., all of them doubtful and giving rituals that owe to paganisms that were colonizing Hellenistic nuclei and my help ..., closing my Hetairoi's pectoral tail, and then forge more confreres than they ever were.

The regrets of my teacher are scarred in the science of the Lycus valley, as Christians who grow with their sons separated from their daughters, and from the debtor parents of the metropolis of Thyatira, what fortune to be spared if the damages are greater than the reparations …, And of the various secrets of the staining of the sky with its purple oblations and antiquities that refused to the progress of time, being discolored by the Adom and the Red blood cells. Here is where they flow through my arteries circling the hills of Messolonghi's Koumeterium, with natural basilicas that smoothly whitewash the candor and licenses.

I tell you that I know of this is what constitutes the forge of the being that is capable of leaving Hades alive, do penance together with me Yes ...! At twelve o'clock of the full moon where we become fierce Eleusines, since Battles more than hundreds of all, and we will know if we will be children of the Kerveros or Kerberos canes custodians of the inframundis who discover us like fish and cormorants on lagoons that run through us mutilated ..., which are decreed in the ecliptic, and in the stratum where Thyatira sleeps under the meters of Hades and Tevel, several meters from the underworld passing through its lost Shemesh beyond the western ..., under the hulous ecliptic of Akhisar!

You should not fear the suspicion or the courage associated with the three heads of the Keveros, because the three of them brood with me in the same way ..., for when I run away from them and they feel my loneliness ...!, Each of their heads thinks by themselves, but the gentle Levantine sea is arranging them were groups of stars that are rubbing and washing their ******, prone to marine monsters that dress the mane of the humpbacked Hindhead of the Cerberus. Knockdown what nothing is born of damage and that is born of its permanent movement, if the beasts are men with strings of impious men that make their portholes enter more light than beings with phalanxes and armies that come and go ..., being portals of one eternity from where Etréstles comes with his weary stride.

How can you tolerate that the hands stained with some Tintoretos splash my Himation? And what is still chromatic with a caged torpor, being the Himation of Theseus that revolts the constellations of history that began from the abject sinkhole, fading the virtue since my sacrifice is offered in the religious and its offertory. You know that I have been able to walk through waters that are solid if I put my calcañares distillates in classic sones where they are written with the latent prawns of the Aegean! That you nurture a past that hangs from the immediate future with sacrosanct pilgrimages inaugurating hybrids lapses, and classic smithies that distance themselves with Hephaestus and humanoid persecutions that could be undertaken from a section of the new period, mixing darned meat that is released from the principles of the Energeia, and that they sway in the millennial dizziness of the Olive Tree Bern or of any fistula that would not cease of prosaic oracular ones!

Everything makes oracular sense since my prior agon and his lingual accent deny what I will not reach in its sacred connotation, but if its secular insertion to create the deserved and victorious dew that falls and will fall from the bilge of the iridescent nimbus. I have deposited from their marshes where nothing already contains them ..., only a pure divine light that is confused with opposite festivals of lights of an unknown victory that was not always mine, but it took light-years with its traveling mass to reach my thunderstorms with treacherous gods who did not allow theological musculations and derivatives of being refined to emerge from their extreme internal and external beauty who prayed for me, entering their Seventh Heaven and then with the Merkaba doing its venerable kalokagathia; or prototype that does not fade every day to take hold of the inner and outer beauty of it, the fruit of the Olive Tree Bern and the countless algorithmic winds that could be counted since I had joined its Falangist ranks!

I know that four Seraphim will have to take me and that your Charioteer will medicate with thrifty speed from where the day dares to attend me with real locations in the Andromeda wagon. It was all to dig into the dark and bizarre hollow of my wound, knowing that it could have been the Holy Spear of Longinus...! What could happen if my chest did not stop bleeding from the indigo and crimson of my Dorus?

