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Darby Rose Jan 2014
Jordan gave me rose quartz prayer beads. Freddy picked me up and spun me around.

I kissed the beads and kissed my hand and blew it to the stars, over and over again.
Thank you universe, for the kind hearted people you have dropped into my existence.
Thank you universe, for the good music, the good ****, good wine, and good company.
Thank you, for the smiles, the laughs, the cigarettes, the numbers given out on backs of receipts.
Thank you for the swing sets, the campfires, the coffee and tea, the cars we drive around in.
Thank you for emotions.
Thank you for the feeling I get when someone kisses my forehead,
the feeling when someone compliments my smile,
the feeling when I notice the moon for the first time that evening.
Thank you, for the moon, the stars, the clouds, and the autumn breeze.
Thank you for the sounds, the crickets, the leaves rustling, the clinking glasses,
and the sound of small kisses.
Thank you for the snort I get when I laugh to hard.
Thank you for the bass, the guitar, the drums.
Thank you for the shouts, the soft spoken, the loud, and the whispers.
Thank you for the doors, the staircases, and the windows.
Thank you for everything that ever was, is, and will be.
Thank you for the indefiniteness of the now.
Thank you for everything.

I once read in a book, that the likelihood of our proteins folding just so to make us what we are is comparable to that of a twister rolling through a junkyard and assembling a jumbo jet.
This is something I like to remind myself daily.
It is so miraculous that we are here today to experience everything and everyone around us, and be able to document and share it.
I hope one day someone can look at my photographs and writings and feel these immense and overwhelming emotions that I feel in these moments.
CasiDia Aug 2015
"strange"
                                                 is declared
                                                  of person
                                         who rationalizes
                                                that­ matter if
                                         non-human
                                         non-animal
                                         non-living
                                      merits recognition
                                      as being good
                                      on it's own

                                      but really      
                                         are we
                                         the ultimate stewards
                                               of absolute purpose?

                         what confirms                      our judgement

                                        in deeming what deserves
                                             to exist for it's own
                                             and what belongs
                                                 to our means
                                                           ­                 and ours alone?

                                      is it so fantastic
                                                  to suggest
                                      that by some means of
                                                           indefiniteness
                                                  ­of intangible
                                                                ­            comprehension
                                                all matter
                                       is fundamentally intertwined
                                               in the sense
                                            everything is stardust
                                             created by
                                                                ­   the universe's omnipotent hand?

                                      don't you
                                                 ever get the feeling
                                      inside of your conscious
                                                       ­           too?

                                      doesn't your awareness
                                               ever whisper
                                                   as a sentience
                                                you have an obligation
                                                from some unspoken contract
                                                    sign­ed before birth
                                                  to uphold the integrity
                                                  of everything
                                                  that­ inhabits this earth
                                                       whether or not
                                  it thinks in the way                                       you do?

                                      for what purpose
                                           we exist assembled into
                     abrupt                 profound               togetherness
                                      remains       ­      undecided

                                      earth's fabrications
                                                 will survive
                                               harmoniously
                                      but
                                will you
                 do the same?
Arcanum Feb 2015
I feel so lost and confused in the graveyard of my dreams
Like a crystal circus ball where the timeline's infinite
Although I am young and full to my capacities
I am shackled to a sorrow that has no destiny
For so it's been told at least it's been making me believe
Of someone that I know nothing of nor ever even seen
Just a comment just a thought
Maybe the ignorance of fools that just might be
That lurked into the deepest part of me
Where I've been used as a tool
To be the one where they have unburden their own self pity
As here I am now in the remainder of their ashes
There is filth there is darkness
An uncertainty that scares all calmness
There is more than only madness
There, I lay there in the obscureness of my answers
Of the person that I might be or never ever see
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
strange, there's always "the" truth, but always "a" lie... i never understood the monism of truth, and the pluralism of a lie (lies), what is interesting is that with the exclusion of articles: there's but one truth... as there is only a chance of lies... when your disregard the use of definite / indefinite articles, you are talking about truth and lies... reworded, as is necessary ti effectuate the purity of language... the truth: a lie... we speak of truth, but then reconsider this truth with: lies - lies have no uniformity, no honing foundation, not (0, 0) vector enterprise to guide a third negation (kant equate 0 with negation) - the third coordinate of negation is impossible... two negations are possible, but a third negation is near impossible, since there's the first negation of a proposition, then there's the negation of the negation of a proposition (second), but a third negation of the second negation (of a proposition) is impossible, because by second negation the third negation has no proposition to negate, only a negation, and a third denial is a contradiction, and how can a negation that's a "proposition", be negated?! magnet dynamic.

telling "the" truth (a truth) is actually
the easiest thing to do,
  truth doesn't erode the memory,
in that by not eroding the memory -
it allows a narrative a continuum
that does not necessarily have to
digress into a regression of overlaying,
repeating a said lie -
truth is hardly mingled with
memory, truth is forgetfulness -
however, lies reveal a strain on memory,
in that they have to be repeated,
to keep a narrative: intact.
    - and that's what my mother always
taught me:
              - unlike a chinese mother
who says: keep your heart small -
no, instead she said:
    don't like -
  conjure that one up against
the ten commandments:
  there's no shall, i.e. you shall
not lie, she simply said:
               don't lie -
                 if i lie i lie about
the most finicky concerns / details...
notably in culinary concerns -  
   i ask whether i under-salted a dish...
i don't lie about my drinking:
yes. to excess,
   in one ear, out the other -
a litre of whiskey is sometimes not
enough, per night,
           but then i act upon
the sober person cordiality -
              i hush my footsteps -
    i encourage bladder talk and
squeeze my **** to avoid
the unexpected gush of soggy
cornflakes...
  telling the truth is fun,
at least the narrative is glued together,
it feels almost vampire-like:
   perhaps there's a visage in the mirror
to my body, perhaps even a shadow
in the night, but when i stick my tongue
out from out of my tongue?
i see nothing.
  truth is a honing device -
lies: always shrapnel -
  a lie was never and never will be
a unifying concept -
            since there is
        no definite lie -
               as there is, a definite truth -
for there are indefinite lies -
   but no indefinite truths...
                  well, that's also wrong,
indefinite truths exist
           but their indefiniteness is
historiologically* true, rather than
historically true -
              i.e. history is a lie,
    but also a truth, when empowered
with a chance to repeat: or improve -
yet it is still necessary to denounce
  the article as sole inheritor of being
                 definite or indefinite -
              a chance to see truth (the)
applied to the definite article, as seeing
lies (a) applied to the indefinite article
is not merely singularity honing,
  or pluralism shrapnel...
              but by simple construct of but
three to four words:
  the truth...
                   vs. a lie: which implies
a singularity indefinite - i.e. a pluralism,
the truth resembles only one resolve -
a one inside a one;
     a lie?
              a lie of how many?
     hence the pluralism of a lie: lies.
                         now do we believe in
the signature ending via S?
                                        i never believed
in abstraction per se,
        the only abstraction i ever believed in,
was how to mature with one's use of
language,
              i only believed in listening to
idiots, while reading geniuses -
so much of language is burdened with talk,
that so much optics is lost...
                     i only fathomed philosophy
within the framework of how far
language could be abstracted, away from
the jovial everyday conversations in a marketplace,
thus said: how to unlearn asking
for a kilogram of apples from a country person;
but more importantly:
for to speak a tongue foreign to me,
but in a way,
as to make the native speakers:
feel nothing but shame,
and if not shame: confusion...
to become a tarantula...
for personal reasons, i rather keep
intact in the person i am becoming.
Hex Birthright in Hellenika

