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Lux
Those who were marginalized by the braids and serpentine lights, devotions were made in San Juan allowing electromagnetic discharges from the imperceptible space-time of Vernarth's parapsychological quantum; alluding to clarities that achieved everything by having Patmia in the material and incorporeal from the start of the stained glass windows and archetypes by Transfer Quantum that burned the chins of hominids who believed to be immortal as if they were looking in this position for the direction between the eyebrows and the chin , for the Euclidean incidence crossing all the pools that are between quantum means of transfer of ions and cations. The oscillations of the sparkling field of consciousness of the containers were of ethical variables that became perpendicular to the space of draft or levitation of the designations that originated with accelerated electric charges on Patmos, developing albiceleste skylights over the harmonic equations as they elongated in proportions of quanta that They argued greater than those that circulated elliptically from Grikos to Skalá, and then to Profitis with assiduous progenitors of long-wave quanta. The magnificence of the halo became rectilinear up to the high altar that was atomized from the unskillful penumbra to reabsorb the inclinations of physical life in the Macedonians and the Achaemenides when they were trapped by the loss on the propagation of the Lux, which was imposed in hemicycles where they were they reclined to relax in the lux of rest of the path of the reasoning that made pederasty in the links with the minuscule obtuse lights, reeling from the clothing and its finite speed of what measures the ability to be undetermined in the margins of error of the antagonists when originating flow rates, greater in his dermis to regenerate towards any other that could be clothing of greater speed.

Thus was the scenario of dimensional magnitude between the powers that did not have contact, but their dimensionless energies on a surface that reached absorbent to the one that rectifies the concretive of the error that partially abused them. Their legacies would pass to a supplementary electromagnetic plane, separating their masses and retaking orientation from where they returned, where if the ideal of the final rational was refracted where everything would be vivid darkness. The obstacles classified them in the closure of the average height and the average surface, to then redirect to the maximum height and maximum surface propagating in irregularities of the Ego "Believing that they were never overcome in the diffuse perception of the metal mirror." The incident rays of the Lux would go to meet the multi-incident plane of the Mashiach, the wave angles were refracted throughout the sinuous law as radiosity passed over the greater mass that was normalized from the tangent that was projected 180 meters above the eyebrow. and Vernarth's chin, along with the recharged electromagnetic strengths of Alexander the Great's reactivation bezels, which at times seemed to levitate over the Lux's high frequencies and vary independently with its crowded functionalities, among scattered restraints that it presented to both weightless behind. from the decayed marble sawdust, separating from its phosphorescence that bounced between the rigging of solid surfaces and semi-solid ones, when realizing that the sea and the silica were confessed to the Pronoia of Delphi. Inducing Vernarth for the first time into a Pronoia versology on the Athena of Delphi, prompting them to separate from the world and it's holistic to divide into three portions of the dissociation of consciousness from the end of the Lux of Parapsychology, which had hosted them for centuries and centuries. . The Pronoia conspiracy systematized the reaction that would reunite them after this oracular parapsychology, making the adversaries believe that they were discrepancies of clinical parapsychology, equating warlike causes in the containment of Delphic neuroscience. From this quantification, the predominance of Vernarth's Lux de Pronoia was announced, linking peculiar segmentation of submit logical historicity in this work as a starting thesis, which speculates the same for those who have to make an analysis of historical dogmatic imperialism as a justification for mythological normality. The Lux thesis aimed to show that the dimensions of the mythology and the submitology, when exposed in physical quanta, made a tendency of irresolution in the abode of spiritual Tractatus reasoning and not in the instinctual one, which watches over recitals where history and its collective memory indicate outbursts of moderation. The role of the submithology  is to pretend that this normality is made close to the instruction after yours temporary for causes of your deep patrimonial, that makes them captives from the social complexity, with the disambiguation of certain criteria by maximizing the hidden truth of the ascending opposition forces that they have generated great conflagrations, intuition being the unreflective pseudo-reality with historical formalities that stumble into the terrified directionality of the myth that was to be reality. The tiny spaces of the verve left by the silent mechanics of the Persians became defensive when they saw their emissaries incoherently in the verticality of Allah when they saw that the confusing world with anxiety exaggerated predictions and failures invulnerability of a lineage that always had. been condemned to the desert.

