INDEX


                            Foreword

1  Despertación of Etréstles 13

2  Constitución New Government . 22

3  diabolic Intromisión 25

4  Kanti, the Corcel . 28

5  Ante the Council 30

6 Inauguración the Monument to Botsaris . 36

7  Losas abandoned 41

8  Satagénesis and Deidagénesis Four. Five

9   Enviados to Deidagénesis / Lepanto 52

10 Drestnia in Kalidona 56

11 Etréstles returns Lepanto 64

12 And the fourth cemetery 71

13 Top of the flight of Lucifer 79

14 In the crypt of the patriarchs 87

15 Etréstles part Valplacci 98

16 Etréstles fleet in the Ionian Sea 114

17 Near Messolonghi 120

18 A new era begins 123

19 Universal Era breaks 129

20 Goodbye Messolonghi 135

21 At the beginning of a new millennium. 141

Epilogue. 153








FOREWORD






Mi theme concept concerning Cemeteries, has been maintained for many years under a remarkable process falls recoup credibility. Unknown worlds which we do not know what to believe, are usually put into question.

Constantly let the silent fields where lie the dead, but it is not, rather that me thinks so. Undoubtedly, the Quantum Theory indicates a basic unit of the whole universe, showing that it is possible to decompose the world into small units of independent existence. This theory shows that the dynamics in the art is such that, solid objects are in constant motion entramando relations between different parts of a unified whole.

As we believe that matter is inherently sterile, we think the cemetery is in the same condition, and therefore inert bodies are also only turned into a pile of bones scattered.





7

8 Etréstles


My conception of the world of subterranean acting, aims to support the theory of Quantum, because at first glance it seems that under these moles cement there putrefaction and eternal solitude. Well, I, I do not think so, I think there is tremendous activity, above all tends to seek fulfillment in a world that concerns him, and also has the infinite grace of thanks from all lurking diseases that shake us. That is, each inhabitant of the subterranean acting as a Franciscan Noble receives worship existence, and not faints by the destructive effects of all known diseases.

Near the garden of heroes, they are the remains of those who died in this output. It was a legendary struggle for libertarian revolution of 1821 in Greece, exactly Messolonghi. Markos Botsaris's tomb and the statue of Lord Byron great Hellenophile found in this garden.

Once, I was looking for a book, and this was inevadiblemente of oriental trend. I used to remind my teacher, the monk talking Virajánanda Given the processes of time, yesterday, today and tomorrow; all at once were a pure unity. That physical death had to be spiritual satisfaction, so that the spirit can not disconnect your disposable body. Child saw my family to go to leave flowers garden home to their loved ones. But I am noticing that my grandparents were still alive, and then would leave, looking for ways to inhale the smell of the earth to prepare the farewell that someday would come from the dark beyond. It never was painful to see them

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 9


from, because I've always been with them. In addition always our body, which would be living in a merger with vague spirits, to vague minds that do not hold their interest in spirituality as a way of life, tend to make us climb through dark passages of ignorance.

Etréstles, the protagonist; It has place at a lineage that marks limits warriors of ancient Greece, since fought with neighboring nations. Thus, generation after generation, he meddles in successive reincarnations that are to be transported in time by different spaces.

Its Vitabión and Regma Mother, father and as Staktos and Esaedt, both from different eras. His monogamous romantic company is coyuntada with the presence of Drestnia; woman who had to pull out of her womb, better said from his rib, emulating the biblical account.

While it is noteworthy that the secondary characters are related to Greek mythology such as Eurydice, and real characters like Markos Botsaris, who was a great hero who drove the Turks. The famous Florentine sculptor and architect Lorenzo Ghiberti, is present in the action, so that his image is immortalized in an eternal cemetery. Similarly we should mention Asurbanipal king of Assyria (667-626 C), the Auriga; the coachman and truck driver where he had his Herreros over time to release the Hellenic descent.

Other memorable as Aristotle, Hesiod, Praxiteles, which are knowledge to every reader of Greek literature. The judge presiding over the classroom

10 E tr é stles


sesionaba time to time, trying to revive the rituals and reject the stubborn efforts of Lucifer, who was trying to have a place on earth, then God expelled him from heaven.

In the chapter of the onslaught of Lucifer, he is accompanied by his minions Heosphoros and Phosphoros; they are the ones who brought Lucifer from heaven to Messolonghi. In addition Mesopotamian demons appear hostile world, these were the Annunaki who were the jailers of the dead in hell. The Etimmu, were the ghosts of all those who had died unhappy. The Utukku lived in desolate places or cemeteries; they are all part of malignancy presence as oppressive form and manner of presence to the exuberance of good all-encompassing.

Kanti Botsaris steed, is nothing more than his superconsciousness, wearing it as a link between the different physical and oneiric dimensions. It should be noted that Kanti is a Cretan horse and belongs to the fallen in battle, as Botsaris.

Eulalia and Zultina, both courtesans who spent their lives together with Ghiberti and Botsaris.

And it could not ignore the Menopausal, puerperal and Enamorada, as they like female members suffer alone beyond the earthly life that had consequences that affect the desolate silence of death camps.

And to finish, arrival at Valplacci, where it meets a world and a rare man in an unknown dimension by Etréstles. subsequently arriving at Patmos, where St.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi eleven


John the Theologian, to regain some of its lost soul by the intrusion of Lucifer. Here manages to discover that there is no need to fight warriors who always talk about physical war, because many of them tend to succumb to the same battlefields. discovering, mind mentor as the best ally to overcome any difficulty, wherever it is that the human race is found, or infra-human.

Finally, Etréstles is discovered in a way that would open a new numeral cycle, to start a new era and a new physical space where the projection Messolonghi be situated; nothing less than Nineveh, Ashurbanipal land where the winds blow, as a priest in his exsufflation it does to remove the demons that inhabit the world.

The "Zero" is the initiator of a new era, from whose base the only means available to the new life that awaits the residents of escombroso Messolonghi, after the invasion of Lucifer appears.

My concept of the cemeteries, while seeking an answer to approximate I think now that enormous efforts are made to understand fully. Cemetery remains for me a scenario of hideousness and terror, seen from the observation point that everyone has it, however, I think that in a strange world where you're not supposed to govern ethics, aesthetics, law , and the professional, economic and social status; It is where more wealth is the multiestimulante vitality, "I think

12 E tr é stles


nowhere inhabited earthly souls, will be able to find more life here in the

Messolonghi cemetery ".


José Luis Carreño Troncoso San Antonio, 1997




1





Wake-up of Etréstles



Dfter sleeping a thousand years fell on my face greater light current Solar. I slept without smiling at the crowds inhumaron smearing me my only bones.

The search of that hubbub, made me celebrate the porous bodies and pelusientos arañosos falling on my fingers, delighting my humble tributes to the beetles that accompanied me to direct my view to the nearby burial vaults me. Some were swollen with a semblance augury despertativa; like starting today, with the ominous words They moved from today, the paddling of my fleshless jaws.

Among gravestones of Floreas esmeraldinas dinosauric, in a clear blue autumn, some birds refregaban on edges of the carved stones. Meanwhile, mustards was riding on dry leaves leaves clavelinas. The white-clad looked up Drestnia slab that closed their senses, remained behind bars with his hands crossed as evolving body


13

14 E tr é stles


to attend a new era of geography and different technology. On his chest he would run the living vertiginante wind up the corporeal hint in the light of Koumeterium Messolonghi; that housed over a thousand years ago, at Etréstles of Kalavrita.

This huge palace and flat, it is nothing more than an asylum, where the worst plague that began with the death of the sentinels of Lucifer, who dropped this place with its beautiful golden layers originated; whose satagénesis emerge the burning soil to ten fossilized cemeteries under the Messolonghi.

He walked slowly dragging my old body, the tenth floor, and that teenage girls pointed stones would break my nails; as such if they were claws of a mammal trapped by lava from a volcano. In each advance I awaken in my armor patriotic my last fight, and his enternecedor observe how parents tilled by the conglomerate caste, fighting in underground elements.

Etréstles awakening ...:

Etréstles ...: Which of all columns erected is able to open all columns built in the pavilion of these moles without form or color ... just vitalizing lung diaphragm Eólico my daydreams, is who I think would ...?