Gods of Horcondising

Previously Vernarth takes his head resting on the ceramic that supported him between the Hydor photo duct, rather than approaching his hand to the Klismós that Saint John the Evangelist had given him when he passed through Ephesus. In such a way that when he makes the first impulse to get up from the chair he was already beginning to leave the conventional Universe for the first time, then when he sits down again in the chair inaugurating the crystalline body that was looming over himself, he continues to be the Duoverse as if outside the Klismós with its curved legs resembling supporting pilasters of the Megaron diverging to the conical ones that projected concavely supporting the hollowness of its pectoral, which was already transparent like its Invisible Eclectic Portal. In this meanwhile he gets up again holding onto the Mashiach who came to take him in his arms and place him in the klismoi that interpreted the elevation of Hellenism to the Greater Heavens and the Itheoi of the Duoverse; that is, the spiritual deities of Vernarth in the classification of the starting rank and projection of the abandonment of the Golden Himation. In such a way that the Astragalus was integrated; his floral company that rooted in his hands and roots that cooperatively took root in those of Kashmar. Thus, Vernarth with the Ibic Rings would begin to syncretize the quantum and its hyper-accelerated mobilization of physics, and sub-atomic particulars that would later unleash from Alef to Tav to Astragalus and Aionius, beginning his omnipotence.

The sidereal distance began to unlink towards the Calypso air that was twinned with large portions of the sea in the same enamel, making Patmos the union of the speed of reacting in a chain with valleys of the Dodecanese with the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi unifying Vernarth with Apollo, Smintheus and Befos; that is to say, three sketches of Apollo himself for the theological genealogy chart of the deity Scarabaeidae with species that multiplied together with Vernarth to become the metalloid Azophar, as the main guideline from the knowable to the unknowable, being Apollo the same in the corporality of Vernarth previously rising to the iridescence of Mashiach.

Astragalus: His primary Itheoi or theological picture would be composed and forming part of his feet and the environment of his ex-voto to take to all the summits of the world in the essence and the gift of eternal life represented by the root of the madrigal curdled by his feet, with the root of the Astragalus in flower when it represented the zero hours by getting rid of his Himation and meeting the Mashiach.

Scarabaeidae: God of the modality of the subsoil of wandering souls destined for the physical and spiritual decline, Scabaraeidae Aphodiinae as subtractors of all the waste of souls that have boiled in malignancy, and the Scabaraeidae Dynastinae as the righteous larvae that rise from the imaginary soil to feed on the roots of the Astragalus and all the flowers and leaves of the Dynastiae. Increased the taxonomic genus of the species that would have to remain in the underworld to aspire to a better one like these Dynastines or Heracles beetles in honor of this hero carrying the peg that Vernarth would place on all the gardens once he was in Aorion, leaving him in a larval state, before being sponsored by Hera's family for the life cycle of the Horco-Olímpico.

Nothofagus: God phoneme-photon of divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medron of the Ibix of Wonthelimar, to the millimetric assembly shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera of the Megaron, and the Iridescent Nimbus that percussed between the Áullos Kósmos and the Vas Auric ” in total synchrony with Patmos, at the same level of luminosity and growth revelation of the Scabaraeidae Dynastiae to transform inert matter into another fertile one compared to Poseidon.

Lepidoptera: Like the sixth piece of crowns of Kafersesuh bringing the fertilizations of the Lepidoptera in the Ibico Ring 6, for the central stage of investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti, where everything will be endowed with the greater Ibix called Wonthelimar "that together with Leiak they would be transmuted to Horcondising.

Azofar: This metalloid god and support of the bed will take and bring Vernarth back to navigate through the cosmos towards the fifth element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to extol him from the neurological hyper brain of the Duoversal of Vernarth twinned with the Mashiach, exemplifying duplicity of Apollo as Azofar device of the new interstellar ships beyond all that is knowable.

Ibicus: god of the antlers of Wonthelimar, here they will carry the Oikos or Orphi Gold threads for the Himation and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and the Ida as a Mycenaean-Valdaine complement, thus they were inaugurating the solemnity and honorability. Here the quadrature will be the perfect Heliacal Rise of the fourth Ibico with the quadrature of Aurion commanded by Leiak in the cardinal Dyticá.