Everything conspired with a Pronoia of siege, before the exegesis that sought purification and that was how they headed and misdirected their mistakes in the active train of the recess of their abstracted retreat, in a universe that also abandoned them after the subsequent train of Aurion waking them in their illusions with swords, and stealthy spears in dreams that specified safe rest. The ferocities of the proto-souls of assault carried away the translucent bodies of the Persians, and the Hellenes in acts of honor made such congenital paths of the understandable vocabulary that he did not speak. The prism was located in the cautious measure of its contractile dispersion with white separations of mantles, earth, and water scalded by dynamics that formed colorful activations with their withdrawal phenomena in the immaculate albino Lux that dissolved all of the facet optics that it made. Lux's great brain in the instant that the Thuellai airs transfigured the nuances of the Atros monastery, with objects that refused to be absorbed by the black hue, generating mechanical waves of equivalence in their identical interference that caused two opposing forces to distill the coherent differential that had to be overexposed in the category of historical Submitology. The two inverted waves separated, the Hellenes moaned and hiccupped for having to become identical when separating from their immaterial bodies, doing wonders that would house additional souls that would complement a transitory becoming towards the garden of the angels that provided them with identical beams of light, interfering in what animated the lights of pageantry, with the antithesis of interference where they resided in constancy knowing that they felt possessed of benefits of the eternal length of existence, but with pressures of mutable in some involuntary constancy and amplitude of having parallel directions with Saint John the Apostle and the Siblis. The phenomenon of polarization of both empires was denatured in a transverse way in all the electric fields after this feat, inciting unique fields of the pure and selective ascending ecosystem, which generated polaroid substances at the angle of ninety degrees above the browbones and chin of Vernarth, to approach the Pronoia of concatenation with Alexander the Great refracting unscathed hyper-vital and transcendent faces of infinity. Like any other phenomenon, the Lux crossed both bodies like two Xiphos swords that processed the electromagnetic valve, by iridium that converted with all the coarse Lux that crossed the succumbed immateriality and stopped the shaft and the nail that hang in the typology of electromagnetic radiation from the Hellenic world between them, making an ominous redemptive fire that was regimented to leave them both in the middle of a farm where there were farmyard animals, stockpiled pastures and a house that absorbed them as parents who would love them as beings of Lux. Thus, this primary parapsychological quantum network penetrated the level of the archangels that made them be together in planes of manumission, and that does not admit bi-quantum personality or bi-parapsychology that can cancel out the portent of the helmets and the lineage that does not dazzle if they are not made of iron.

The life of the other world began to be encompassed in all the Subtraigus beings that would correspond to the astral plane that was confirmed after the Kalidona Romantics deduced the Unicorn Uilef or Uilef Monókeros after Pronoia. Kalidona being an uninhabited island and the Uilef sleeps in between copulating with Spinalonga and Kolokythas along with other smaller islets, plus two hundred that will make up six islands of the twenty-six tetragram of Alef. Here Drestnia went with her consort of Etréstles from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi to find fateful encounters of Pantheism based on the majestic copulation of beauty, among twenty-six numbers that prevailed in virtuosos who took refuge in Kalydon or Kalidona, preparing for their rampage with grafted grotesque derived bodies of the Falangist Hellenes who were arranged of their musculature, so that they directed the finesse of the civility of Hesiod, Terpando, Archiloco, Baquílides, tragic like Etréstles, Aeschylus Sophocles, Euripides and comedian like Aristophanes.
Lux
Jonathan Witte Oct 2016
Do you see me?

I’ve been devouring poetry,
by the line,
by the page,
by the book.
No poem has been overlooked.

I’ve been feasting
on free verse,
blank verse,
perverse
cascades
of stanzas and rhymes,
a banquet of words
on which to dine.

I’ve been swallowing ad nauseam,
scarfing down similes,
masticating metaphors,
gormandizing poems aplenty.

Rhyming couplets,
I’ve contained them.
Sonnets and epics,
ingested.
Lyrical odes,
digested.
A thousand lines
to make you swoon.
I’ve tasted them all—
the potent and
the picayune.
Villanelles, check.
Sestinas too.
I even hiccupped
my own haiku:

          Icicles melt on glazed gutters.
          Water drips, prolific, bits of sunlit seeds
          promising lilacs below the eaves.

Do you see me*?

I hate to ask, but I’m afraid
something poetic has happened.

my head is a tureen
brimming with stars
my arms are utensils
in a darkened drawer
my chest, a room of last resort
my feet are stressed, in short

Such prosody is blinding.

Can you tell me why
my eyes are bleak?
Or why I no longer
blink?

I sense the sear of fluent tears
composing on my cheek:
endless drops, black beads,
consumptive stains of ink.
Three headless white eagles flew through Tel Gomel, blood on their twisted claws of turgid spines. They brought the prediction of double foretold death, with their double armor on and their double helmet that transmuted the rings of the putrid Thanatos through the feces, and through their tarnished lips weak in Him. Vernarth had sent them a missive with the Eagles in low flight; all of them were clothed in the stench of the field of yellow and black battle mist. On Beelzebub's slimy hoof that towered over Alikanto's, they hiccupped over the six-decade-dream-sized lymphoma in its ridged crucible, which was puffing purges from its snout full of lymph traces staying in the interstices of its teeth. Burnished canine-alans. His heart became a red cuirass ad limitem with blooming endocardial blue. At dusk, Eolionimi and Shamal, with the Jáquima of their greedy steed, were breaking the vertical with the Jáquima of their greedy steed by spitting helical volatile mats, in the catacombs of Markazí where residents of their lineage, forge abodes in abominations of the Lives that were reborn. victorious from the fire of worship to the city that houses its true Life and Soul in the Persian Sibyl.