To all who are runaways and trapped underground Messolonghi, I bring you good tidings ... Auriga with its Herreros come from the region of the Dodecanese to loosen the bars you father

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi fifteen


Staktos lucid and my mother Vitabión well that in a thousand years, has been damaged her beautiful body. Since my birth in Ayia Lavra, I was being buried for the ninth time in the Ninth Fossilized Cemetery. Whose archpriest with holy oil trickled down my wall, pretending to be a dance of water generated at the bottom of the Ionian. Between the arches of the temple columns running down my mother Vitabión; outward sacravertebral bathe in the water of my past christenings. My past lives were providing mandated by the Auriga their previous lives. And your mother ... A day tried the weight of my recycle ... ?!

Beyond you., Comrades of wars, pilgrimages sacrosanct, lush gauzy baths civilization in the Olympic and equestrian fields.

To you. That you lie here, as is my death in my last life in the hands of a Spartan soldier. Pcs., Blood of my blood, I feel inside me speak your need ...

And in the postrería Drestnia, which by its sixth rising from here from Messolonghi, between bars sealed thy grave situation for the Hellenic indeterminar.

I had to drink from the Pinosa resin to speak here, with my bony hands to touch the others are like yours ...

... Drestnia, my rib still preserved, I will be reborn placating the domain of collective wishful thinking, which prevents your freedom.

My rib you return to your present life, whose cold, flower seeds esqueletizaron the perimeter of your life ...

16 E tr é stles


Etréstles was with them into the Koumeterium Messolonghi, to about 1800 meters zenith direction.

They were to be the Necromesolongui Council to define the minutes. -while music with winds adorned arrival-. Just at the moment, came the Auriga with its blacksmiths, they came to liberate Drestnia with its multiconciencia. What happiness to Etréstles! He ran through the underground halls, to the oldest Koumeterium, the first fossilized. Where thousands of years ago, with many now extinct species, Etréstles came to them resoundingly good news.

While the Council inveighed promulgating the divine sarmiento spray fields Dodecanese in producing seeds of Markos Botsaris.

Judge…: With my lameness, I have to advocate the reintegration of outstanding Markos Botsaris, that once we free them of the Turkish occupation!

Asurbanipal ...My Sirio reign, full of dynamism, placed on their doorposts the powerful image of South-west wind, in honor of his victorious from Kalidona.

Etréstles brought Drestnia just walking the Council and thousands of harmoniums undermined doubts Manor invoking the hero. They all stand, the Council at its octagonal table with his assistants left empty vine glasses to welcome, to the last surviving female first Koumeterium Messolonghi.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 17


Harmoniums, as Apollonian rubies widen the dimensions of the cavernales vaults. She sit and ends the music. Drestnia with some leaves on his shoulders, adorned the new escenáculo, which would sit by the new future.

Asurbanipal ...: To you gifts Oh, the universe, you are welcome to this Council, where one day they brought me to praise my contributions from the entrance of Humanity!

But the issue for today, will await the arrival of Markos Botsaris as you who have reached this border, thanks to the generous Auriga.

Charioteer…: ***** wax Orion; Eternal fuel, donated them strength to my steeds pairs, that were raised over distant lands, to reach my Herreros desoldering the bars of Drestnia.

Blacksmith…: Our eyes closed every hundred kilometers, but Eurydice with your calendar, made the aphelion arrimara us this feat.

Ecos ...: Dust ..., Mito ... Dream ... illusion ... have swirled galloping millennia, wearing gray Borrasca ...!

What dark words illuminate the hopes, just below, it is well known that there is much to do, because there is more activity on the surface ...!

Judge…: Etréstles, Drestnia ... past, present, or future will speak of you.

18 E tr é stles


You Drestnia ... !, how long dream ..., defied your gothic vision, not move my neck to your neighbors, loved ensepulcrados in the first Fossilized Koumeterium.

Vitabión ...: Messolonghi lives up to all cemeteries in the world, where they loved their near them. But they do not know life here is more dynamic than in the world of their own.

Menopausal women ...My husband cry on my slab, because his infidelity caused me a bad venereum, which today has removed me from his life. The cries and cries for me ****** decline, all for being with another woman condemned me.

one curtain rises and leaves Funebrio; concelebrating priest all recent deaths ...

Funebrio ...: Woman when you cry my black clothes, cry black tears ...!

Your husband remains static, no movement, despite many kilometers to their own devices. Forbidden habit becomes, how tempting. But contestataria Mother Nature pours us their punishment.

Staktos ...: Friends kisses you give yourself, Where have posted ideations ...?

O dais to scatter everywhere the osculaciones they meet other mouths.

Ko umeterium MESSO LO Nghi 19


Etréstles ...: Everyone I ask do well to prepare your labors. Even so, his desire to hold my naughty pleas heart in this hour by the arrival of Drestnia.

The judge asks adjourn for the recess could then discuss strategies for future deaths.

Sepulcrero ...Lord Judge at the stepped eastern sector have buried an architect. We could ask your cooperation to Botsaris monument.

Judge…: All in good time. It will be done, does anyone want something narrow ...? -Drestnia raised his hand and asked ...:

Drestnia ...: With Etréstles in the last minutes of our lives, which extortioner once it is finished this monument, where our souls will be destined to remain here temporarily ... Messolonghi?

Judge…: General demented wars, take Etréstles the field of Lepanto, because there are stubborn souls who defy the vanquished souls ...

… and as for you, the benevolent Auriga take your soul colors of the sunset, to divide megatons of the Romantics, who along with Ghiberti, on some trunks of beautiful minerals, will anchor his best poems and hiperestésicas forward to outshine their suicides groups.

After the meeting, the attendees are removed, and Drestnia with Etréstles go to spring the celestial napa

twenty E tr é stles


with its golden glow waiting to sail to Tangier and Morocco. In their ships were concurrent, Etréstles woman carrying her ribcage navigation oriented towards the sound of the oars that were the femurs of a Diplodocus itself.

Drestni

Life for me has been no crystal stair.
No steps of marble, granite or gold lay apt for my ascension.
No—I have climbed through thickets and thorns.
I have persevered—I have triumphed.
Yet it seems, despite these hardships,
life has always afforded me second chances.
The delicacy of my actions,
the sensitivity of negative repercussions
scarcely affected my younger self.

Opportunities always seemed to present themselves.
Though money and its evils have graced my experience,
my soul remains relatively innocent and refined.

Though I have, on past occasions,
become enveloped in the physical substance,
I quickly learned the long term suffering that these ideations efface
far out-shadows the temporary pleasure of the immediate.
I have overcome afflictions both physical and mental,
and lingered in the pleasure of remission.
Quickly to be reminded how easily diseases can emerge
when disregarded.

I’ve learned that of all things in life—
love, above all, deserves attention and sentiment.
Love, with all its purities and imperfections,
more often fruitlessly sought after than easily attained.
Love, above all other things, cannot be imitated, falsified or forged.
And though I spent some years deprived of this blessing,
I am none the more depraved for it.

I am lucky to say that I have loved.
My heart, delicately and handsomely entwined with another.
And that I am loved in return is a blessing beyond bounds.
Adoration and all its accompaniments are the greatest treasure in a lifetime.
For, what are treasures worth without anyone to share them with?
Any other accomplishments and joys are devalued without companionship.
And indeed, a faithful companion is most appreciated in times of hardship—
the throes, truncheon and tribulation of the everyday
faced alone can prove debilitating.

A great man once said “Life is a bowl of cherries.”
It took many years for me to understand the full meaning of this declaration.
But now I understand—
that each of us reachs into life,
like we reach into a bowl of cherries.
We know not whether what we receive
will be pitted and bitter
or sweet and juicy.
We will not know;
we cannot know,
not until we take a bite.
And if there is anything I have learned
it is to live and let live.
It is to reach into life, unbridled yet controlled,
with morals and constraint
and yet bereft of the fear of outcome:
the guilt of the past,
the impeccable omnipotent pressure of the present,
the trepidation of the future,
and the transience between the three.
The acceptance of this passage through time:
aging,
learning,
making mistakes,
making new mistakes,
loving:
this is how to live.
For, if we fear time,
which we cannot control,
we will always be afraid.
To live a life afraid is to embrace hardship.
Any semblance of hope or happiness
is abandoned with the acceptance and embrace of fear,
for fear, without use or cause
is the impetus of great misjudgment and injury.
We must, to avoid this,
relish in moments of happiness
and string them together
with the constant felicity and solace of companionship.