Vélus: from Ibico 4, from where the goddess Artemis will evaporate in the waters for the healing of the tormented in initiatory processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron as if they were surrounding a Castalia for such solemnity.

Spilaiaus: from Ibico 3 in the center of the ministry with chiropterans, and others from the mercurial ambrosia invoking the Cinnabar of Tsambika, having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus”. Here is one more bastion of Hades' underworld dressing for the Speleothemes that will take you to the heart of all the dens of the Faith.

Aionius: from Ibico 1 Wonthelimar who brought purity to all who needed him and went to visit in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive” here Kaitelka and Borker, in total harmony with Demeter, Persephone, and Hestia, bringing them from the labyrinths with the rusty chains of Prometheus and Vertnarth wandering through infinity.

Semi  I Theoi

The semi-deities and the greatest memories in the world that would derive the denotation that would reformulate the Apoinandros that would move along the spikes of the didactic Ego or the teaching of the authentic apostles that would crystallize with Zefian, Borker, Leiak, Kaitelka, and Ezpatkul .

Zefian: Reformer of the Universe-Duoverse, possessor of the four Arrows that will illuminate Heaven and all of earthly Greece every time Vernarth circulates linearly through the seas of the Vóreios of the Aegean. Ruled North: Vóreios (Zefian Boreal)

Borker: Demiurge and caretaker of the Duoverse, warden of the Forests of the World and of the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi. Ruled South: Nótos (Austral de Borker)

Leiak: Omnipresent demiurge, the vague spirit of the docile water dancer who lives on the water with his slimy Chin, his playful back is seen breaking the lines of wells between flesh and silhouettes. Before the First station, first of the three remaining nights before reaching the Joshua de Pétra crater” directed to the West: Dyticá (Ocaso de Leiak)

Kaitelka: Down Whale ruling the Psychic Trisomy of the Duoverse and the seas surrounding Patmos in the Apokálypsis ruled to the East: Aftó (Kaitelka's Equinoctial)

Ezpatkul: Dóntiakul or prominent Augrum or Oro teeth will rotate through the Scarabaeidae demarcating the Vóreios Vóreios throughout the Horcondising region, bilocating it in the Patmos oaks borers, with such frenzy…!, that from there they would draw the strength of the Mapuche winds from the north of the Meli Witran Mapu, beginning with the Pikún-kürüf.


Distinctive Horcondising

Horcondising or Horkondising: mountain massif where the bodies that claim to dwell in the definitive Heaven are consecrated and evaluated, multidimensional transaction of honorable and spiritual acts to continues life in a more astral and subjective plane.
Hyperdisis: Edenic Galaxy for the postulants, the sky of Joshua of Pétra.
Pólemistes Mapu: Knight of Joshua de Pétra, he used to walk barefoot and leave no footprints; and if he left them, they were the traces of Puma, incessantly seeking to reach Patmos.

Theía Trueno: Female Sister of Joshua de Pétra, she is seen walking in the wheat fields and grasses that surround the Kosmous of the only Duoverse.

Humus Sofós: Human beings degraded and feces of the anthropomorphic brete.

Kosmous Zigzag: Super Nova from the Hyperdisis Galaxy.
Adelympia: Female parent of Bernardolipo, master of the Tarot and catechist of all the classrooms of the Mashiaj.

Vátos Cantarina: Subterranean messages between both families of Joshua de Pétra and Bernardolipo.
Viologiki zoí Pichiensus: Entity of low thermal of the Gods of the Forests.

Toíchous Pirkas: Hill ridges similar to asphalted sheepskin hills.
Kryo Aqua: Host and Eucharist of the mountains that run through the estuaries on winter nights.

Vounó: Mountains of blankets or Matakis that fall on Pichiensus lands in the form of rainbows in the Iridescent Nimbus.
Vráchos Talamita: Galactic ship, a dolmen of the Talamita where they do their astral rituals.

Polyagapiménos: Joshua of Pétra's Bungalow, Incense of God, Child's Feet in the Kafersesuh, Mariah's Contemplation to Guide Everlasting Lives.