Song of Wonthelimar: “the veils have already been gathered, we will carry the candles that wire the liberated souls of Trouvere. Cries of prosperity await us, from the roots that will be reborn from her immanent presence. Meters above the level of the lithosphere, the Iberian Rings will appear towards the meeting of the tertiary jogging in the Zefian Arrow. This is where the law is interpreted, the future gives us the pennant of justice in excess of the Light beyond the cave that is born in the turns of the third world. It is said of the meturgeman or Rabbi who breaks down the avatars of advances, for off-centered purposes if they are to be the verticality of the Sibyls with the mind of God. Thus we are crowning by this axon of spiritual fatigue, focusing on the nervous excess that comes out of the body of consciousness of the cosmos, transmitting impulses of the same through ties of Elijah, where the motor structure of the master concocts the testamentary of Levi, and Greek Aramaic Levi in Qumram, subsisting at high speed on how it is to pass? The priestly Messiah will interpret the entire word of the Mashiach in the Aullos Kósmos of his motive order. Here is the Priestly Messiah, and the patriarchs like Set, Enoch, and Isaac having the task of unraveling the illusions and mysteries of the cosmos, in the same way, that the angel interprets the nocturnal visions in the apocalyptic stories of Saint John the Apostle "
Codex II - Supra Lithosphere Tectonics
Tom Berry Jul 2019
He wasn’t a flower
they were too exquisite. (although he wanted to be, so he could make people sneeze)

                                 He wasn’t a cypress
they were too resilient. (otherwise he would have cracked the concrete)

                                 He was born a ****.
(A yard reckoning wild black mamba)
In the ground, he felt smothered,
digging to a world he never knew.

                                 He was an anomaly
someone who no one desired to water.

                                 He was a problem,
                                 a pest,
                                 something like
                                 Fruit flies in a Florida summer
                                
He was a stain,
                                 a blood smear on an angel white Kleenex.
                                
He was a pain,
                                 a sturdy lump in her kidney the doctor had to explain.

He dug                     through boggy dirt,
                                 carving away.

He dug                     through swampy mud
                                 while the sky hiccupped tears,
                                 constantly, continuously making
                                 a path that he could climb.

He wanted—freedom
                                 a love amongst the elegant lantana.
Inspired by an old friend
Chapter II
War animal in Tel Gomel


Three decapitated white eagles flew through TeL Gomel, carrying blood in their twisted claws of serous spines. They brought him the prediction of his anticipated double death, with his double breastplate on and his double helmet that would transmute the putrid Thanatos rings of feces through his weak dingy lips of Him .. Alexander the Great had sent him a letter with the Flying Eagles low; all of them were dressed in the stench of a field of yellow mist and black battle. Alikanto's stood on the slimy Bucephalus hoof, they hiccupped over the six-decade-old dream-sized lymphoma in its ridged crucible, whipping purges from its muzzle full of lymphoma debris remaining in the interstices of its teeth. - Alans. His heart was converted into an ad limitem red cuirass with a blossoming blue endocardium. As the twilight of the wind-blown blowout set, Eolionimi and Shamal were breaking the Vertical and the Jachyma of their greedy steed to spit out Sudpichi's blood gushing over the smelly cowards of sleepless Gaugamela. In helical flying carpets, catacombs in Markazí where residents of their lineage have lived in the abominations of the Lives that were reborn victorious from the fire of the cult of the city that houses their true Life and Soul.


Before handing over his dreams to Borker, master of all the forests in the world. White fire was made and seasoned the amputated meat of the obese ghosts who dared to flee from their mouth in grace of law without a sword or shield, to smoke it as a Valhallic morning wafer where the Fallen Surrounded by sacred beastly animals dwell with the shells of meek personalities. Perhaps Asgard, perhaps Sudpichi granting the host to the one who lags behind. Lullaby's pergola from her steed even in her placenta. From the first night and first Dew of a presumed and total Ahrimána intimidation, "Destructive spirit" or "spirit of darkness and evil", he created the demons by launching an attack against Ahura Mazda, who manages, however, to reject him until darkness telling him: "Neither our thoughts, nor our teachings, nor our plans, nor our beliefs, nor our words, nor our souls, agree." But Joshua de Piedra with alkaline quartz flour renewed his attack and pierced the sky in the form of scorching fire and with it brought hunger and disease, pain, desire and death on the Gold Chariots as monumental as a Psalm or a journey of Faith for thousands of years, keeping linear faith to travel to have equipment to return in silence for the hunger of a thousand years without satiety. Ahrimána was feared by all the Devas, especially for his sinister countenance and reddened eyes even when his sons celebrated his namesake sharp rubies. He was represented by a humanoid and black creature, wearing full armor, and from his shoulders came living snakes that poisoned anyone who tried to be upright.