The Celestial Spirit of Vernarth began to walk through the Castellum del Horcodising, after the parapsychological regression in the conclusive auction and purge of him. He was looming at the Horcondising Keep; here all toilet modules, food, and medicines were well equipped, except for the inks and writing papers that were totally exhausted. Here you can see his mother Luccica, who was in a position to scribble and write on an upstairs deck, and in the other hand, she had a rosary of liberation, which anonymously appears before her purging in the presence of the protervative spellings that still wander through the cells and bedrooms of the Castellum del Horcondising. Her mother is seen twisted over the voices that polished the eight moons that she had designed for her son Vernarth from the very machicolations of the Castellum, but now with a rosary of liberation. It was clearly seen in the leaves written by her, which said that “My son abandoned his weapons, now in fluids of holy water, symbolizing real chimeras by the projections, to those who read his life verses in our Castellum, in Gaugamela and Patmos ”. Vernarth, mostly Hellenic, awaits to manifest healings for all creation, dumping water from moon storms on Rhodes, and lighting Matacan wall light at the door of the Messiah stand.

Vernart says: “my adolescent look, she has to be reborn with that of my father Bernardolipo; a whole Chamberlain, making himself free and a supporter of the baronies that were part of the servants of my servants…! Although now to climb his cabinet I have to raise my knees higher before his amplified step, calling us all and trying to be closer to a new bell to call us to dinner, as an entity of pride of architecture defined by his pen, ink, and white sheet that I mention. The mother I have to mention; My mother Luccica, rests not condemned or corrupted before her flesh, rather perfectly united to her spirit that envelops her free of sin, so that her company would be of complete solitude in our Castellum, we will continue to be in conformity with the spirit because our mansion is a beautiful spirit of vicissitudes, life, and peace, that our esplanade holds hunger and coldly indifferent to loneliness, cooling and pleasing the company of its own cold, rising from the first rays of the day, as well as rising from the first pinches of graduated ink, agreeing in the corrals where my father already lived according to his life among debtors, mortifying what he has not been able to mount on his steeds that inhabit his senses, leaving not so far to greet them in the mornings free of errors of not greeting, even When the minimum space is left to think of him as a joint-heir. Because the laments sob and others are born in the virginity of the light of the world with other lines Luccica can scarcely write, writing her co-age spirit, manifesting itself foolishly in suffering perfection; manifesting itself as everyone's delight, although ringing with anger at not freeing itself from glorious freedom. Not all sing to the tune of the disability of putting the strength of the grapheme of posterity, rather we blind ourselves by putting hope, but of patience that we arm ourselves by losing our courage to have it. Our will is of the magnitude of saints when doubt and fear entertain us, according to all the things and purposes that irreversibly will surprise us. I do not know where I have to walk here in this tower ?, because I know that myths of the unknown will fall according to the fact that I am his son, being the first-born of all men in the world, speaking of who among many intercede before tribulation or anguish, that strips me of all spirit still asking for it and justifying that I keep talking about them, but that I have been gone for a long time. For this reason, venerated mother, wake up from this frozen cell of the courtesy tower, because I am jealous and I believe that neither death nor life will fill the dead suspended in your room, which support more lives with their angels adorning their bindings and paragraphs, with principalities that are increasingly so distant more than imminent to come to please you. When your name is tried in real vices to increase, they are being stripped of the sons of the principality in which they shine from afar, but with our feet dancing on despotic brilliance, and not of the hollow that still does not fill my heart for you”

Emerging from the last lights of the Castellum del Horcondising, Vernarth bids farewell to his reign, leaving his mother Luccica in the company of three Angels who mined him with the amber mistletoe, of sallow light. However, she will remain frosted on her desk with ink at night and by day, so that when the day ceases, she will draw ink from the darkest night to continue writing that she can already be without Him! Near the Halleniká Necropolis in Rhodes, a statue of Peltasts stood, shielding the site where the “Vas Auric” Auric Medallion would sporadically rest, which came between the bilges, now inside the Eurydice. It came predestined with sacred amber garments alloyed, to make up for the between Peltast mediators who guarded them, to deliver it to its Commander Vernarth.

The Apostle Saint John says: “The Sephardim like us in exile did not see reasons restored in our union and tradition, we resembled a diaspora that did not derive voluntarily, according to events that occurred in my case in Judah at the hands of the Romans. The Alexandrian Jews form on my part certain Israelites dispersed in my prayers, leaving us where the radiance of our faith makes sense and dispensed power to us. My economy is to create the furniture that will inhabit laborious houses in the Staurós histos, even among those Jews and mercenary soldiers, freeing themselves from prejudices and clothing that represented them alone and fragile, being sensible by the diaspora. The world separates itself from the matter cell, clinging to the consciousness of the unity of dispersed Mosaicism as a sacrificial cult, to cater to those who write history more distant than a synagogue without a Rabbi. When bad winds blew there, they often made the situation worse for those scattered in a foreign land. At the end of the Hellenistic era, we had Jews in Persia, Mesopotamia, Syria, Phenicia, Pontus, north of the Black Sea, Cappadocia, the rest of Asia Minor, Egypt, and Cyrenaica, Carthage, Greece, Macedonia, and Italy. Now I in Rhodes with the Vas Auric, to trace the true effigy of Judas Thaddeus, my co-religious in pursuit of an intellectual and theological religious activity of edifying centers of prayer and universal unification, here in the Necropolis of Hallenikka, where some Davidian Psalm will be in more regions of here documented in precession, and as a reciprocal religion to Hellenic situationism. Its religiosity is felt, it even remains open in proselytism that causes the indefiniteness of the half-convert and that implies a risk for the identity of the Jewish religion as the support of a people with not a little original conscience "