My mouth makes its daily pilgrimage
A sacramental routine to the Divine
She resonates in eyes and mind
But that's a tale for another day


On a pedantic quest
He is meticulous, a perfectionist
In nothing
But this...

Stop now:: hold me at the hips
she is my anticipation in alabaster
so Sadistic, brooding, now my near biting mouth moves...
“please?”
projecting points, two sinful
hipbone temptations
as he traces
soft skin with *******
in the serpentine tradition
Of fallen
Eden Grace
he knows she feels the same

Her chest pounding, sweat shakes
a daytime ****** for that salination:::
coyly she recoils
her toy taught and long since conditioned for the taste

it all seems so familiar
A mind's race to the vault of all his ***** thoughts of her
”Now to play in real time what was run through
in those shower wet ideations”

cdh

A key feature of invigoration is the enterprise of mapping the entire syntax of all relevant human language as measured by the gamut of applesauce that doesn’t sour and an in depth analysis of creative fiction and poetry for common cadence features in the linguistic enterprise of mapping the subroutines of complex articulation as etched by the fabric of genius intellects intertwined in a gamble with wits to try and create coded missives that entangle hypertrophy and enlarge the gamut of decryption in the universal rudiments of alchemy. This is based on depreciative and appreciative aspects of apperception that depend on visual cues and funding from a collaborative venture of universities to challenge people to zero-sum games or net positive games where teams collaborate to usher unconventional unchartered territory of classification beyond normal proclivities based on the lineaments of idiosyncrasy to pinpoint the provenance of ideation itself and unveil the mind at a bargain pittance for the eventual headway this could pave for the Department of Education to revert from froward to forward in their recalcitrance and insouciance with the current linguistic modalities of outstretched engraven hortoriginality trailblazing new modular seismotic waves and hotbeds for firebrands to debate and scholars to joust with in the jest of the cineaste metaphor and the rubricated rundles of rectiserial innovations in the taxonomy of devolved meaning relying on an inventive enterprise to galvanize a new jargon into prominence based primarily on guarded secrets of the trade that might unlock the primordial soup of verbal creativity while also probing detective apperception for a wide-ranging panoply of digested movies and beyond that a farsighted incumbent inclination to probe the calibration of numerical happenstance in estimate and in long-term theorization of taxed realty in the estate of guarded tegular relationships among the woven fabric of conceptual latticeworks pioneering in scope and analyzed rigorously in reward of discretion and furtive cryptology to untether the world from the apothegms of sloganeered piggybacks that swivel in sockets but enforce a reductive paradigm of obganiation of core themes reiterated hypnotically to traindeque entire generations into piebald thinking that overlooks the panorama for incident and incident for categorical generality when no such axiom can be the logical predicate of its antecedent conditions that spurn the traditional rote moot wernaggles of futility and inseminate crafty legerdemain of writhing contortion altering the specificity of revalorized meaning in the novel context. This instantiates that the consequence is always the consequence not only of its predicate but its successor by the very modalities of proven reversals and enantiodromias of sorts that revert in a reverse progression spatiotemporally to exact incident as antecedent of its own existence by the very fact of iteration and this map of the recursive cycles of consequences elapsed only because of their insertion in a predevoted matrix is the gnomic apothegm of a new frontier of advanced logic that assumes the impossible is only improbable if the possible can be proven impossible by reductive inversion of core precepts in the rigmarole of design that states for every orchestra of butterflies that echo is actually the incident of refraction that contaminated the first polyacoustic trace of amplified sources in space time to revert into primordial form but the reversion is only incurred upon the fixture of origination and beyond that point remains inscrutable because foreknowledge necessarily prevents accuracy in determining the spectrum of the cacophony or rhapsody of the echo dependent on the observer’s perspective: which is only fungible to the extent that the subliminal remains guarded by the protectors of the clepsammia and the recensed polarization of time. This transcendence of time transfixed on orbital gravitas and centripetal ****** initiates a promulgation of the swallock of a remanded entropy that works in swiveled contraposition to the dynamic flux of the internment of balkanized forces of demassification dampening the efficacy of the central butterfly actor to expand the ampitheater of its own audience to the extent that every cultural artifact can be mapped to the geotaxis of its conceptual orbit. Thereby we can prove that pivots of the obvious focal point peak in resurgence upon the heyday of retrieval but dampen into a logarithmic regression of decreasing amplitude fluctuating around the aleatory probability of insemination through the percolation of the widespread narrowed to a fulcrum that balances the orbit of the stellified narrative of ingemination that some artifacts like Stayin’ Alive achieve maximum geotaxis because of their centrality in the taxidermies of revived memory recapitulated by both virtuosity and valor and posing as consequences of future foresight clouded by preventive measures that one quaky spasm in alarm could paralyze the precedent to the incidence of the afflatus that galvanized the heyday of remonstrance so that we can affix a modular angular gravity to events as well as referents to those events in a spatiotemporal mapping of consequence reverted upon itself because of necessity that binds the taxemes of the subliminal in the architecture of a curvature of geotaxis that is centrobaric not necessarily to the contingencies that magnify the germane propositions that affix modern eyes but rather the overall stifling modularity of temporal sequence redoubled by manufacture and manufacture alone predevotes antecedents that trace to a pivot in space time curved without prescience beyond measure but precision enough to approximate the summation of collective cultural shifts away from the estrangement of diversion from itself as a balkanizing force into a collectivized unity that orbits eccentrically by the very nature of the parallax between gravitational pull and the dynamics of time itself centripetal but centrifugal simultaneously.  Both conditions must be met so the converse of meaning becomes the recapitulation of remontant blessings rather than pruned dry garbologies relevant only to margins of subculture minimized in heyday and scope but pinpointed with exact precision the dynamos that inhabit the sphere of the populated future defenestrated from the magnetism of the past by very definition. Thereby, we arrive at Back to the Future because the paradox of recensed calibration suggests the free fluctuation of time between the eccentricity of magnified lens distorted by the entropy of calculus to become the integral summation of the sinuous vacuum of a trigonometric balance that barks with amplification of synergistic elements of strings and quantum flux to emigrate from an origination to the mapping of the eventuality. This precisely explains the scene in Back to the Future with the amplifiers turned all the way up because by exaggerating the simplicity of the declassified it expedited cinema to its eventual intermediary conclusions heralded by that one event of transfixed mystery that binds spacetime into a coherent bidirection of multidimensional philosophy of the enantiodromias of sorts of the parallax among constellated events. Mapping the impact of funneled cartels that hegemonize regions of the geopolitical sphere explains the amplivagant effects of the refracturism of swallock and thereby seminal ideations can be traced to provenance of cowardice cloaked in excuse but incisive in the skullduggery of the mechanical reinvention of excuse and pretext as a cloak for more furtive workings of the intelligentsia to engineer time by deriving the precise tangential multidimensional syntax of the calculus of proliferation reviewed from a consequent perspective of a future unknowable gravitas fluctuating between states of annihilation and existence in the acatelpsy of design so that specters actually enforce more change than events and prospects magnify positive dimensional thrusts that galvanize prospectus emigrating from either distant knowns or parallel realities that converge on the optimum of either the hapless or calculated design of a synergistic development of social engineering so precisely mapped that it identifies trajectories of improbable events with increasing specificity at the alarm of the spectral realm promulgating wealth to the foreseeable compunction of science to revert to probable pivots of consensus manufactured by think tanks that outfox the syntalities that defy the system or piggyback on their very causes to empirically carve the spectrum of future possibility becoming entelechy desired or feared but always predestined or flanged into distortions of reification that are transformative of precision in design without exactitude in the terminus of the centrobaric chambers of all meaning. Thus the algorithm outsmarts itself until only the machination to dehumanize for prediction occurs at a pessimum of morality or an explosion of a proliferative new venture in unchartered territory conquers the novantique of novelty. The ampitheater of its own audience is the traction of