"Ego Vernath; Primo Muneris Historiarum Alexandri Magni Macedonis,
  Im 'iens ut Sudpichi imple immortal ad vitam Cyrine pingues,
Ut apud Gaugamela facta pizote garnet *** eis.
I will plead with you, Pater caelestis.
Et ex millibus venit ad Chiliometra Alikanto claudus ex Akuleo.
  Morbi exords exequie et transitu urgentibus telis duo vel tria a righteous
Debemus sine confessionis velo noctu aquam psalm iris.

Et mollissimas lancinant sum obumbratio eius de collo tuo pro XII hours sum hodie computatis Sanguis rubeus, ut esset itineris fertur super gradm in agris inferre posset explain aciemque per agros ".


"I am Vernath; Alexander the Great First Officer,
I'm going to Sudpichi to fill Immortal life with Cyrine logs,
To granate them with my pizote in Gaugamela.
I fervently ask you, Heavenly Father.
I come from thousands of Kilometers with Alikanto lame from Akuleo.
Crossing the exords and destinies of millions of mortuary arrows, duo or trio, by dozens
Without rest, without confession, without water from the night veil over the iris of my psalm.
I was lacerating the shadows from their necks for 12 hours, today I was counting the red blood cells that I would spread over the fields of the step and flank over the offensive fields ”.


Vernanth, taking his dagger and charging himself with his steed, biasedly cut the jugular veins, retracting the subclavian. In an arcane ritual he did the same with himself, to be reborn before dawn, when both beings of the peat breeze that shone from the tremulous ascending wind of Eolonymy and twitched the hedges that surrounded the Voices of Vigil that secondary him before going to meet with the troops of Alexander Magnus, as host of the black bugles fading to the Persian horizon.

It gets up before dawn. She remembers her childhood and picks up a blue stone to scrape it off her steed's ears and sinuses to revive her. Her legs grew countless meters, to later adapt to her real size. She takes her dagger, wraps it in cloths of lazy warm grass of tomorrow, and rubs it on her temples. Alikanto is active and stares at her to adore her again in a life with her.

As the morning sang the subtle and gentle twisted threads of time from the light of nature, she was encouraged to wake up crawling over the weevils and face to face with her sentry. It lifts its tail and lifts it up for the first comeback of daring to ride together through the white clouds and the feverish white skies. Erected like a graveyard pulled by its fanatical stampedes.

Scents of tasty foods appear for both of you, perhaps to get rid of so quickly gobble up the food riches that the holy land that allowed you to still be awake and have revived again, before heading to the fiefdoms of the offensive liana of the trapezoid expired.

There were only a few hours left to leave and meet his compatriots, to seize axes and weapons of war. Maybe to take one last look. And perhaps to see if he should survive taking the remains of his comrades to Horcondising, Asgard or Pairi-Daeza, to some Sufi labyrinth, so as not to disdain the hearts of the brothers in Silsilá.
under edtion
An involuntary spasm
of the diaphragm
and respiratory organs,
with a sudden closure
of the glottis
and a characteristic
sound like that of a cough.

Rather mundane topic
lest one cursed
with said minor inconvenience
that subsequently manifests
into protracted health crisis.

I write much hiccup ado
about nothing, which
involuntary explosive release
comes clear out of the hiccup blue
nary a sponge bob
square pants handy dandy blues clue,
where in tarnation
this uncontrollable bout
jarring the Jimmy Neutron body
electric all's well
that ends well hiccup do.

Why such physiological
spasmodic trembling
undulating weird phenomena
uncontrollable peculiar singultus kickstarts,
where one of many
extreme measures now suggested
such as ramming cloven hoofs
down the gullet wool shear
lee be in vain
to bring closure of glottis hiccups ewe

you wool sheepishly  
moost likely find annoying
as this hiccupping buck feels few
breaths short of taking
another potential drastic action…
like hiccup swallowing glue
as an extreme solution
wide whirled, webbed series
of being held hostage
resorting to asking Horton hears a Who

to stomp his elephant legs
(also known as hottentot bread)
atop thee abdominal chest
(me not ribbing ye dear reader)
despite impossible mission
to escape, thus truncating mein kampf
and additional fail safe measure
being trundled to an igloo
serving as ice cold emergency room
of a mockup hospital or calling

on the ghost of  the late veterinarian
James Herriot to scare doggone
such hiccup caterwauling
catering to gentile
or skeletal anorexic
hunger artist appropriately named Jew
Lean, thus, time and again
when said hiccup affliction
holds me hiccup hostage
ye dear stranger knew

seeking cure twill drive me towards
considering additional outrageous
acts of desperation
such as sticking ma head in the loo,
which bizarre reaction
on par with holding
out an appetite
until famished for moo
goo guy pan mixed
with delicious bowl of new

dulls steeped in broth,
an island delicacy renown on Oahu
even this atheist would ask
for salivation praying in a pew,
whereby sound of silence
echoed by hiccup right on queue
when nary a burble
until reaching amen hiccup rue
stubbornly persists,
no matter resorting

to consider extreme unction measures
at suppressing explosive strew
wing upsurge of diaphragm,
accursed diabolical solution
holding breath until
turning blue in the face  
simultaneously forcing air thru
alternative orifices such as:
nasal passage and/or mouth, ears
or out derrière as last ditch effort.