He sings The Delphic Sibyl: “He bears the crown of thorns of the Coronation of Jesus, which also happened in the Praetorium, and as in previous cases to the scene represented in the corresponding neutral. In Eritrea Stauros, rather Herophile, if chaste and Delphic clairvoyant and apologetic, her vernacular artery made her a native of Marpeso, Troyana-Troade. As in fantasies of being the daughter of a Nymph and a Shepherd. Her elegy was escorting her to the Duodecim Evangelii, from Samos she is docking towards Patmos at the foundations of the Megaron. With the same polygon of the Sistine Chapel, in the quattrocento, where Vernarth had assistance in the parapsychological Regression of the Quattrocento Duodecim Evangelii, announcing that Vernolatry would be part of his Apologetic life, inspiring prophecies with the Iaspis Parables, commending scholarship after the grave that He was in the forest of Apollo Smintheus, returning to his origins in a sinkhole in Mount Coric. The idiomatic cross was its interlaced fractal, with threads and kashmar pole, surrounding the crossed palisades with linen threads, and Koiné to display the cross in the hestion or towards the Staurós or cross, in the capital event of the material instrument of execution for the man who falls into no man's land "
Codex XXXII - Mundis Iudicatam Vas Auric / Rhodes - Kímolos
Harry Bratton Dec 2018
Staring into the distance called to a halt lowly by a ceiling
With beams of clouds I have my essay planned, do the
Right thing when the morning comes, start early and lap lap
Lap it up… I missed a day will I be able to write it okay?
It’s only a draft, final assessment in the genesis of a new
Year as apocalyptic as it gets draped in gray by God’s
Gesturing arm lamp shading… why should I do it? To
Quickly bang it out before the deadline just to get it out
The way… daydream precocious bipedal insect monsters
Before the real thing moons God and his gang of whiskey
Parlour batchelors leaning on leather elbow pads admiring
The craftsmanship of the upholstery… the real thing is more
Absorbing always cutting off as I’m getting somewhere, start
In daytime and realize there’s nowhere to get, that’s the thing
Yelling stop think again, or fill every nook cranny and interstice
With feet free to walk in peace… they are antonyms I could
Never fit in, gaps that long ago gave up

Deserted wide areas of something, opportunity, you must
Agree are not expenses anymore by any imaginative feat
Dancing to deep scar/jungle depravity light reflections…
I can’t remember and don’t want to check over in case I
Get cut off -

Forget that’s true… (Something I literally cannot do)… I was
Enthralling, reading, writing, the {authorised} daydreaming -
Breakfast for dinner - dinner for breakfast - closer to the sun -
My legs have gone weak - I want to numb the static pain Spit-
Ting strangling cosmic debris from the satellite to the T.V…
It’s not that I’m not moving, I am careering just fine to turquoise
Blue sky, the bottom of a valley draped in a green screen sheet
Searching on my homepage for something more than my
Forest floor in the circular sky print of psychedelic white smud-

Ging print in the canopy tickling my mind’s eye giggles awake…
It’s that I’m not being methodical revolutions around a state I aim
To occupy, to occupy less derivatively… It’s not that… what is
This space? Living harmoniously, smiling on the front page of the
Daily Reality, not a youtube metamemetextraction everyone has
Different power to construe as well as they consume.. which, well…

Headlines to all cheer in support immaculately agreeing rather than
Memetic smearing in a forest snearing, no singing, no branches,
Hollow UVescence flood… hot sun burns ignorant eyes that power-
Point-slide nothing retinal light soggy cardboard calippo awkwardly
Bending, quivering like an Einsteinian physician’s space-time ******
You can’t see, squinting hard open town open mouth open source
Open eyes it is morning time morning square morning everyone everywhere
Square skulky shoulders and a brittle skunk twig head, not always there after
Shipping in a rectangular organisation of beds for fallen fruit everyone
Walks by, what is healthy? in society, what is homely what is dull housing
Ex-ice lolly sweet sticky strawb-red syrup marooning, baking to brown
Down backstage curtains poised in windy drapery drapery drapery…
Window hardware still there not to see any of the people, have you
Gone forever? The sun drapes savannah grapes out of place fire-soaked
Memories, temporary tent, arms and legs and back and Earth and one-
They’ve been the same thing begging to be vacuumed to a better outlook
Well away from towns bookmarking forests of knowledge seeming never
Ending turn to plywood, you can’t be in a vacuum better anywhere,
And hope strives away shooting through the replacement plastic funnel
Into a dropping everything…

Cornered - shopped - bussed - stopped - ticketed - one-wayed - one-way-
Systemed - ticketed - inspected - mauled - in the shops - for food -
For clothes - carred and parked in a roundabout way - merged in a
Motorway, by a dense grey matter, a concrete intelligence, one certified
Body of the indefiniteness of everyone's words, their words… our words…
That which is said… what people say… what we think… make a pretend wolf
Beg for a ready salted crisp at the the bar in the pub I leave the sound of
Those who hear everything better, I couldn’t hear a thing over the hoover…

A wild din falls on developing streets, silent and wide, stocky and broken,
Choking on ******* butterflies in my throat and stomach screaming… hold
Tears back while the sad song plays, that burst out of the interlude’s segue
To the beat picking up exactly what you wanted it to… wake up the pride!
I am trapped in a cage! Wake up the tribe! Is it on your webpage?

Where has it gone?
uranus Sep 2014
I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal.
Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies.
I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events.
These beings possess no artificiality.
Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria.

Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal.
There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust.

Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control.

Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency.

Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline.
Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision.
My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation.

Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate.

Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign.
Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time.

I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew.
The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought.

Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation.

I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence.
The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
i think you should start to consider the memory bank, before endeavouring to write about essentials that are from idealism, given that the only ideal is that we exist, and is paradoxically judged by us as non-essential. (remember the pronoun vectors mingle easiest when contemplated with article usage... the double articulation of definiteness and the double articulation of indefiniteness... let alone the non-identifiable vectors grappling the interchangeable usage of articulation, e.g.? ‘the point of the conversation...’ ‘the point of a conversation...’ ‘a point of the conversation...’ ‘a point of a conversation...’ my... i’m in muddles!)*