embedded subculture in subroutine becoming a compound atocia that sterilizes opponent possibility and probabilizes the occurrence of endomorphs that resemble effigies of constellation primed to swivel in retrospection as a recurrent lapse of amplification upon the culmination of predestined time points or junctures specified within the realm of the matrix of possibilities to outstretch the realm into a dampened exponential explosion of self-reference becoming embedded consequence by conditioning and by anticipatory psychology working in preconcert to evoke the determinative impetus of momentum that magnifies the speed of acceleration in technology that depends on the propriety of reification itself that swarms us with evocative tempests that barnstorm in reiteration to recapitulate by design to engrave themselves on the collective psyches of the hortoriginality of many minds intrepid before me that transfigured reality in this precise contortion of terminology with variegations in the specificity of context and articulation of the clavigerous entropy of swallock and how the outfoxed design becomes that cage of destiny that is a baritone complexion of vibrant hues exploding into the trammeled paths that have elapsed before me by the first movers advantage of theoretical physics but nonetheless independently verified by dovetailed emergence of that centralized balance between design and destiny that is precedent to the antecedent of the consequence of the precedent’s consequence on the direct antecedent inflexion point upon which the provenance of momentum drifted into cultural psyche and enlarged the gamut of myth in the raillery of subaudition. Essentially Time only exists to those without the simultagnosia to appease a mirror parallax of universes upcoming and universes forestalled but pivot with omphalism on the gravitas of Einsteinian calculus that theorizes that the acatelpsy of enumerated prediction is a lapsed regress the pinpoints with the harpricks of specialization the regal momentum of time to its own behest to propagate the elucidated certainty of its own traversal to the expedited enumeration of the future which populates the past because the curvature of time is an entantiodromia of reflexive itinerant vagrancies that cement the authorship of events to warble through the tilted hypertrophy of design itself to maximize the freebooter avarice of those people that rely on the luxuriance of trespass to magnify the modular gravity of culture to forswink its compunction and regale its own recursive logic. Essentially Time is a mapped ampitheater that depends on an audience of sentience to enlarge its own gamut and because it is riddled with obscurantism of believable recursion it magnifies its own entropy in reversal to orchestrate events in a rectiserial convolution of the whipsaw between the expected and the foreknowledge of the knowing class because when shaky vacillatory politics prevail the behest of time looses its capitalization of the amplivagant affects of the marginalia that is wed to the devolved rudimentary rigmarole of proliferation scaffolds destiny in alternative configurations to fulminate with explosive progeny that latitude incumbent to those without perspicuous clarity to fathom the acatalepsy of the unfurled universe magnetized by the seminal tremendum of the moments memorialized by memory that provide the traction of time to supersede its own acceleration by the writ of the beneficence of the eccentric orbit of the brittle axioms of design to recense and revalorize the wilted transponders that refer to specific events where the space-time continuum was cleaved in divisive anticipation to balkanize the resistence to the fringe clavigerous amplification of the resonance of etiolation that marginalizes the dearth and amplifies the prospectus to make time supersolid beyond all reckoning to cement its captaincy as the algorithm of rhythmic gravitas orbiting the moribund fragmentary flictions of regimented truth to be at war with its own foresight. This is because foresight is a compulsion of time to recapitulate the foreknown deeds of the future to the regenerative hypothesis that hypostatizes that the transcendence of time is mirrored illusion because the future populates a region of space-time that is not forlorn but magnified in scope to reverse the trends of abomination and cast the aspersions of grandeur into eccentric orbit that by geotaxis foments the revolutionary impetus not of cancellation or nullification of the bereaved past but a culmination of deeds known only to the future that galvanize the very fruition of the dependent expectancy to become antecedent to the consequent by a warped form of recensed logic because the orbital sphere of considerations is tangential to the evocative memory of the memorialized statutes that prize their own entelechy above their divergence from design in such a peculiar way that obscurantism of the leaders of the world is manned by an alien presence to mendlatch the locked keys of a virtuouso future compounded in interest and destined for unfurled clarification. Time is an ironic boyg and quandary because for time to give birth to its own recapitulation it must be stammered with seismotic statutes that rip through the fabricated rudiments of predestination to enthrall the apostasy of the knowing from leverage over a future they vaguely see but provides largesse to the regimentation of design to rickety consternation that prediction is evocative of expectancy less than expectancy is its own geotaxis around the gamut of foreseen affairs that must be iterated rather than violated in order to maintain the mainlined integrity of the brittle fungible force of quantum dynamics to bypass the rigmarole of etched design to be evocative of a reverse transpondency that reconfigures the past into perfectible strings of amplification to anoint time its own behest at the formidable specters of its own violation by those who seek trepass but are predevoted out of ephorized control by the vicissitudes of the gamble and the frapplank of the known destiny catalyzing the unknown progeny. By that very definition this could not be obrogated in tenure or tutelage over the past because the elapsed gravitas of the known past depends on the pivot of the ampitheater of the future to ambitious reckoning that provides absolution to its forlorn vestiges to cement the centrifugal impetus of many from exact foreknowledge.  Many pioneers have probably theorized similar hypostasized concepts but the fact that even without a degree in physics I understand these arcane precepts yet tested by the rigmarole of comprehensive known experiment is a testament to the power of hortoriginality to pave the trailblazer focus on the rivets of a rickety secrecy designated by definiens of abstruse taxemes of yet defined meaning. The primary quandary is the isolated pretext of predevoted sequencing that abandons me (and this is central to my theory) from the weather of meaningful social encounter in order to hone in with precision on the empirical enterprise of seminal regress cemented as ceremonial progress and only by vaulting above this cage of finicky predestination can entelechy that desires rapprochement can be achieved because eventually the relevance of my ideas can be shelved and the peremptory obligation of intervention must be deployed to salvage my parable into completion. The itch for the government to anticipate the universe’s localized traction delimits the sphere of social indoctrination to a reality amenable not to the coercion of precise anticipation but the gamble on vagary to produce more seminal events that compound the amplivagant effects of ecumenical exhaustive troponders to the extent they flourish beyond the bounds of completion and into optimal conditions that is whipsawed by the demands of the rigmarole of precise definition of all trajectories conclave in their logarithmic design  anticipated by designation but not predevoted into futility because that capstone would reduce the proliferative affect of space time to carve a more extravagant reality that tests limits beyond frontiers of expectancy. The brain is highly malleable and entity theorists are moribund in their defenses of trite hackneyed racial arguments about intellect. The mythos preserves that radical ethos that prediction of my insights supersedes the importance of my rapprochement which will amplify the effects of the spatiotemporal mapping in a much more profound way with specialized focus. Thereby when we conceive of time we must specialize in inhabiting the sphere of acatalepsy of flanged prediction preventing the abortion of the future based on the vagrancies of the gyrovagues and bibliopolists seeking to demolish the fruition of the ribald coarse albatrosses of the future to diminutive leverage rather than amplifying the stringed syndication of knowledge to eccentrically stellify the unknown regions of the populated presence contingent on the populated future which ensures the eternal life of all by some formant boundaries of the universe because what is recapitulated in the lapse of certainty known by the anticipatory vagary of a riddled rigmarole of complex dynamism this thermodynamically reversible into the reversal of entropy because the organization of the past hinges upon the reconfiguration of the future and thereby we swivel endlessly with recursive iterations of evanescence that spoon-feed the generations among us to truckle beneath the cartels that array spatiotemporal mappings into their personal optimum to catapult the granular edification of all deeds beyond their forsifamiliation from their provenance gamboling with the distant frescade of a known destiny cavorting with the meddlesome reconnaissance of all that is observed and the tribunes magnify this effect by centralizing the bronteums of fulgurant strikes to be localized to a centralized pivot of universal acclaim that provides felicity for the ecumenical endeavor