Oft times physiological phenomena  
faintly resembles bobbing up and down
analogous to the celebrated
jumping frog of Calaveras County
seriousness one best not undervalue
with a snort
lest ye surpass one poor soul
when an accident
on June 13, 1922,

Charles Osborne  
(experienced 20 to 40
involuntary diaphragm
spasms per minute)
hiccupped nonstop,
which condition persisted
for more than six decades,
only ending in 1990,
a full 68 years after it began.

Osborne's plight remains
the longest attack
of hiccups confirmed
by Guinness World Records
invariably accompanied
no doubt by a voodoo
Practitioner…until…at last whew
hiccups stopped  mysteriously
as they started
bringing relief
to him who analogously felt like
caged primate in a zoo.
Final Ellipsis Chapter XXXI
Horcondising  Castle Reign - Sudpichi
Transversal Valleys  The  Ferments - Parapsychological Regression

Vernarth says:
“In this regression, I was fascinated in the final capitulars mode, in the lands of the transversal valleys of Alhué, Pichi- Chile. Where I have the cradle of incipient mythology, among spirits sheltered in valleys of dusty roads and the fringed concessions of the Lord of Death, in the full lands of the Collateral Valleys, Land of Borker, Kaitelka, Leiak, Espantacuculi, Autraldisis, Hyperdisis, Universe Zig Zag, Wasos, Spermazoid Fable and Mountaineers etc; that will make up the mythological and fabulous beings glossary in this region of the Transparent imaginary castle; that it is my residence and my parents without limits or parallels in a large estate of divine blood and myself; Vernarth de Sudpichi, Wernarth-Werthian of compulsion and steely romanticism, of the majestic living spirit of the astral Commander of Alexander the Great of Macedon. Here I am also Macedonian, in the domains of my ancestors with more than seven hundred years, which will be held in this savage auction of all the Horcondising ranchers, in convalescence before my purgation. All will be deprived of their normality, and I not of the mine! But in this regression, I have to set off with all my ancestors to the high mighty Horcondising; Castle of our aristocratic lineage that will take me to my father Bernardolipo and my mother Luccica; making me her son again and Hetairoi Commander of the magnanimous Phalanges of Alexander the Great.

Vernarth, beyond a before, collects honey from the ******* of a pale blowfly. By opening his sclera, with a bad step, he tries to continue dreaming, to subtract minutes from the contained time and neutered micro space of his Period. What would Mr. Hefestos say, if the light of Jesus would be the basis of a tri-founder Chronophone, starting a spectral casting, Ideal to roll from the top, among so many organic masses and his round neck? On this clinging to the jars of altered bacteria that ran in terror through the native forest, their languages continued to ferment, devoid of terrifying languages, in which their piggy banks and clods of fear were drained, that new fabric roofs rise through the raids. failed. Sour loves and sour laborious flashes on his empty molars, sublingual substances bubbling intraorally and intraorganically. Through the other orifices and interstices, new intestinal sounds drawn, calm the rhythm not only of the distended ignorance of my sustenance from apples and bacteria trembling between my steps to redeem. Some celeripedes sharpen their stride, and others weakly digest the faded day of advancing without trick or fiction, to that anorexic politics, of not stopping walking, even if the cold makes me amnesiac, I will sit naked at dawn to paint on the exhausted mural, I will wait the downpour of colors to rearrange this sad and melancholic song. They will explode as with their marsupial bags on the grouped beings that were waiting to be surveyed to persuade the bad omen of being auctioned to another rank confessed aphonic ferment, in this vessel on a stove of so much frank sliding, without stopping without false support, ending the day from where I left, at the table next to my feline Goddess Pirucha, free from this press, which does not issue any limits, only seconds that run with gasping flares at myself running with my back to my identical, arriving where my anachronistic intervals speak, my new births. If it is that I break off the cliff and am born again in new strides, if I am or was I...?