i usually play candy crush saga
in the night,
when my neighbours’ windows still revel in light
and i move the bulky blocks about...
like i do with words...
those things that will never become images
and are subtitles of photographs never taken
that give more to aeons than to seconds
in terms allowable usage...
or like the contradictory verbose
language usage of philosophers
that testify their concern with nouns
when they’re doing very little...
why are they stuck in the runt that’s aristotelian
in terms of concerning yourself with nouns?
by the time you figure it out...
a noun takes about 5 extra dictionary meanings
and about 4 misnomers and about 9 synonyms...
i’m guessing the key relevance in all of this
is tinged with kantian inspection...
the contradictory a priori concept and the noumenon (
opposite of a phenomenon),
phenomena are easily accessed... imagine the hippy
revolution of the 1960s in western europe...
there no need to look back... we have access to it...
through the nostalgia spoken of by the people
now retired and grey-white talking about it
with the benefit of nostalgia...
but this whole a priori (from the earlier)
and noumenon (something that can never be known)
is the inherent problem philosophers grapple with...
the whole: i’ll never have casanova’s subjectivity...
whether through the experience of sensual philanthropy
or nostalgic sensuality of “the achieved.”
i know that the definition of a priori is given its orthodox
calibre of the dictionary in terms of proper usage...
but deviating... noumenon? well d’uh! obviously there’s
a spectre of physical jealousy when this one non-sense
exactness of functioning enters the realm of both the senses
and the lineage of curtains... it’s an oddity...
thought enters the realm of time in a present-past relevance
and is fed jealousy... even though the senses, if
placed in a present-actual relevance would feed something else
thought it fed jealousy, even thought direct contact with
events have something of a digital pornographic voyeurism
about it... like watching your parents ****...
odd... isn’t it? so how did i tackle the a priori concept?
if the definition of a priori is: a given event / proposition is knowable
if it can be known independent of any experience
other than the experience of learning the language of use...
well then... i’m all for prepositions and without any given event...
and i put my knowledge on a constancy of continually learning
a language... given my mother tongue is polish
and i started to learn english aged 8... it makes sense to
never give into a lexicon completion;
but then
there's cyco miko's coming back / dog eat dog's one day
to listen to in the dark... looking out for idiocy
in familiar faces taming my use of language...
as a bowl of noodles...
with them having ambitions to write
having only read their postcard addresses with
their postcodes missing: angling the phrase 'wish
you were here,'
yeah, i wish that too;
this is england under marxist inspection...
totally ****** in the industrious sequence
as in the sequence of youths' health...
england... ha ha... only worth problems in ireland
it calls above scotland... and degrading health
of the non-existent attachment of cool atheism of
missing god missing soul to
a sort of quasi-marxism... for ***** sake... stop *******
with our vocabulary to necessitate censorship that's
unnecessary; stop calling it the logistics
of having a soul you tamed to mean
lubricated prefix and suffix of psychology...
and the non-existence of a god that could
as well translate a person into personality...
i'm not worth the complexities of the sciences
from all the life's interest to decide
a centimetre in theory proved a millimetre in practice...
need patience and simplicity...
i don't need the aqueducts of credentials for
the waterfall inspected...
and i don't need to look the part of an argument never had,
i can't fathom the mirage without the actual want
to see what might salvage me from thirst...
but then the conveyor belt of slacked and missing thirst...
i sometimes wish for a fata morgana.
mims Nov 2013
Dear Anne,

I am crying now. Not because of sadness, not because of anger or frustration... But because I am overwhelmed. Not a bad kind of overwhelmed, but one that is full of awe and joy.

I am overwhelmed that after all the pain both of us have gone through, after all the hurting, anger, and fears... I wake up one morning and find myself in love with you all over again. But not the same kind of love I felt when I first had you, or during our most wonderful times together - believe it or not, it was so much more. It's the kind of love that transcends through distance, through time... My heart never settles. You know that. It is never still, it always wants and you know that the way it wants something, it does its best to get it right away. But now, it is different. It has learned to be still. It has learned to endure waiting, to endure uncertainties; to endure the fear that it does not know how you feel - or if you will be willing to accept it back or not. But amidst this indefiniteness, it fights... With a smile. It fights the good fight. It wakes up every morning beating hard and loud with purpose: that is to make you happy again. To show you how much you mean to this heart... that every heart beat, every drop of blood flowing through its veins are all with beautiful intent.

This heart is beating, this heart is in joy. It skips a beat when it senses you, it speeds up when it remembers you.

The only prayer I have now is that you will listen to its every beat. :) That you will hear what it has been trying to shout, what it has been fighting for. :)

You are loved, Anne. Remember that somewhere, someone wakes up every day inspired, motivated - to be a better person for herself. With high hopes that when you get to meet her again, all the familiarities will rush and you remember this stranger who loved you with all her joyful heart.

Yours and yours alone,

Mims
marvin m brato Nov 2018
Love is mythical

as it bears indefiniteness

and truly immeasurable;

love has infinite variables

in meaning and applications!



Love is myth

as it is invisible

with no physical identity

that it can not be appraised

for its viability and significance.



But myth or not

such being an emotion

has possessed every heart

be it a commoner or royal

for its impact is great in life .
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
the reason it's flawed...
is because it's doubly definitive,
i.e. drunk, e.g. the lord of the rings,
it's drunk! it's an aquarium dizzy in sight!
the definite lord cannot be
an analogue, a replica, a cloning,
an imitation... invoking such demands
would counter the success of the story...
for no divisive act can follow a divisive act
in english grammar - backgammon point lost i.e.
                    definite and divisive K.O...
let me apply the rules... what symbols
akin to mathematics could be applied to
words as they are to digits in such a simple
way as to modulate arithmetic rubric, if
there be no grammatical rubric?
            engage in language to such an extent
that it defeats you, in order to see
   the irrationality of others; the double definitive
is the route easiest to spot - i guess it's
worthy to mention the cinematic affair,
that you might be mesmerised by a lord, who's the lord,
and all the marriages under the sky:
             metaphor for marriage?
   not to mention that he was the omni- and invisible.
     cursor via this digression through to:
                            there is need... for juggling...
both hands must be present;
definite indefinite, even odd...
                                                        bu­t i guess
the lord of the rings, with its double-use of
definite articles is like all stories sold
to the public, sold meaning forced,
******...                   art conducted in the spare-time,
art without gamble to live a life of modesty.
find the weakness of your creativity, find the weakness
of your creativity, and you will find creativity itself
by it being exhausted, each time you begin
the process of writing;
                  with Einstein's space-time relativity
came Rembrandt's spare-time relativity...
art and plumbers... oh noble indeed...
but still the double definitive of expression...
                     there is necessary ambiguity to mind,
an indefiniteness for exploration of universal interpretation
whether that be the populace of the 17th or the 21st century
needing it.
mims Nov 2013
When I told you
I will go the distance just to be with you
Just to prove you
that I have changed;
and that I have realized that
you are the only person
worth taking risks for...

I meant it. :)

And yes,
even if it means
miles and miles
of uncertainties
and indefiniteness
I will jump blindfoldedly
keeping my faith, trusting completely...
for I know we're worth it.

You are always loved, Anne. Always.

Yours and yours only,

Mims.
mims Oct 2013
When you know
you have emptied out
yourself;
hollowed your soul
and found within you
that beautiful realization
that in the centre
of the centre
of the depth
of yourself,

it is still her.

And you smile
at the thought
that this heart
will be resilient -
through time, fate and chances.
For amidst the indefiniteness,
it is certain
that this heart
will be whole again for you.
And that it will
have every heart beat
only for you. :)

You are always loved, Anne. :)
Devin Ortiz Jun 2017
I pour a cold one down my throat
To subdue the rage, or perhaps anxiety
Underlying and insidious.
Though more likely to swallow, with it
Regret. The small things, and the large.

I suppose it does not really matter,
Regarding to relevancy. But I drink,
I write and then I reminisce.
The past, her lips, and the discussions.
Yet, never quite feeling able enough
To be. Vulnerability, it escapes me.