Monday:

The text said "who wants to get ******* this weekend?"
Life *****, as it always does,
but really its only Monday!

Tuesday:

I get assigned designated driver, but its not like we are

A. going anywhere
              or
B. I have any other choice

You know its dangerous to mix anti-depressants with alcohol?
And isn't the point of these pills, not to depress myself further, as alcohol has always seemed to do for everyone else?
Isn't that why they like it?
Because they feel numb?
I don't understand why anyone would want to be numb.
Maybe it feels good if its only for a little while.
Not for me though.
For me the numbness doesn't come in a bottle.
It comes in reflective surfaces, and anxieties, and sharp objects.
I cannot choose when to turn it on or off.
It just comes and goes as it wishes, as if I were a house and numbness called me home.

Wednesday:

The group message alerts are buzzing like their is no tomorrow.
Plans for where to go keep falling through.
But don't worry, the dead alcoholic's ex-wife and daughter are okay with hosting an underage drinking party.
And this is why I wonder about humanity.

Thursday:

We will all gather at that one girls house.
Everyone will bring alcohol.
I will bring donuts, Gatorade, and Cards Against Humanity.
I tell the girls that the snacks are for them, so they don't get too drunk or hungover.
But really I know myself too well, and I binge when I feel lonely.
Its hard not to feel lonely, when you're the only sober one there.

Friday:

They talk about this past year.
It was their freshman year of college.
I remember mine. Two years ago now. Time sure does fly.
We all talk about sophomore year.
I'll be back their again too... I hope.
You see, suicidal ideations don't usually help when trying to complete classes.  

Saturday:

Never Have I Ever  reveals more than I ever thought it would.
I might be the oldest, but I am by no means the most mature.
Things I have never heard of, things I could have never thought of are things of which they speak.
Two donuts are gone.

Their alarms all go off at 10:00 for birth control. They take out their mini purse packs of 30 pills, no bigger than a credit card.

I don't take birth control, because my periods are regular, and well:

Depression+antidepressants+confusion of sexuality= no *** drive at all.
I mean zip, zero, nothing.

Leaving me to be the only ****** of the six girls here.
Three donuts are gone.

Hours ago though, I took my 300mg of Seroquel XR.
I timed it just right.
This time I won't fall asleep hours before everyone else

'Pong' requires drinking so I sit their and watch.
Four donuts are gone

Shots are taken.
I pour more tea into my mug.
Five Donuts are Gone

Drunk face-timing old friends who have moved away results in much yelling, and her hanging up.
I start a new group text where I talk only to myself.
All Donuts are gone

*There is no wonder why alcohol and depression don't mix

Ideations
Confound
The sadness surrounds
But I'm weak
And the constitution
Lies deep
Untouched
A part of me weeps
Brother I can't do it
Almost

When I look in the mirror I see
roses. Stark and stubborn.
Bursting from the cracks
in skin too plain
to do them justice.

When I look in the mirror I see
thorns. Threatening to break through the façade
so carefully contorted to fit
that cookie-cutter idealization
of a pre-packaged identity.

When I look in the mirror I see
monochrome; like the eyes of the beholder
who twisted my covert dissatisfaction into something--
maybe not beautiful, but at least
accepted, yes; eyes that couldn't behold
when I had my own ideations; couldn't accept
that underneath that soft, dull skin,
there were thorns.

There are thorns
and there are roses, too, when I look in the mirror--
they are engulfing my reflection;
transforming my figure into one that is unrecognizable
to those discerning eyes--

but not to mine,
these fiery red eyes of the beholder
which finally recognize beauty
worthy of love.

When every bone in your body aches to be relieved through death, When it hurts to breathe, when the thoughts and ideations of self harm cut you deeper than any blade could and the thought of suicide is one of hope not fear, when the burdens you bear are so heavy you feel them weigh every inch of you down, when you wake up with regret that you made it through another night, when you feel like you're drowning in the millions of tears that have parted from your eyes, and yet you march on anyway, you throw away the pills, you put down the blade, you pick up that fork of food and you eat, you don't turn to a bottle or drugs, you dig deep within yourself for the fight you swore you had run out of months ago and you carry on with life, that is the rawest and most admirable strength there is.

Maiden and Observer

As speculated,
The observer and the scientist
See an enigmatic entrance.

The arrival of the specimen:
He shows haste,
His wrist flickers:
Punctuality.
He mouthes questions of career:
Orderliness.
His vocal appetite silent:
Surrender.
He declares instruction:
Superiority.
He brightens athleticism.
Focus.

The smile appears through
in the unknownest places,
Within restaurant doors,
Through the soundwaves.
Through ideations:
Competitive movement.

Inertia and stagnation is of disinterest.
Wordly reflection produces empty reciprocration.
Can it be a metaphor for the observer,
Can the specimen by the symbol?
Both reflected from one another.

There is the one,
and then, the other.
The challenge is:
Exhibiting both states
Simultaenously.
This is the task of the maiden.
The balancer of scales.

The scientist seeks to understand,
There is evidence of somes sort
A hidden bliss a smile inside,
a moment of analysis.
Notions brought on by previous experiments.
Past failures predict present outcome,
Recent knowledge or estimation?
Emotion links to reason,
Reason negotiates but stands firm,
The scientist is fatigued, his hand lowers.
Body language is lazily interpreted by curious Observer,
Studying this new behaviour.

The professor places his spectacles on,
He sees no other path to take,
He concludes and hypothesises,
This specimen can be learnt from
No more.

Specimen's silence allows flowing thoughts to pervade the mind of the observer and the scientist.
Silence given to the cynicism of life,
the broadened mind
perceived as narrow.
The observer is observed.
Now conciousness changes in the realm of the user experiencing himself.
Self perception, self defense,
Guard is raised,
Gates are closed.
Only water flows through,
Other matter obstructed.

Maiden, Observer, Scientist, Specimen.

I must be sick...
There’s hope
I have plans
Things are working out
I met someone

Yet

Depression fills me like a heavy fog
Passive suicidal ideations linger
I can’t eat
I’m drawn to cut

I just... I just don’t understand

There's no room for happiness
in this crowded mind of mine
where decentralized ideations
push and shove to be at the forefront
squashing any small hope for anything else
to move or scream its way in.

Annoying streetlights outside windows
penetrating the all-consuming darkness
that serves as my consciousness.
Illuminating the nightmares with vivid detail.

Nightmares reflecting horror
in gruesome images of conquest,
of demons breaking free.
There are no boundaries here,
in the place I call my mind.

******, suicide, ****, assault.
All of these take place with the
frequency of glass shattering from
a high pitched note,
held for the longest time,
falling toward a field of spears.

Ischemia – the imbalance between the supply and demand of the heart for oxygenated blood. I thought it was as simple as that, but then you came and made me realize there’s a much deleterious underlying condition to it.

The risk factors for this insufficiency took various forms. Calls were left unreturned. Conversations felt dry and passive. Some plans got cancelled over minor reasons, and then arguments became too dragging to argue over. These contributed to the gradual progression and development of an irreversible process – the decreased perfusion of feelings towards one another. In more than 90% of cases, the disorder had only become clinically evident in chronic conditions, once a tally of misunderstandings outweighed the hope of having any of it substantially resolved.

The pathogenesis was an unending blame game. Initially, there was a sudden severe narrowing or closure of the large vessels. It happened to you, to us, when a plaque existed, and our relationship went atherosclerotic. You grew narrow-minded; I became hard-headed. The excessive build up of plaque caused clogging, and it blocked your thoughts into meeting mine. That’s why we argued. A lot. And it made the diagnosis incurable.   You said I had an increased demand for your time and effort, that I asked more of which you could possibly give. I, on the other hand, have claimed that it rooted from your diminished passion-carrying component. Roses, chocolates, and balloons became a compensatory mechanism for the lapses you’ve done. Until I have accustomed myself in looking at these supposedly “romantic things” as variables of pain, conflict and broken promises. I never wanted that. But I grew bitter. And you are largely responsible for my stenotic ideations of true love. The kind which loves you back when every word sends a positive chronotropic and inotropic effect? Nah, it does not exist. For now.

I felt angina, especially when a large area got affected – when I uprooted myself from deep into your life. And it was awful. Excruciating. But really, I had been cautious. My heart was enclosed by a double-layered protective sac called sanity and self-respect. I guarded myself from believing every lie, and pretended that those sweet words did not reverberate at the back of my head. But you were an exception. You penetrated the wall. And from the inside chambers, you deprived me from the love I deserved.

Your insufficiency in making me feel loved had validated the statistical claim of heart diseases as the predominant cause of mortality on Earth. You have deprived me with what I deserved, until every fiber of this muscular ***** found enclosed my rib cage had been used to the lack of care, the lack of contact, and the indifference.

Yes, you have killed me gradually, by not loving me enough. And you have left me with a necrosed, dysfunctional heart.

After sleeping a thousand years fell on my face greater light current Solar. I slept without smiling at the crowds buried and smearing my only bones.

The search of that hubbub, made me celebrate the porous bodies and spraying smooth falling on my fingers, delighting my humble tributes to the beetles that accompanied me to direct my view to the nearby burial vaults me. Some were swollen with a semblance of augury awakeness; like starting today, with the ominous words They moved from today, the paddling of my fleshless jaws.