Vernarth says:
“At five in the morning we sit down to watch the exhausting specters, royal masters come for you and me to give the diadem or mushroom halo over the Horcondising. Adelimpia my grandmother, takes between her hands, tireless lines by palmist possess, in her iris laser, makes her see more than read with blisters in her eyes from so much reading, poppies in her hands from so much watering the mountainous skies. They get up, Kaitelka takes all the Downian language, Aunt Trueno, fight the pyre of loyal false clowns and bio dreams, to reprimand the living eternally, what I collect from today will be wood for my candle, so in the Ganges of Pichi I will rasmillar the ashes of other handsome brave men trying to die. When I return, my right hand will fit each year of my obituary anniversary, I will try to understand the shadow of pus from Thanatos lecturing to know, to die, maybe a thousand years will take me, but the Ceibo tree of my duplicate coral house will always take me where my Christ, making me thunder of years of round and round, to take me from my brothers and to roam the pasture tenderly by the thin clouds covering me on my pyre. Bernardolipo my grandfather, is with strands of alfalfa and in the hands of others, horses lacking in vitamins, lacking green palaces, salmon paths to announce with horns before leaving, with an arrival from the west to the east, both to narrow in their sleeves wounded, already drying off from the serous mountain spittle, in a pornographic nap of young killers. They close the portal of my Uncle Hugo, full of olive edges and dowels, whims and conditions of stars between grounds, in the well-run teeth of some swallowed shadows of the badly created threshold. Eight in roundabout…, eight feet looking at the night ground, rags that take the paste from their shoes, in the luster of beautiful life, and that is where I stay walking. They take their rakes of grafted winter plum housed in the suppuration of the caterpillar, with their interminable divine garments, with divine grace to overshadow it, she does for me what I do for her, every pain of the soul suffered by jealousy pain who wants to moo in the secretion of the wound, every little thing, every little life, preceded by the donor Pichi- bio, or microscopic life that strides along the cobblestones of the dying Bohemian lamp. They have to make captivating sounds, lurking sounds, Corti pipe ***** sweetness, sonic plant - sonic biblo in order to use it in sounds without clothes, which were once made of very generous acetate, or pieces to pay attention, when a green cricket sobs , for the departure of her beloved red cricket mother. How incapable we are of collecting memories never remembered, like the minimum dividing phrase between my heart and that of the cricket in the small corner of its left thorax. It's half past five, very close to the monk's valley, the Scarecrow, on his knees was picking up one of his gold teeth, the slime from the tapestry of his floor shone, and his clavicle was *****, almost cybernetic, moving away from one of his incisors gold teeth. When my maternal grandmother was surprised by Queen Anne, he blushed and gulped down another drain. Adelimpia, Bernardolipo, Aunt Trueno, and Anne or Queen Anne appeared, dancing in broken measures of Brahms dances, to meet the Horcondising massif, to open routes to the end of a purgative phase. The scarecrow, fell apart and covered his face, but when he connoted that he felt emotions, he joined them, so that in the dark dawn more stars could be seen as in the oven roasted milk, in stormy shadows and stormy ladles, for the snack of the cloudy adventure to reach the dreaded corner of beyond the Sudpichi that was left behind. The man of the cornfields, scare crows, stood out in the day, sharpened the night, to arrive quickly at the tabernacle of Joshua de Piedra, to finish the ranks of the proscenium, of the souls of the new space to dwell. When walking, between paths blown by the trapped chest of the giant melancholic flat-footed ogre, who was trapped in rags, but smelling of chamomile with blooming mistletoe shoots, lighting a corner match in the Zig Zag Universe.

Here the Cyprian squirrel smokes, hiding from rays and sparks, not situated internal winds, in the name of the dragged crushed leaves of certain minks of the crusades in Jerusalem and in the cut off Merovingian lives, placebo, gyroscope, trident, where my worst go balloons and emetic parties riding them in the microscopic rising of my Sun, in a cascade of external cries, where I pronounced the symbols of terror, in which Lepanto's blood runs. Serene faint orchid black blood; fled widow amidst stoning or slicing pyres.  Turbine oar, which circulates my right and left hand. The sand lapse twists, twists and becomes wet, ruminant fear of simply not sleeping, eternal chews of the moth-eaten wood of Nazareno, unsnailed nails that swallow my petite ivy hands. The four petards, with their shadows on their backs in late nights of bats from Nostradamus's closet, in this black and sweaty commoner night, I will dress with them, the clothes that will be spun in prophecies, as if walking through the sand of heaven in peace and final , in the dihedral of his own soul, and his temple adding zeroes in the depths of indisposed Love, of sudden love, of love that rises in angular planks and they rise with their little sticks from the devil's triangle, which thus took me at once in the brandy near the shadow of the epitaph of the stream and the smelly sky, ramshackle Heaven ..., Eden of pale exile. The tangent wind, touched the untouchable wind, walking in circles in the arms of a Samurai that glassy ..., in white stupor danced through the green grassland, in the stupid and feverish field, leaning towards a gentle rabbit, among swirls of the gene of a rodent crossing the legs of my grandmother Adelimpia, who moved her cane between the sheets of the new calendar, the year of the rabbit. Go upstairs with the others, stupefied by the moody fumaroles burning, I see the roofs of the Horcondising, I see their sweaty beams of gut fat from ****** henbane, thick veined beams, catching rodent teeth and rearing new claws, to tremble by the Ceiling veins drunk amidst plague scandals dying on the first try. Leiak, omnipresent vague spirit of the gentle water dancer, lives on the water with his chin and slug, his jocular back is seen, breaking the lines of wells between flesh and silhouettes.  Before the First Station, the first of the three remaining nights before reaching the Joshua de Piedra volcano. "