And as one memory passes onto another,
Never does it become anything less
Than meaningful. Each moment
Shining as a star to define the
Indefiniteness which both calls to me,
And more accurately eludes all
That I wish to be.
There I was bathed in the suns forgotten
just a child then, an innocent to evil
but the sun knew me for what I was
and I grew wings and became Gods child

All on Earth are children
in this giants playground
my own spread wings
and pity judges you all

To be awoken again
to fight once again
hold your heart in one hand
and be willing to die this night

Oh mortal me
oh mortal we
do we die
with such indefiniteness


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
The Celestial Spirit of Vernarth began to walk through the Castellum from Horcondising, after the parapsychological regression in its conclusive auction and purgation. It loomed at the Horcondising Keep; here all toilet modules, food, and medicines were well equipped, except for the inks and writing papers that were totally exhausted. Here you can see his mother Luccica, who was in a position to scribble and write on an upstairs desk, and in the other hand she had a rosary of liberation, which anonymously appears before her purgation in the presence of the protervative spellings that still wander through the cells and bedrooms of the Castellum from Horcondising. His mother is seen crooked over the voices that polished the eight moons that she had designed for her son Vernarth since the very machicolations of the Castellum, but now with a rosary of liberation. It was clearly seen in the leaves written by her, which said that “My son abandoned his arms, now in fluids of holy water, symbolizing real chimeras for the Matacanes, to those who read his life verses in our Castellum, in Gaugamela and Patmos”. Vernarth, mostly Hellenic, awaits to manifest healings for all creation, pouring water from moon storms on Rhodes, and lighting Matacanes wall light at the door of the Messiah stand.

Vernart says: “my adolescent gaze must be reborn with that of my father Bernardolipo; a whole Chamberlain, making himself free and a supporter of the baronies that were part of the servers of my servants…! Although now to climb his cabinet I have to raise my knees higher before the amplified step, calling us all to try to be closer to a new bell to call us to dinner, as an entity of pride of its architecture defined by pen, ink and white sheet to mention. The mother I have to mention; My mother Luccica, rests not condemned or corrupted before her flesh, rather perfectly united with her spirit that envelops her free of sin, so that her company would be of complete solitude in our Castellum, we will continue to be in conformity with spirit, because our mansion is a beautiful spirit of things, life and peace, that our esplanade holds hunger and cold indifferent to solitude, cooling and pleasing the company of its own cold, rising from the first rays of the day, as well as rising from the first pinches of graduated ink , fellowshipping in the corrals where my father already lived according to his life among debtors, mortifying what he has not been able to mount on his steeds that inhabit his senses, leaving not so far to greet them in the morning free of the sins of not greeting, even when the least space is left to think of him as a joint heir. Because the laments sob, and others are born in the virginity of the light of the world with other lines Luccica can scarcely write, writing her co-age spirit, manifesting itself foolishly when suffering perfection; manifesting itself as everyone's delight, although ringing with anger at not freeing itself from a glorious freedom. Not all sing to the tune of the disability of putting strength of the grapheme of posterity, rather we are blind to put hope, but of patience that we arm ourselves losing value by having it. Our will is of holy value when doubt and fear entertain us, according to all the things and purposes that irreversibly surprise us. I do not know where I have to walk here in this tower, because I know that myths of the unknown will fall according to the fact that I am his son, being the first-born of all men in the world, speaking of who among many intercede before tribulation or anguish, That strips me of all spirit, still asking for it and justifying that I keep talking about them, but that I was gone for a long time. For this reason, venerated mother, wake up from this frozen cell of the keep, because I am jealous and I believe that neither death nor life will fill the dead suspended in your room, who support more lives with their angels adorning their bindings and paragraphs, with principalities that go increasingly so far more than close to come to please you. When your name is tried in real vices to increase, they are being stripped of the sons of the principality in which they shine from afar, but with our feet dancing on the despotic brilliance and not of the hollow that still does not fill my heart for you”

Emerging from the last lights of the Castellum from Horcondising, Vernarth bids farewell to his reign, leaving his mother Luccica in the company of three Angels who mined her with sallow light amber mistletoe. However, she will remain frosted on her desk with ink at night and by day, so that when the day ends, she will draw ink from the darkest night to continue writing to him that she can already be without Him! Near the Necropolis of Hallenika in Rhodes, a statue of Peltasts stood, shielding the place where the “Vas Auric” Auric Medallion would sporadically rest, which came between bilges now inside the Eurydice. It came predestined with the sacred amber robes aleonade, to make up for the between Peltast mediators who guarded them, to deliver it to its Commander Vernarth.

The Apostle Saint John says: “Jews like us in exile did not see reasons restored in our union and tradition; we resembled a diaspora that did not derive voluntarily, according to events that occurred in my case in Judah at the hands of the Romans. The Alexandrian Jews form on my part certain Israelites scattered in my prayers, leaving us where the radiance of our faith makes sense and dispensed power to us. My economy is to create furniture that will live in laborious houses, even among those Jews and mercenary soldiers, freeing themselves from prejudices and clothing that represented them alone and fragile, being sensitized by the diaspora. The world separates itself from the matter cell, clinging to the consciousness of unity of dispersed Judaism as a sacrificial cult, to cater to those who write history more distant than a synagogue without a Rabbi. When bad winds blew there, they often made the situation worse for those scattered in a foreign land. At the end of the Hellenistic period, there were Jews in Persia, Mesopotamia, Syria, Phenicia, Pontus, north of the Black Sea, Cappadocia, the rest of Asia Minor, Egypt and Cyrenaica, Carthage, Greece, Macedonia and Italy. Now I am in Rhodes with the Vas Auric, to trace the true image of Judas Thaddeus, my co-religious in pursuit of an intellectual and theological religious activity of edifying centers of prayer and universal unification, here in the Hallenikka Necropolis, where some Davidian Psalm, it will be in more regions right here documented in my precession as a parallel religion to Hellenic situationism. Their religiosity is felt, and even remains open in a proselytism that causes the indefiniteness of the half-convert and that implies a risk for the identity of the Jewish religion as support of a people with not a little original conscience”

Etréstles with Vernarth go to Eurydice, before descending into the bilges, they begin to found the ventral conceived from the word of Judas Tadeo “Yehuda; Praise be to God”. Judaizing verb in Veronica, or true image of the Via Dolorosa, among some apocryphal documents another historical and definitive truthful current is mentioned.   Detailing the aforementioned image in the shroud of the woman who seconded Jesus in the Sixth Station. The apostle Judas Thaddeus, is warned along with the auric image, providing confidence and praise of stands that walked in the murgas of Rhodes, before the iconographic variety was present with the image of Joshua overflowing by the Auric Avas, levitating among the circular margins, transforming into his banner with maces, which represented his martyrdom escorted by a sword or Shamsir, in the shape of an Arab cutlass; This being attributed to his beheading, but close to a hagiographic fatality.