Among gravestones of emerald flowers dinosauric, in clear blue autumn, some birds scrub on the edges of the carved stones. Meanwhile, mustards were riding on dry leaves carnations. The white-clad looked up Drestnia slab that closed their senses, remained behind bars with his hands crossed as evolving body To attend a new era of geography and different technology. On his chest he would run the living vertiginous wind up the corporeal hint in the light of Koumeterium Messolonghi; that housed over a thousand years ago, at Etréstles of Kalavrita.

This huge palace and flat, it is nothing more than an asylum, where the worst plague that began with the death of the sentinels of Lucifer, who dropped this place with its beautiful golden layers originated; whose satagénesis emerge the burning soil to ten fossilized cemeteries under the Messolonghi.

He walked slowly dragging my old body, the tenth floor, and that teenage girl's pointed stones would break my nails; as such if they were claws of a mammal trapped by lava from a volcano. In each advance, I awaken in my armor patriotic my last fight, and his tenderness observes how parents tilled by the conglomerate caste, fighting in underground elements.

Etréstles awakening ...:

Etréstles ...: Which of all columns erected is able to open all columns built in the pavilion of these moles without form or color ... just vitalizing lung diaphragm Eólico my daydreams, is who I think would ...?

To all who are runaways and trapped underground Messolonghi, I bring you good tidings ... Auriga with its blacksmiths come from the region of the Dodecanese to loosen the bars you father  Staktos lucid and my mother Vitabión well that in a thousand years, has been damaged her beautiful body. Since my birth in Ayia Lavra, I was being buried for the ninth time in the Ninth Fossilized Cemetery. Whose archpriest with holy oil trickled down my wall, pretending to be a dance of water generated at the bottom of the Ionian. Between the arches of the temple columns running down my mother Vitabión; an outward sacral vertebral bathe in the water of my past christenings. My past lives were providing mandated by the Auriga their previous lives. And your mother ... A day tried the weight of my recycle ... ?!

Beyond you., Comrades of wars, pilgrimages sacrosanct, lush gauzy baths civilization in the Olympic and equestrian fields.

To you. That you lie here, as is my death in my last life in the hands of a Spartan soldier. Pcs., Blood of my blood, I feel inside me speak your need ...

And in the ending Drestnia, which by its sixth rising from here from Messolonghi, between bars sealed thy grave situation for the Hellenic indeterminate.

I had to drink from the Pinosa resin to speak here, with my bony hands to touch the others are like yours ...

... Drestnia, my rib still preserved, I will be reborn placating the domain of collective wishful thinking, which prevents your freedom.

My rib you return to your present life, whose cold, flower seeds skeletonize the perimeter of your life ... Etréstles was with them into the Koumeterium Messolonghi, to about 1800 meters zenith direction.

They were to be the Necromessolonghi Council to define the minutes. -while music with winds adorned arrival-. Just at the moment, came the Auriga with its blacksmiths, they came to liberate Drestnia with its multi conscience. What happiness to Etréstles! He ran through the underground halls, to the oldest Koumeterium, the first fossilized. Where thousands of years ago, with many now-extinct species, Etréstles came to them the resoundingly good news.

While the Council inveighed promulgating the divine Sarmiento spray fields Dodecanese in producing seeds of Markos Botsaris.

Judge…: With my lameness, I have to advocate the reintegration of outstanding Markos Botsaris, that once we free them of the Turkish occupation!

Asurbanipal ...My Sirio reign, full of dynamism, placed on their doorposts the powerful image of South-west wind, in honor of his victorious from Kalidona.

Etréstles brought Drestnia just walking the Council and thousands of harmoniums undermined doubts Manor invoking the hero. They all stand, the Council at its octagonal table with his assistants left empty vine glasses to welcome, to the last surviving female first Koumeterium Messolonghi.

Harmoniums, as Apollonian rubies widen the dimensions of the caverns vaults. She sits and ends the music. Drestnia with some leaves on his shoulders adorned the new scene, which would sit by the new future.

Asurbanipal ...: To you gifts Oh, the universe, you are welcome to this Council, where one day they brought me to praise my contributions from the entrance of Humanity!

But the issue for today will await the arrival of Markos Botsaris as you who have reached this border, thanks to the generous Auriga.

Charioteer…: ***** wax Orion; Eternal fuel, donated them strength to my steeds pairs, that were raised over distant lands, to reach my blacksmiths desoldering the bars of Drestnia.

Blacksmith…: Our eyes closed every hundred kilometers, but Eurydice with your calendar, made the aphelion enclose us this feat.

Echoes ...: Dust ..., Myth ... Dream ... illusion ... have swirled galloping millennia, wearing gray storm...!

What dark words illuminate the hopes, just below, it is well known that there is much to do, because there is more activity on the surface ...!

Judge…: Etréstles, Drestnia ... past, present, or future will speak of you.

You Drestnia ... !, how long dream ..., defied your gothic vision, not move my neck to your neighbors, loved buried in the first Fossilized Koumeterium.

Vitabión ...: Messolonghi lives up to all cemeteries in the world, where they loved theirs near them. But they do not know life here is more dynamic than in the world of their own.

Menopausal women ...My husband cries on my slab because his infidelity caused me a bad venereal, which today has removed me from his life. The cries and cries for my ****** decline, all for being with another woman condemned me.

one curtain rises and leaves Funebrio; concelebrating priest all recent deaths ...

Funebrio ...: Woman when you cry my black clothes, cry black tears ...!

Your husband remains static, with no movement, despite many kilometers to their own devices. Forbidden habit becomes, how tempting. But rebellious Mother Nature pours us their punishment.

Staktos ...: Friends kisses you give yourself, Where have posted ideations ...?

Or yield to scatter everywhere the oscillations they meet other mouths.

Etréstles ...: Everyone I ask do well to prepare your labors. Even so, his desire to hold my naughty please heart in this hour by the arrival of Drestnia.

The judge asks to adjourn for the recess could then discuss strategies for future deaths.

Gravedigger ...Lord Judge at the stepped eastern sector has buried an architect. We could ask your cooperation to Botsaris monument.

Judge…: All in good time. It will be done, does anyone want something narrow ...? -Drestnia raised his hand and asked ...:

Drestnia ...: With Etréstles in the last minutes of our lives, which extortioner once is finished this monument, where our souls will be destined to remain here temporarily ... Messolonghi?

( extract from  Koumeterium Messolonghi, if any want a whole ebook to write joseluisctravel@gmail .com )

www.joseluiscarreniotroncoso.wordpress.com

I want to wear myself
inside out
spill out what I feel on the inside
on my inner beliefs and ideations
all the conversations I could have
if I wasn't wearing a t shirt and jeans

if only I wore my
opinions like rings
on my fingers
and sport my values
on the soles of my shoes

my head flowing with
ideas and I could let my hair down,
fluid// flowing// with tendrils of readings and teachings

my wardrobe filled with hangers
of clothing repressing theories and
hypothesis

dress myself in principles and prospects and proofs

we do this instead by expressing ourself through our dress
and underneath brand names
we hide what we're about

instead I want to turn
myself
inside out

Don't remember much after kissing that cold brow
it was hard marble and most unlike father's warm skin
his tombstone made of honorable granite soldier's chin
don't remember kissing mother off, though lips did avow

At home tears filled each cracked and crumbled memory
washing years off family ties and turbid sentiments
eventually it ground mother down, to earth-stone treachery
prevented, being buried near to dear, by denominated impediments

Amnesia forms around these roots dissolved in Greek tragedies
padres loose hijos and their fathers lost theirs, immemorial
full of forced forgetfulness and years trudging absently
yet sinew of connective tissue thoughts hold off this cryptic burial

Stored in each molecule of life through generation's seedcase
clings a cocooned incarnation of movement's creation
secret, silent and concealed; ephemeral as a dream-space
"drink sweet waters and be mute" and forgo your ideations

-cec

my violent ideations
quell at the presence of
you only

as you lean in for a kiss
i find myself again
in some analeptic bliss

my mind is subdued by
only you

but you stepped out from
my dreams and now
you haunt reality

and this love is just an addiction
that i can't help but feed.