Apostle Saint John continues in a parapsychological trance:

“Queen Anne and Aunt Thunder look at each other with rye crumbs in their hands, walking along the swaying floor; the Goddesses are silent when they breathe again. Vernarth's father; Bernardolipo laces a log and a piece of cheese. Hungry cats jump to the tabletop, Hugh Uncle from Vernarth, lights the log, keeps nosing with thick-gauge chocolate, shafts of white chocolate and southern marshmallow. His grandmother Adelimpia bathes his hands in beautiful water, takes his bow, rolls up his sleeves and jumps to the round dough and to the celestine stone, cooking beautiful tortilla water, baptized on the edges of each penetrating eye. Leiak spirit, runs and superimposes the screen, in dinner show, for four that bulge guts before the tasty bread, Hugh, lifts his envelope from the front end, Bernardolipo takes out his imperfect hat, they eat Christmas rolls, with soft aniseed and nutty aromas as in threads. They eat within the ten minutes that Leiak allows him to eat, otherwise his peer monks of silence will ****** the thick crumbs from his tortillas, which run to his house in an anodyne mouth, cradling funny hallucinations, full belly, full of sleep, without owners, in vocal horns that sound the night, to get up later. Tired and fermented, they sit down to eat, to look reclining, on the warm ground of Heaven, and the heel of the entire green north continues walking along the estuary. Adelimpia sews a sock every night, to put it on the very top, so she would have two more socks left to knit, until she arrived at her high school, to meet Joshua de Piedra, to start the glorified wind, to mediate and reach eternal heaven with a stone, to the empty believers of the beautiful death, of the beautiful deaths of the Horcondising. Here they sleep, they travel, they stretch their hands to heaven, Adelimpia as a seal, now the King of Heaven is wearing, in the first idiomatic reverie that appears, Hildegard von Bingen…, and she collected flowers on the backs of the rabbits with blessed multicolored t-shirts. She tells them komme susser tot - wie ist diese Blau Rabbit? They reply Schoen hilde Blau - the wallhalla will go with us with messages and flowers, to distribute its pollen throughout the world. In the distance, circular northern lights hiccupped as they fell, endless troops opened the plague on the ground, mocking the imprint of the sandals of venerated magicians, of inordinate quadruped *****; Jacinta and Centella, brought the pantry, on the left back and on the third rib the image of Francesco Forgione, who on it had a bundle of corn bread, and milk from a cute sheep that they brought from the garden to taste the days of meek food items, and others in the plates covered by required hands, bread with raisins of old people served on the plateau. Centella with a good ***, she walked with her mother Jacinta, with a disorder of tender and finesse, next to two small donkeys hired from other dreams of a manger, with the muscular leaves of the oak, making the eyelids of the whale heavy down Kaitelka who sang next to the scare crows in delicious hibernation times, on the terrace where there never was one. Acacian sepals and tales of resinous sailors fell, as in the cellars of an entire ancient history, on the archaic and twinkling stables of the Horcondising, the sylphic kites flee swirling over the frightened green sky, like all the hands up on the shoulders of some mountain people , defying bad sleep before they wake up and spill their fury of corrosive acid on the supposedly nobles who wish to pass and cross the bleachers of their island feats, under a humble shoulder of tender feats, of dry leaves on the skirts of the good Lord; owner of the water and of all the eroded gorges of the waterfalls and combinations of the god of the rain that is about to fall.
Adelimpia prepared cornbread and rye from good waters, Aunt Thunder washed the waistbands, the scarecrows cleaned the rattle of his eardrum towards an empire of sounds and a planet of celestial waves, with bread without crumbs, in the face of the pandemonium that was coming. Pocket of loose thread, that is lost in the night and that springs from the day, with ostentatious manners, and how close are they?  While they read all the multicolored letters on the ground about the ceremonial flood. Joshua saw them as a colored fumarole, spoiling their shrunken auras, under the boot of a role stealth, where the brush lunge for her boots begins, which later loom among the epistolary letters of good from Zefián; steward of the greater demon, who would be forced to make the main stained glass, standing on the poles in each hermit tree to recruit the lordship riders of the massive autumn, in an eternal wailing of birch trees in harmony. Uncle Hugh, is a current that builds and circulates against gravity, outlines the chair, mother nature of the new hints of floating islands trying to touch the godmothers of the golden valley and the mysterious shine of their Huasos eyes, still drunk among their jugs of gunman colt. It cuts through the wind like an eternal wind from the Australdisis galaxy, like a snowball in the belly of a marmot, like lost fingers wearing shoes, and without gloves, as if getting lost to find oneself again preferring pale-flow sleds, to cross mounted on the loud silence in the snow at the top and its song. Queen Anne embraces the imagery of her husband Joshua, life and song, it came from the good, wild to beat the yesteryear, I live among trees handcuffed in the mist of the well armed. I bring pellets for my Winchester tired of his locked case, here he spent a whole day in the Lonquen meadows when his plow got jammed, plowing hard rocky backs and soldiers, today my beautiful sower in Valle de Oro, is dredged by the sacred image of our rosary, good Mary, who never tires of putting pillows on our prayers, like sticks in the air in her diluvium eyes. Larks appear, eating nits on the greasy hair of the evil devil, on the copulation of her planted females, ebbing and with amended pleasures, delimited, and atrophied awards for trophies of the good moment for dividing the entire time. She became uncomfortable walking and breathing, our tongues would become thin, and our arms would get tangled in the sticky grass. Leeches rubbed their exposed areas, gargles and spit, cut every minute of being able to regret the atomized step in their entire body. Time was wasting, there were no beings that injured themselves without knowing why they flagellated themselves on earth, since one day a calf suckled them at night on the hillside, running in better circles because of the milk they drank…. blowflies polished their aged wings, butterfly princesses undo their corset, making the world of Vernarth towards a little more toast of bells and books in the right pocket of the Christian beetle, who tried to read it further from the exile and illiteracy of an anthropoid that obscures its oblong patchwork, continuing in the work of educating oneself, of high eternal reigns trained and of forests of currents under the clouds of the night of the abandoned city.