Saint John the Apostle says: “Saint Jude Thaddeus the Apostle; He brought the Mandylion (Canvas of Edessa) to the court of King Abgar V of Edessa, to heal him. Being actually Thaddeus of Edessa, but the iconography was rectified by mistake. With a flame on his head at Pentecost he symbolizes us embroidered with a Chrysoprase, the green gem of his praise. Right here in these damp platinum chrysoprase bilges, it is that they emerge by themselves as an integument stamped in the peripheral curves of the Vas Áurica, they are attached to the Mandylion, frisked to my clothes to take them to the Hallenikka necropolis. Ulterior Vernarth and Etréstles pilgrimage carrying the mass of Vas Áurico of solid gold, groping him before taking them with decisive worthy praise to be brought before the sight of others who prospect to be before dark in the necropolis "

Saint John the Apostle continues: “Before dividing as Hexagonal Birthright, we went to Tsambika and others to Hallenikka. We head to Tsambika which is located on top of a hill on the east coast of Rhodes.   Bowing down to the praise of the iconographic and religious corridor of Mary. Here is the golden legend of Rhodes in Crete, of Rhéa and Cronos, for their ******* and mythological manias. We insist here we pass first to walk towards the heights of Tsambika, bordering the nature. Earthly possession of magnificent iconographic blessings”

Right here Demetrio Poliorcetes, acceded to the island, completely failing, resolving everything with high peace, with the mediation of some Greek polis. The military of Demetrio Poliorcetes left a large amount of armaments, for this reason the Rhodians sold the solid material and turned it into treasure to build the Colossus of Rhodes. In this same way the Primogeniture, thus began to gather the estates to summarize the hagiographic heights of the Vas Auric and the Mandylion together on both sides, for the final departure to Patmos. Being the necessary time that allowed them to be in this open, those who accompanied him in silence discovered new silences that amended the rotations that the Vas Auric medallion gave, exhibiting the half circumferences of a new world, with the organic body community of San Judas Tadeo, doing praises of a tender being to the Hexagonal Birthright who escorted them to save the world.

Eurydice parapsychological channeling:

Eurydice says: “Tsambika was left by the route located on the east coast of Rhodes before reaching the town of Archangelos, we passed through a cypress forest. It is said to be the origin of the name that is due to the word "Tsaba" (Spark) and refers to the history that involves the discovery of the icon of the Blessed ****** of the Nativity at the top of the hill. This icon turned out to belong to the island of Cyprus and was immediately returned to its place of origin. But the icon would reappear over and over again at the top of the hill, so they decided to build a chapel in honor of Panagia Tsambika. The miracles that the ****** worked were many, among them blessing with a child the women who prayed her and could not conceive. Since then there is a tradition of calling the child born by the ******'s work, Tsambikos if it is a boy and Tsambika if it is a girl. Right here our Hex Birthright will procure the votes for Rodinense culture. We went to the town of Archangelos to a delicious gastronomic with Barley breads and Pure Wine, Akratismós the locals told us, taking small pieces of the basket with figs and olives, decorating them with tagenites cakes, continuing later with more Wine and Steamed Ariston with stews and fish for lunch, which were arranged on small tables with zoomorphic legs. Women ate after men according to tradition, but now it was all of Aristotelian virtue, for immanent actions and passions of the soul; being able this time to dispose ourselves to perform the best acts and do well and always better, according to the right reason that is chosen from an intellectual disposition called prudence here in Archangelos; in charge of uniting us in knowledge and action”
Vernarth says: “Aristotle was the teacher of Alexander the Great and me too; in his virtuosity we learned the exercise of forgiving habits, with training, with experience and time to exercise it in them. Furthermore, with the tasks in accordance with virtue, being by themselves agreeable and as virtuous men judging righteously; this is how happiness shines for the Stagirite Aristotle; where our teacher was born. Herein lays his inspiration in living and acting well, the activity of man being good in it: beneficial, pleasant and happy, so it is directly related to virtue and the actions of the chaste man. In this reflection, virtue as a way to prosperity, the efforts to achieve them, will be analyzed, and some of the intellectual and moral virtues established in the moral philosophy of our master thinker will be described. Especially with your Eurídice delicacies, thank you for putting them in our hands in this kitchen here in Archangelos "


Euridice continues: “Hesperisma, slipped through our hands when my father Pelias, at night, brought us closer to his dialogue with the myth of Jason.  In metal or terracotta containers that entertained us. We could use bread cakes as plates, but earthenware or metal bowls were more common. The cutlery we use at the table: the use of the fork as an unknown, it was eaten with the fingers. They helped each other with a meat knife and a simile spoon. Pieces of apomagdalia bread we could use to take food as napkins, to clean our fingers. We felt grace in our ears from Aulos, like bells calling us from Panigia Tsambika. We stretched our fingers towards some chestnuts, beans, toasted wheat grains or honey cakes, responsible for absorbing alcohol and prolonging the drink ingested. Some locals, who accompanied us from Archangelos, inaugurated one or more libations towards a pean as a simple prayer to Apollo, generally in honor of worshiping Dionysus as well. The libations obeyed certain rules: the number of libations per person was not limited, but the invocation was not done without libation, after the meal and before drinking, the participants' heads were covered with ribbons or garlands of ribbons. A Greedy inhabitant saying: “In Archangelos he mentioned in his ancestors; where they had poured egg yolks, oysters and scallops, as soon as we were rid of this world, we sat down to drink, dancing by the powers of the ferments of the distilled ingested with some bakery delicacies: Like the Daraton, without yeast, which was flat as a cake.   The almogee, coarse country bread, which was made on the farms.  The phaios brown and unrefined bread. Syncomiste, black bread for being made with non-sifted rye flour, was known for facilitating intestinal transit and dietary wheat bran bread. Thus ends the address the greedy Archangelos "

Saint John the Apostle adds: “It reminds me of how Yeshua healed the woman who suffered from Hemorrhoid. Thinking just like Jairo; prominent as one of the chiefs of the synagogue of Gerasa, in the ancient Decapolis, at the beginning of the first century of our era. He met Jesus of Nazareth when he was speaking in what is now Gilead, northeast Jordan. Jairo thought it would help him to heal his daughter, still believing she was dead. While Jesus is still in dialogue with the woman he has cured from Hemorroisa, some men from Jairo's house arrive and say to Jairo: “Your daughter has already died. Why bother the Master more? “Having told him, Jesus, who has heard what he has been told, looks at him and encourages him with these words: "Do not fear, only manifest your faith." He asks him to show him where his house was. While there everything was with great regret and consternation, Yeshua tells them that the girl has not died, that she is only asleep, the incredulous people scoffed knowing that she was dead. My teacher Yeshua, makes everyone leave Jairo's house, except Pedro, Santiago, the girl's parents and me, also allowing me to stay here. In this place we hear from the Aramaic-Syrian expression "" Talithakumi ". Where we could observe how the girl began to walk, seeing the extravagant joy in the girl's parents and other people. This episode makes me warn that we walk between situations of sociability that only admit to committing ourselves with equanimity that the facts of a plausible authenticity strike attesting to those who meet those who love in an unquantifiable way for the religious social feeling. We committed ourselves to being born to see the logic of being witnesses to oneself, but not to what we do not witness more distant from those who do not see them after their death, not being ourselves. Creation today here in Archangelos makes us witness to being in the midst of families that sigh for a Talithakumi for all those that one day the prodigy of existing will carry them beyond a resurrection, are pre-classified for a biological phylogeny, being externalized and extended further afield. Of our own taxatives, In this way they will have tiny beings and courage that speak for them, because when a person is resurrected with this energy, Creation is resurrected with all the creatures that are inborn " The Hexagonal Primogeniture rushing down a beehive, after having dined with the Tragones of Archangelos, they go back to the voids of history that appear before them on some cliffs, saying:

“At the beginning of the 4th century BC, all the Greek poleis, regardless of whether they were bigger or smaller, began to mint their own coins, sometimes pictorially represented by the name of their communities: Ástaco for a lobster, Melitea for a bee, Selinunte, for a celery leaf. It is from this same conception of Aristotelian Virtue, that this regression has the motive to humanize and integrate Creation and its little creatures, from a chaos of death like the daughter of Jairus, being able to reborn a new cosmogony with a sub-cosmogony between myth and myth. Relative concept of reality, resurrection occurs and does not occur, because the divine primordiality of being resurrected will also exist delegatedly, as a being again reborn, perhaps with the same essence component re-obtained,but within an order that admits creation of Creation in a world that does not recognize Chaos as deep and empty, rather generous to grant the magic of the irrigation of the energies of Yeshua, already constituted as an ambivalent chaos computer. Titanic continues phenomenology, taking us to dimensions that share recapitulations of their nature among themselves, to once again contain compendiated and resurrected beings, who socially walk the face of the earth resurrected and fragile subtle in an ordered but sensitive land, and with voids of integrity and chaos that could restrain it. Zeus and Tartarus, almost like poetic prototypes, would appear in storms of evasion of credibility towards creation and its genesis, subtracting the secondary intention that consolidates the grateful world of restructuring, saved by an unknown superior deity, to whom the springs are prominently unleashed. And the blades of the Hellenic time mill”
Chapter *** II
Vas Auric / Rhodes
Hex Birthright in Hallenika
When knowing a man who emigrates through the hemispheres, who dialogues with his senses, that he gets tired as if marasmus were overtaking him, contravening his health, and his odorifying need leads him to balance, but an insane frenzy stigmatized any reasoning by not enjoying his style of life. It is continually said that he wants to be a witness to his existence but does not approve of leaving him, subdued by his psychiatric condition. Let hatred remain numb, and perhaps I will not let go of having a living companion close by. What God Make his power trustworthy, and not only in misfortunes go to the union of forces, in the worrying mutuality of help, of the nascent good of the origin and not grant it in administration to the wealth of weak and innocent brains. And I, who still sharpen my flooded will, who more defensively underlies his aneurysms, barricading the escapes towards a worse evil, perhaps relentlessly I will prosecute myself or ****** me away. Motivated is my perfection and not the contraction of the wandering humanities. This world of orates is an aesthetic world of theirs, now that I know not to belong to the singularity, I will calmly know how to alienate myself more, and if I am to be evil, I will ride the Leviathan or the enemy of Ahab's wooded foot, so that together with them in the confinement he goes in search of stimulation and thus appears among them before the same madness. I raise my neck in fear to see the frightened rabbit, fleeing by the fire emanating from the dragon shotgun, as if he saw myself reflected in him so defenseless and unable to wander through his extensive and own habitat, clean of the superior beasts, delaying the greatness expressive of my freedom, of my recognized and predictable meaning, because if my legs feel like thin rows, I can use my arms with confidence, just like the dog run over in the Prehistoric Park.

After a few nights of wakefulness and being immersed in a ****** battle, he makes a preamble to the pain, which is his physical lumbalgy and lithiasis. The psychological pain makes his fingers entangle as if holding them back so as not to bind the fork to his eyes and not also incur in cooling his brain with high doses of alcohol. Because Libídine's troops are ready to set sail and dilate and cause baseness rage, and confusion, which reveals nothing other than being very vain, like discarding the feces. Dizzy is the drunk, destroying neurons with the saline dendrites circulating in his adult body, taking the healthy infantile body away from him. In a strong need to open his eyes, he abruptly comes out of the animistic scholastic dream, where his patriarch the subconscious shares in the awakening and retaining operation of learning. He finally woke up alive and last night if he slept. The morning light spontaneously passed the sclera, and like a very light feather, it rose with its usual companion leaves on his back; calling them ... my sheets!

Another majestic and sunny day greeted him, and the birds that fled to the south, came back inviting rejoicing, inviting happiness, the immortal joy of not being locked in loneliness and bitterness for a long time, but that this hommo in its violence will depend on nature and what each bird carries around the world in Mission of Peace. I know that within the captivity that I endure my conscience has experienced, the same hell enveloping my whole being on the edge of the cliff, where I will fall and float in the burning breath of the flames.I know well that neither countless myths nor superstitions will elucidate the torrent of guttural and non-guttural voices, and those that come from the nucleic experimentations of the origin of the voices that seek outlets to expel them. When he ate with great vigor, he felt his super-manhood emerge, which made his yearning for freshness and power arrive, as if only knowing that he was very strong in every way and very perceptive. Ludwig says that there is nothing to hide, so he will take advantage of going out, and this time he will do it in the direction of Lake Calypso, where he recreated the view of him, and why not, he will share with another homogeneous to his intentions. This will shorten the time left to see his Antoinette, and that her sculpture will hydrate the emotions vexed by Debra's ingratitude, even though she was a passenger on his trip. Her stay at the Lake was serene and with an even climate, that is, the legacy of a good Christian was transmitted by the light of the lights that illuminate the planetary Earth. Ludwig shortened time and at the same time the possession of his spirit, which was the multivalent relic that reached wherever his thought wanted to go because he was gifted in projecting beyond his borders; his consistent body and feeling comfortable with himself and what surrounds him in that beautiful Lake. In the lakeside places of the Earth, none of them should cause him the same pleasure, as has happened with his pupils that, ticklish with laziness, fall into a sleep that he did not expect ...:

The Dream

“The high dome of the Abbey, where the symbolic cross dominates with ******* and authority, is the panorama, where the date or the day is not known. This Abbey can be seen from any point of the Orb, where its architecture delivers the grandiose mystical profile, full of wonder and exaltedness. He is walking along the bay, almost in the final twilight. The night is the darkening stain that suggests relaxation shock, and fatigue; a Mystery of the same feeling of shelter, of the sea cold that also suggests the multiple verbal messages of the Sea and the sky. Where Selene's sparkles bring millions of messages to the plasma, and that it receives them gracefully with dilated and flabby pores. He continues to walk among the crowds that perhaps throw themselves at the brights of the Moon or the stars, or at the artificiality of their belongings. When suddenly the Abbey reddens from the base to the cross, radiating light beyond its profile, until in a short time it became flaming ripples --- Ludwig said What heat ... it's impressive ...!, but something has to be done, I can't stay like this. Not very high from the cross, a few meters away, a pale light turned, with great force that was supposed to have some connection with the burning fire of the holy Abbey. And that light always revolved with the tendency to go out of its orbit, and with unequaled evil to incinerate the Ecological City, his beloved city, where for the first time he saw the light. And so the evil sleeping pill happened, an unknown light left its orbit in the direction of the sea, falling on the dense aquatic mantle. While Ludwig ran without direction, others did it with panic and tremulousness, they were right because from the dense water a ship emerged with crew members who were only exterminated and nobody could escape, not even the most pious, nor the strongest, nobody escaped from the radios exterminating shots. But Ludwig remained unharmed, he saw that the Abbey did not burn, on the contrary, it was reestablished. Looking at the sea he watched the slaughter of those beings, exterminating everything, absolutely everything. Through the middle part of the hills of the city he was still running, perhaps as the only survivor. Saying ...: “I must have caught some baseball bats lying around. Who knows if I would ****** some moment of death and fight with him to save myself, but that was not, and what I carry in my hands is the invisible weapon, the hopeful weapon, or the surprising luck. But the inhabitants of the Photoprism continued their destruction, and the nocturnal black was seen as the hemochrome of callous bursts of dread. Only some voices said what only the pain allowed them to say, placed in the center of the suffering with the unknown of not understanding death and all the derivations. Today the deadly Photoprisma, killed the lives of those who possessed it, as if wanting to ambition the bay and the Abbey, and it seems that these are not the only ones in the Ecological City, but that there is more than the land itself that the light did not disintegrate. Later it dawned, leaving the ravages of the Photoprism drag. It vanished as it appeared, threatening to appear in another magnetic field ... Ludwig walked confused, but safe and sound ... "

When in the dream he became light, in the Calypso Lake the air-cooled that later awakened his dream. Upon coming out of sleep and lying very relaxed in the lake that nurtured him, he was able to contain the murderous attitude that lived in him, and that greatly confused the love he felt from him towards others whom he would smile and caress him. Even his being forgave the men of the Photoprisma, but no matter how affectionate he felt, he would still be lost, and like everyone who is self-esteem he wanted to tell someone what he had dreamed of. He says ...: Debra, Debra ... Where are you ...? Why do I like to see you ...?, I think his body is beautiful, his beautiful lineage, his proportionate *******, they are of a true muse. And now that I try to communicate with her and with my philosophy, I see that by the long or short way I will reach her, and even if it is simplistic Debra, I will want to visit her and extend my hand with everything the heat accumulated towards her, like that of the puppies and her owner.

So the motionless waves keep her passionate love a secret and do not lose position so I will always have a wish in good anathemas to deliver. Perhaps the messenger that I look for in myself will be the thought that manages to bring Debra closer to subtract her true humanity from me and me from her. And the resignation spirit that exists in me today is how she died indefiniteness. It is the spell of man to men who do not forget what is important.
Weirdly Emigrate Chapter V
no broken thread:
just telegram telepathic:
short:

don't keep looking
for the bogus
of self-belief:
the motto: of:
just believe in yourself
*******:

such a timid death
of god
no god no self
read about the Devil:
only two philosophers
danced with
him:

Spinoza and Kant:
and i adore these two men
like Hamlet
or is that Vader: Darth:
or is that: no:
no Macbeth...

find your: self-worth!
man!
find your: self-worth!

  forget about self-belief!
forget about self-belief!
don't believe in yourself:
no cogito ergo sum phantom
rolling inside your brain
thinking yourself
more than rock
sea god and mountain:

but reflect upon the face of you
in Poseidon:
the ancients might have believed
Titans ruled
like Autocrats
and...

              Quality: of one
rather than one: as a quantity of indefiniteness
pleasure: no pleasure
she became involved in my life
yet my life is still somehow public
but as i microdosaged
and was asked sober to exchange
money

and spent the weekend with father
and you talked about moving
Martin nearer to the sea
to Danzig by the Sea not Clackton
or Clacton:

                     i'm going to an AcDc
gig while she was having spaghetti
monsters of conversations
by a bonfire
a date night
longing out I know
Reyla wanted us to have a date night:
i need to pay my cats for
baby-sitting: i really do...

confusion creates enlightenment:
funny how:
i can't see a traffic cordon
in the fog
enlightened by concusion
and hitting a tonsure of blood on my head:
perhaps i need
to get out of this gig economy
people are not seeing human to human
interaction

QUALITY:
half a joint
and half a 70cl bottle of Welsh whiskey
talking about sport

that England vs Switzerland match
but then that
Netherlands match vs Turkey
and i'm about to talk Olympics:
tis the season to by ****** holy
and Japanese pederasty
like so got me involved...

kettle?
pan?
kettle-pan
cups-ahoy: one is for a lesbian: i'm sure:
let's get technical:

i was actually looking up the Architect
of the Third *****:
Third ***** history is so rich
in its mythology and genocide that
it's a fetish
that i only acquired having acquired
the English language first...

**** Architecture is still ALIVE...
just think of the hands that did
the work of laying brick on brick
and you can still see ghosts
like jazz hands applauding
those still living...
of those who constructed Wembley
to now those who work in Wembley:

what a disparity:
CONSTRUCTION ARMY > WARFARE ARMY
you only realize that
when working in the security industry:
the military personnel became demoted
while the construction army
became promoted to the status of ACTOR
poet...
SUPERVISOR...

today my father said that supervisor
in the construction industry:
but a supervisor in the security industry:
i demoted myself
wanted go back to the roots:
unhinge myself from the shackles
of a profession: no career
a job is money...

    if i were a rich man... phantom of the opera
and fiddler on the roof:
somehow mashed up mashed up mashed up mashed up!

of this world i only ask of three
things:
not the father the son and holy ghost:
as man to man and then
translating to woman:
tortured by a blockjob
kept this one ***** chick dear mummy
got a new fairstyle
and for all the Gardens of King Solomon
just my me and David and the Lute
and Swan Song: Monogamy of the ****
*** ***... donkey cure of carrots..

just seeing these ex military men
work in the security industry alongisde
ex construction men
and how there's work in work
there's absolutely work in work
i'm doing overtime
playing actor psychologist pingpong...

three things:

A GOOD WOMAN: WHOLESOME
               AGRARIAN:
                   PARADOXICAL:
        DOGMATIC:
                 (looking: looking: for
a word: working agrarian:
hubris: hunting blues...
                       tip to tongue
tip to tongue... RUSTIC!)
SOME GOOD WHISKEY
A SHERBET *****
& good music
that's the 4th goldfish:
for you to hide like
a dragon
and that's the 1st wish of my 3
and that's 4...

                  as a fan of football
of sport
how is England supposed to compete
with the national furor of
both Netherlands where interrogation
integration worked:
where Turkey there's integration
of *** apparent Turks looking more like
Europeans rather than Middle Easterners
and that's because i count the shift of Rome
and no longer the Ottoman claimant
of Byzantium:

best reading encyclopedia history
when watching a football match:
best thing to do!
best: thing! to: do!

— The End —