Your lips move as though they are going hundreds of miles per second-
As though they’re on fire,
the driver is dead and the only way to stop is to crash in a ball of flames
I can’t tear my eyes away,
I watch,
morbid curiosity making me waver-
My mind is swimming,
hands shaking,
my breathing stopped-
Time has stopped.
Your words are suspended in midair
Their arcs aiming for my ears but they miss entirely
Instead, they crash against my face,
forehead,
eyes,
nose,
until I am buried in debris,
In your words and their meanings and I can’t dig my way out.

tickticktick

I'm sorry that I’m not quick to understand
Pardon my pauses,
my fidgeting,
my wide eyes
Pardon the way I twist at my bracelets when your words almost immediately blur as soon as they leave the confines of your cheeks
I scratch at my face because the record needle of my brain can’t find a pre-recorded song to match your pace
So it scratches across the wrinkled pink surfaces instead
And nothing but a stutter and incoherent sentences are played and I’m left to fend for myself
Against your nonstop talking at me because this stopped being a conversation a long time ago

tick.tick.tick

Call me surprised when you say that you understand
That I must delicately balance my medications on the tip of my tongue with ideations that get out of hand
In order to get out of bed the next morning because sometimes it's hard to rise from the grave when the dirt above me is each minuscule thought
That has accumulated over the course of the nightmare that lives in the tension in my shoulders.

tick. tick. tick.

I am alive, but without sleep, I am a lie
With whispers and rumors dancing with my worries across the ballroom that is my mind
Worn shoes scraping up the floors,
rude guests pushing my own thoughts off to become wallflowers
And I dance with a single mutter in a black mask that asks how you’re doing.
It asks if you really love me
as it guides me through a waltz
It asks if you’re lying
as it lets go of my hand to lead me through a spin
I don’t answer a single question as the song’s long, drawn-out metronomic beat continues to reverberate in my head because


tick

No matter how many times I ask

tick

No matter how many times I crash

tick

You’ll be there.

‘Side my castle of creation
queries ‘trench their tangled teeth
‘to the skin of ideations
left by my kindly hearth to sleep.

Barbaric! Fixing little ones,
woken from their tender dreams,
as trophies ‘top their flags of war,
proud to wave their silent screams.

Drag me, ruthless, from my chamber!
Throw me, forceful, ‘pon the ground!
Show me, lifeless, cased in embers!
Pour me, endless, blood to drown!

Look, they shout, amongst the ashes!
N' ****** my face into the bones.  
Cradled in their kind-less caskets,
ugly truths I’d always known.  

Now ‘lone I sit in contemplation,
scared on stony perch to find,
‘side this castle of creation,
hope to ease my loveless mind.

dreams and ideations are
weaved into gold laurels,
tight circles of serpentine as they fall,

carelessly flung against railroad
tracks and burnt bridges
to be smothered by black smoke

you’ve got a habit of leaving
people behind– don’t you?
you laugh into the rings of ash

there’s a melecholy taste to
running away; it sticks against
the roof of your mouth,

past sharp teeth and soft flesh
and buries itself in your unyielding
throat like a parasite

you’ve become a host to these
horrors, shuffling day by day,
wondering, horribly, if this is all life is:

to be Atlas, and to hold the Heavens
prostrate against your back,
burdened by gods you do not believe in

Koumeterium  Messolonghi  - CHAPTER I

After sleeping for a thousand years the current of the major solar star fell on my face. I slept, not smiling at the crowds that buried me smearing my only bones. The search for that shouting made me celebrate the porous and fuzzy bodies that fell on my scratchy fingers, delighting my humble tributes to the beetles that accompanied me to direct my gaze to the sepulchral vaults near me. Some were filled with an augural awakening semblance; like the one that begins today, with the ominous words that moved from today, to the beat of my gaunt jaws. Among tombstones of dinosaur floral emeralds, in an autumn blue glade, birds were rubbing themselves on the edges of the sculpted stones. Meanwhile, I felt the mustard leaves riding on the dried carnation leaves. She looked at them dressed in white, even the slab of Drestnia, which closed her senses, remained behind bars with her hands crossed, as if evolving with her body to attend a new Era of geography and different technology. In her chest the living vertiginous wind would run, until the corporeal appearance in the light of the Koumeterium of Mesolongui; that hosted more than a thousand years ago, Etrestles de Kalavrita.

This immense palace and flat place, is nothing more than an asylum, where the worst plague originated that began the death of Lucifer's sentinels, which he dropped on this place with their beautiful golden cloaks; whose satagenesis the burning ground would rise to the ten fossilized cemeteries, under that of Mesolongui. I walked slowly with my old body dragging me, by the tenth floor, and that the adolescent pointed stones would break my nails; as if they were claws of a mammal trapped by the lava of a volcano. In each advance, the armor of my last patriotic fight would awaken in me, and that of its moving to observe how the parents worked through the conglomerate of castes, fighting in subterranean inclemencies.

Tease them when they wake up...:

Etrestles ...: "Which of all the columns erected is capable of opening all the columns built in the pavilion of these masses without shapes or colors ..., only the diaphragm of the vitalizing Aeolian lung of my reverie, is who I think I would...? To all those who are on the run and trapped under the soil of Mesolongui, I bring you good news ... not in a thousand years has her beautiful body been damaged. Since my birth in Ayia Lavra, he saw me being buried for the ninth time, in the fossilized Ninth Cemetery. Who’s Archpriest with his holy oils slipped across my partition, pretending to be a water dance engendered at the bottom of the Ionic. Between the arcades of the temple my mother Vitabion ran through the columns; to the outside to bathe in the sacra-vertebral water of my baptisms past. They were my past lives providing with the Auriga their entrusted previous lives. And you Mother ..., one day you tested the weight of my recycling ...?! There you, comrades of wars, of sacrosanct pilgrimages, of the enormous steamy baths of civilization in the Olympic and Equestrian fields. To you, who live here, just like my death in my last life at the hands of a Spartan soldier? You, blood of my blood, I feel your need speak within me...? And in the last Drestnia, which for its sixth uprising from here from Mesolonghi, between bars sealed your tomb to indeterminate the Hellenic situation. I have had to drink from the thorn resin, to speak to you from here, with my bony hands to touch the others just as yours are...Drestnia, from my still preserved rib, I will be reborn by appeasing the domain of collective thought and Willful, preventing your freedom. From my rib you will return to your present life, from whose cold, the flower seeds skeletonized the perimeter of your life ..., Etrestles went with all of them towards the interior of the Koumeterium of Mesolongui, towards about eighteen hundred meters in a zenith direction”

They went to constitute the Council of the Necro-Messolonghi, to define the minutes. --- While the music with its winds adorned the arrival ---. Just at the moment, the Auriga arrived with his blacksmiths; they came to free Drestnia, with his multconsciousness. What happiness for Etrestles, he ran through the underground pavilions, until the oldest Koumeterium, the first fossilized. Where thousands of Years, with numerous species now extinct, Etréstles came to give them the good news loudly!  Meanwhile, the Council attacked the promulgation of sprinkling the divine vine of the Dodecanese fields, in the seedling of Markos Botsaris.

Judge ...: With my limp, I have to advocate the reintegration of the outstanding Markos Botsaris, who once freed us from the Turkish occupation!

Ashurbanipal ...: My Syrian reign, full of dynamism, will place on its jambs the powerful image of the South-West Wind, in honor of its victorious exit in Kalidona.

Etrestles was just walking Drestnia to the Council, and thousands of harmoniums undermined doubts of the lordship that invoked the hero. Everyone stands up, the Council at their octagonal table, with their assistants, leaving the vine glasses empty to welcome the last surviving female of the first Koumeterium of Mesolongui.

The harmoniums, like Apollonian rubies, enlarged the dimensions of the cave vaults. --- They sit down and the music ends ---. Drestnia with some leaves on her shoulders adorned the new stage, where she would go to sit for the new becoming.

Asurbanipal ...: To you Oh gifts, of the Universe, you are well received at this Council, where one day they brought me to praise my contributions from the entrance of Humanity! But the topic for today will be awaiting the arrival of Markos Botsaris , just like you who have reached this end, thanks to the generous Auriga.

Auriga ...: The ***** of the wax of Orion; Eternal fuel, gave strength to my peers steeds, to rise above distant lands, to arrive with my Blacksmiths to unsolder the bars of Drestnia.

Blacksmith...: Our eyes were closed every hundred kilometers, but Eurydice with her calendar, made the aphelion bring us closer to this feat.

Echoes ...: Dust ..., Myth ..., Dream ..., Illusion ..., they have swirled the gallop of millennia, dressing the Squall in gray...! What dark words illuminate the hopes, only down here, well known is that there is much to do, since there is more activity than on the surface...!