Thor's Stella Maris Metrica: Vas Auric who guides the Norse stars commanded by the Norse Deity.

Ekató Taurus: Medium troop of a hundred bull men in charge of stirring up the storms of the deluge of the Apokálypsis.

Karrenios Margaritódis Petrels: Massive defenders of the near sky in Kala Nera, masters of unfortunate land but of high media cordiality with the last fragmented souls.

Horkón: Cuirassier of the skit for non-believers, rosary for believers

Orphilía: Sylph that gives brightness to the dim stars every night.
Australdisis: Intermediate relay galaxy before aspiring to the Coelum.

Hyperdisis: Horcondising material galaxy towards the Duoverse.
Albalalhue: Cacique frightening the Demons of Horcondising and Patmos, recoverer of the Gold of Tychaios.

Talamies: Landowners of the Esteros de Fýlla or Hojas de Talami and Patmos.

Negeshon: Personality or Prosopon of the Mapu God of rancid hierarchy, director of the ears of the scared and nested Gerakis.

Diákolus: Morbid God and creators of theological hesitation in the slaves of evil.

Ramathís: Theologian who strengthens the vibrations of Lord Joshua.

Alcanphor Xórki : Macro transport of the spiritual masses to be transported at the end of the spell of the Himation Ceremony.

Wuaso: Great teacher of great proportions, they are seen at night surpassing all the Toíchous. He is commonly seen with a bullfighting pole in his left hand.

Pooja Nykterinós: Bandurria that travels through entire towns at night when they have been threatened by the evil pestilence of the cold.

Sudpichiana: Region populated by specters of archaeological lands, it is the farthest of all and the most spectral of the Horcondising.

Analpha Alpha: first illiterate in the Sudpichian land and the wisest in the refining of the Forest lineage of him.
Sacraverbial: Edenic lyricism that dances through the heights of Joshua's meditation in dialogue with Hashem.

Getsemani  Sudpichiano: Set of sacred trees of the Sudpichiano sector.

Jesuslight: representation of Krishna, Light of the shadows of the shepherd with his music of birdseed and sonorous of the lyrical flute. He sings and enchants when night falls he is filled with green colors, and when the night dissolves into the beginning of the day he is filled with solar colors.

Pirkas: delimiting the arteries of the highlander.
Slimy Herb: Lamprey's stomach herb, acid, and complement to Ha-Shatan.

Zenón: ox of the good harvest and the sunny day. Strong as a storm of Love of a healthy animal.

I Eikosi: the twenty fluffy felines agglutinated in the dark hell of Horkondising..

Konófora Analfagamas: high genetic range forest. Their voices are heard by the jet-black voices of the night.

Protograss : Mineral of the great universal heart that turns into mold.
Trisolado odogéfyra: access routes to the great Energy of the Duoverse viaduct.
Pre kalésete: Anticipatory doors before opening the soul that has to enter the Universe of Saint John the Apostle.

Ramireaux Astós: Joshua de Pétra's hemiplegic recorder, Selector of those who crossed the preferential threshold.
Mass Parameters: Kafersesuh of Light that adds to that of Hope and Faith.

Ingratia mol petal: Ultra-fragrant and liquidating molecules of the carcinogenic aureoles of the hollow of the chest of the Lymphoma of Vernarth, purifier of life.

You sparked matches and set my heart aflame.

You crawled your way into my dreams and carved yourself into my soul.

You did these small things that pulled me in.

Like when we would dance in the small kitchen light late at night to our own beat.

Or when we would just sit there in silence your eyes staring into the deepest parts of my soul.

And now as we lay under the night sky, you hold my hand in yours.

We listen to the music nature has provided for us as I fall, slowly more deeply in love with you.

You turn and look into my eyes telling me the stories within the stars.

You told me about the wise centaur who mentored Heracles the son of Zeus and how they were the intellectuals of ancient Roman mythology

As I lay there listening, you told me I reminded you of a siren.

You told me how my voice dragged you in.

and even though you knew you would fall, you still let yourself be enthralled by me.

You have entangled yourself into my life, becoming apart of me.

I knew my heart would belong to you.