They ferment, and their fingers and toes fall, from thousands of losses in this neglected city, distilled into fermentation eclogue, with malformed sins ascending by the bridle of Vernarth's grandfather; by flanking the great nose of his dilated and degenerate black horse, with an equine shape that transported him from individual to individual and hyper static, subtracting the ferment of his failed and frustrated past mistakes. Its hooves measured twenty-one meters in diameter; its **** seemed to be made of pincers that would crack any tender drawing on the yellowish sky of ceibo trees, of the stormy fermentation in the Horcondising. Adelimpia and Ann, counted and counted on the beads of the sacred rosewood, Hugh sweated his hands, in prone fluctuations of interaction, the Scarecrow and Kaitelca jumped on giant oblong drums, talking about the hidden meadows, and the words crossed for squander them on the repentant. On the left side the round shadow of the prophetic Evil chanted in reverberations with the waves of the curls of the massif, he was almost about to ***** between his eyebrows, the vain opera of Horcondising that did not sound, but if loudly they were corrugated the slopes mourning towards the navel of the hundred feet, which suffered denoting the strips of the nearby town hall, like a transparent soul, carrying in its lacerated hands some pity of retreating and reviving, what the true architecture of life, more than the form ..., makes the light that penetrates solids. In this way the rocky massif pulverized rugged reliefs, like annelids wheezing through the tops of the Infradeep openings, with three groups of three hundred beings, which seemed to be three groups of thousands emerging from their caverns in anguish of the worst confinement of disbelief. Adelimpia, held the cord of the axis of the weary planet, Anne restored the acute crucifix meridians that moved her heart from the sinister side encompassed ..., like a cursed globe moving to another nebula, towards one of its 9600 years in expansion, after oscillating in one of its solar rays, which gathered on the back of the mule Jacinta, multiplying on her bank of meek ideas, to reside above all the assemblages in millions of benefits, since the world is an improper world”

The world has no end; God is a beautiful mute world, where we make mistakes every day believing that we are axiomatic. Rather, we are the junk of an almost noise that tried to leave us as a legacy of the first noise of a creation that felt itself wandering, perhaps without its breathing, in its lipped wise orifice of the most repressible protoforms that continue to devoutly prepare bilious liquids to lead us.   For each dinner, without having stars enjoying themselves in their multi-polygonal sandwiches. Memory is a raging waste, every time we try to get to lick her honey like herself; we are exhausted from a starving minute of non-coexisting life. Hugh and Aunt Thunder, held the mats, so that their own belongings would not be blown up, they, especially Hugh; He sliced a bottle of live jet Tinto in his hands to quell his revolted thirst. Perhaps they wanted to give back to the world a blood source, once and for all to give drink to those who deserve to be it as innocent angels, walking with their calloused plants on vehement fire, to just get to the tithe and not be upset with so much terror. Along the esoteric shore of the river of leaves of Talamí, this is where they will run through pasty meadows and trembling horses, through the easy or the difficult bond imprisoned and paired with the misty physiognomy in mere restlessness. “Alpha day, alpha night, Omega day Omega Night...”
Horcondising  Castle Reign - Sudpichi
sandra wyllie Aug 29
and I earth. He blinded
me with the sun and took from me
my berth. He hiccupped clouds
the size of trains, and poured on

fields of honey plains. He blew
his hot breath like a whistle making
the tall grass scrape my knees like
a bristle. He threw thunderbolts

sharp as pins encircling me
like shark fins. In the cold inky
blackness I skated on his frozen
madness. He dribbled hail of

basketballs breaking the door
of my sugar walls. And cut the moon
like cheese into wedges, driving
his hammer through my hedges.

— The End —