Judge ...: Etrestles, Drestnia ..., past, present, or future will speak of you. You Drestnia ...!, What a long dream ..., you challenged your gothic vision, so as not to move your neck towards your neighbors , beings embedded in the first fossilized Koumeterium.

Vitabión ...: Mesolongui honors all the cemeteries in the world, where their loved ones go to see them. But they do not know that there is more dynamic life here than in their own world.

Menopausal Woman ...: My husband cries on my slab, because his infidelity caused a venereal disease in me, which today has eliminated me from his life. He cries and cries for my ****** descent, everything for being with another woman condemned me.

A curtain rises and Funebrio comes out; priest who concelebrates all recent deaths...

Funebrio ...: Woman when you cry my black clothes, black tears cry...! Your husband remains static, without movement, despite so many kilometers of his free will. Out of habit, the forbidden, the tempting is done. But the rebellious Mother Nature pours out her punishments on us.

Staktos ...: Friends who kiss each other, where have you deposited the ideations...? Or do you give to scatter everywhere the osculation that satisfies other mouths.

Etrestles ...: I ask you all to prepare yourself to do your job well. So too, with your prayers, I wish you to hold my mischievous heart at this hour, for the arrival of Drestnia.
The Judge asked to adjourn the meeting, so that the recess could later discuss the strategies for future deaths.

Gravedigger ...: Mr. Judge in the step of the eastern sector, they have buried an architect. We could ask for your cooperation, for the Botsaris monument.

Judge ...: All in good time. Way to go, does anyone want something to narrow down...? --- Drestnia raised her hand and asked...:

Drestnia ...: With Etrestles in the last minutes of our lives, who will pass away once said monument is finished, where will our souls who here in Mesolongui remain temporarily ...?

Judge ...: The insane generals of wars will lead to
Etrestles to the field of Lepanto, because there are stubborn souls that defy the defeated souls ..., and as for you, the benevolent Auriga will take your soul of colors of the sunset, to divide the megatons of the Romantics, who together with Ghiberti, on some trunks of beautiful minerals, they will anchor their best verses and hyperesthetic longings to overshadow their collective suicides.

At the end of the session, the attendees leave, and Drestnia and Etrestles go to the dock of the celestial napa that with its golden shine awaited them, to set sail for Tangier and Morocco. In his ships were the concurrent, Etrestles led his ribs wife towards a navigation that guided the sound of the oars that were the femurs of a Diplodocus.

Drestnia ...: When I am next to the liquid lake lord, I see the need for me to grieve ..., I have a sorrow that I want to be part of you.

Etrestles ...: In Kalavrita, when I was an infant for the fifth time, my father would read me tender stories, and I would ask him if they were from a famous writer, to which he replied that they were from an ordinary man.
The stories were about some spells about pain, one very mundane connected with something transcendent. An example is the Toothache Spell ...: “It dates back a thousand years to. c., the Assyrians attributed toothache to beginning in the Universe and ending with a toothache...:

After Anu had created the sky,
and that heaven had created earth,
and that the earth had created the rivers,
and that the rivers had created the canals,
and that the canals had created the quagmire,
and that the quagmire had created the worm,
the Worm came crying to Shamash,
shedding his tears before Ea ...:
"What are you going to give me so I can drink?
"I'll give you a dried fig and an apricot"
“What good will a dried fig and an apricot do me?
Lift me up, and between my teeth and gums allow me to reside ...”

For having said this, Oh Worm, may Ea punish you with the power of his hand!

Treatment ...: You have to mix second grade beer ..., and oil; you have to recite the spell on the medicine three times and then apply it to the tooth.

You see my Drestnia, you will see that it is possible that I have a spell just like my father gave me, and I can heal you of that pain. For you, that day will come when we will part, and the spell will be to bear the pain that will be beneficial for both of us. My rib is my sorrow, hence my last hope with smelly acid gases, I erased the invitality of you behind the bars.

Anguish hid within sinister orthodox crosshairs
   wherein target to wreak psychic havoc without means to escape the crushingly feted incisors as if mauled by an unseen yak
this emotional state impaled between the maws of pincers –

   no exit except being squeezed to the maximum point
   of non-existence into the black
whence once corporeal complex
   fleshy edifice becomes slurry akin to shellac
or railroaded outcome no better nor worse

than being tied as a fast approaching train on track
a most offal emotional state,
   where the nursery rhyme of jilted jack
Childs’ play when inevitable doom and
    gloom one cannot hack

free – and options to secure safe
   and Soundgarden place to live doth lack
plenitude duet to penury,
   and subsidized housing a pipe dream
   asper surviving time of warfare

   between Iran and Iraq
but the lo…a crack
of hopefulness dawn most unexpectedly
   when this day-tripper hove ah slacker found salvation
   just in the nick of time
   when renting lease about ran out – back
twas cause to ******* alas and alack…
----------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------
when tandem forces nearly coaxed self-destruction
   from coke kin conspirator ******
   ready to ambush and take aim
ensconced clattering red bull pawing the earth

   with a fury of a madman playing the Glockenspiel
   opportune moment to unleash fury n laid claim
thwarting salvation from psyche teetering
   on the brink of abysmal hopelessness to exclaim,

where suicidal ideations on par with Russian roulette
   ransoming life sans permanently deadly game
hellacious tongues of the underworld
   hungering to inflame

kept at bay from divine intervention vis a vis a cool
   out of the blue downy
   faux heavenly transgender angel Jame
me Dutton, appeared as thee bottled Genii,

   with limbs temporarily lame
being hermetically sealed gingerly
   placed upon tarp of lam may,
   a lifelike emoji emoticon meme
bur of a secret society of LGBTQ
   brotherly sorority sisters,

   which angel joined the coterie
   of Good Samaritan name
   outwitting any stealthy fleet of foot Equus
casually, earnestly and modestly suited
   to boost civic, and emphatic and
   graphic curses of doom to tame.

I have become nothing
in the hands of my abusers
just skin cells
collecting dust under beds
I only remember the smell of.

Please don't look at me
I am only a fraction of a person now.
The other parts of me
linger on the bodies of those
who barely remember what they did.

Who smirk at the idea
because they got what they wanted.
I am scatter-brained and shattered
at the thought of them.

Intimacy trying to make its way
past carbon fiber memory.
Not once has it gotten through.

There are three faces I see
when someone is inside of me
Theirs, hers and his.

Each getting something they want from me
Stealing away what I once held so close and so sacred.

I never want this,
and I'm not sure I even did the first time.

Shouldn't it be special?
Why does it make my heart break?

Why do I not even remember
the way it happens half the time.
I remove myself from the idea of closeness
in hopes all of these ideations go unnoticed
and I sink into the bedsheets

Slip into the space
between the box spring
and the floor board.
My favorite hiding place.
Nothing but dust in my wake.

the elderly
our unpraised
orphans
with healed
and self-taught
toys

~~~~

cancer is a pop gun and when I say missing I mean her body was seen by the lonely / her body / was having children but only those / we’d seen / in photos / I mean bus

of a christian
swim team

~~~~

when cooking, mama says she is burning the uniform of the country I was dragged through.  she knows better than to come from rib.  cheek, maybe.  or fishhook.  

~~~~

scar to my wound, this man believes in god. the last thing I learn is what I know. Franz Wright’s final book is called The Toy Throne. I understand this man when he says he was born with a disabled child. what is lightning

to a fish

~~~~

faith a shoelace in an unbroken egg

I stare at the letter x

~~~~

the plate

in god’s head
is a writer’s
dream.  she crows

her three
words
for stoplight
as a doll

bites down
on a stick…

math is maybe not the best look for grief

and hunger

too academic

~~~~

after suicide, everything that happens is the past

~~~~

I am not a ghost,

hand
I use
the least

~~~~

the mothers they were rehearsing in the drive-thru
the *** talk for boys they thought
were still
alive

-

crush a white tick / you’ll become / a projectionist

-

sleep is a bleeding stopped by the eye

~~~~

with god
prepared
to remove
its white
stomach, the dream

sees brain
as the print
of its thumbless
hand

~~~~

/ to a breathing machine in a swimming pool

the angel says whale

/ my nightmare

has a whale. it takes grief

from a mule

/ my brothers are ****

and star. claustrophobes

haunting
the hard
to forgive

~~~

alone in that no-name church of dream

scales of grief
and thrown back
fish