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El Torpedo appeared out of thin air, moving at what could only be called -by any reasonable man, considerable velocity. She crashed into her soft down bed with a force that would've concerned even the most detached of onlookers, had there been any. 'Had there been any?' she wondered, as the recoil from the impact sent her flying into the air. The young girls arms and legs flailed in all directions; her body spinning wildly through the empty space of mid-flight, until finally -THUD!

“******* it, Ghost!” she groaned, holding the back of her head with her gloved hand.
“How can that still be funny!”
There was no reply, only a faint warm breeze and the smell of freshly cut grass.
“This is no time for jokes, Ghost! I was this close to offing those *******. What the **** were you thinking letting them get away?”

For a few moments she continued on mumbling various obscenities and abuse at The Ghost, which we won't bother to detail here. El Torpedo removed herself from the floor and took a few seconds to dust off her omniverse attire.
Ghost Scarecrow replied, “I didn't let them get away.”
“Well, then where the **** are they? I don't see them anywhere!” El Torpedo spat back.
“Of course you don't. They're not within our current field of vision.”
“Very funny, you are such a ******* riot. Did they get away or not?”
“No. They did not get away.”
“Well, where are they, then?”
“Finally, you ask the right question!”
“I already asked you that!”
“Whatever. Let's go.”

At that moment, El Torpedo and the Ghost Scarecrow evaporated into the universe, their molecules became space, all of it...the entire thing all at once, allowing the duo the very useful ability to appear anywhere in the omniverse at anytime without warning. I know, it's hard to comprehend. But, as far as I can tell, and from what I've been told by those who would know, that's what happened. It was a rather difficult period for criminals like me. But that's a story for another time, back to the matter at hand.

Once their miracle of physical travel was complete, the duo found themselves floating approximately 40 feet above the Lacksdale River looking down on Tom's Bridge. Two small objects could be made out in the distance, appearing to hover just beneath.

“That's them?”
“Yep.”
“What did you do, Ghost?”
“I was just practicing my justicing...”
“That's not justice, Ghost. That's ******.”
“No Torpedo, that is art.” His playful demeanor suddenly became somber and serious. “Let's have a closer look.”

The two floated closer. As they came within range, El Torpedo felt the cold, dark energy flowing straight through her soul; Ghost had had one of his moments again. The gruesome scene came into full view: Two men hung upside down from the bridge; the chains that Ghost Scarecrow had used to secure their ankles had already begun their slow and deliberate journey through the men's flesh.





Beneath the chains were crudely fashioned trash bags secured by duct tape around the victim's ankles. Ghost wasn't a detail oriented entity, he just sort of did things in a haphazard way and called it art. Even the casual observer could tell that the job was done in haste. The plastic covered the corpses from ankle to neck. The bags were bloated, filled with the blood of the doomed souls. A few tiny streams of the red liquid made it through the duct tape and ran down the faces of the men.

El Torpedo turned away for a moment and fixed her gaze on the Scarecrow, the smile on his face was quite sinister and chilled her to the bone. She wondered what he thought was so artistic about this brutality. Then she saw their faces. They were beautiful. It must have taken him hours to carve it all.

“How did you do that? It's..beautiful.”
“I didn't do that.”
“You didn't?”
“No. I'm currently compiling a list of possible suspects.”
“Ghost, you told me that you did it.”
“I did.”
“Well, either you did or you didn't. Which is it?”
“I killed them and hung them there. I didn't do the carving. You know I can't draw...at least not like that, and certainly not in this dimension.”
“Then who did?”
“I'm not sure.” The Ghost stuttered, beginning to feel a bit sick. “This looks like the work of...”
Together they finished the sentence, “The Artist!”

For a moment they stared at each other in stunned silence, both absorbing the gravity of the situation. El Torpedo broke the silence, “It can't be, we...I..., I killed The Artist myself. I stuck the barrel to her sweaty forehead; I saw the fear in her eyes when I cocked the hammer. I saw the explosion of blood and brain matter splash against the ceiling and walls after I squeezed the trigger. I wiped her blood from MY face. It's impossible!”
The Scarecrow replied, “It could be a copy cat. The Artist is dead, Torpedo. I was there; I saw what you did to her. No one could survive that -not even her.”

“You two don't know what you saw,” boomed the unmistakable voice of the one and only. “But, I do!” She continued, “You saw what I wanted you to see. Same as now.” She drew a heavy breath, her ample ***** grew fuller. She created the illusion of oxygen intake; she was a creator, and continued her verbal assault on the Scarecrow. “And you! Strawman, or whatever you call yourself these days. To even suggest a copycat after looking at my masterpiece...I'll **** you in eight dimensions a day for the next week! Ten, if I can manage it.” El Torpedo saw the fire of  The Artist's eye flickering in the cool blue darkness. “I think I'll start with the you in this dimension.”

At that very moment, The Ghost fired his (clever weapon name) straight through the heart of what we all, and any person worthy of being reasoned with would've thought was, The Artist. No such luck. The solid image became mist, evaporating before their eyes. I could still see her, safely tucked away. I see lots of things though; hard to keep it all straight, you know?

The Artist continued, “..to think that would work. Good Christ, Strawman! You're dumber than your name implies!”

She reappeared, snuggled closely to the back of  The Ghost Scarecrow. Her knife at his throat, her lips at his ear, she whispered, “My Turn.” She proceeded to pull the blade across Ghost's neck. Before Torpedo could even begin to think about reacting, The Ghost's blood was spraying all over the place. I actually felt bad for her at that moment. It was kind of sad, actually. Blah, rambling again. Back to it!  


“What the **** was that?” El Torpedo uttered, apparently still in shock.
“That, My Dear, is what you can expect when you **** with The Artist!” The sound of her words reminded El Torpedo of the sound of an electric can opener near the end of it's days. “I am the only force in the omniverse that you need concern yourself with, that is all you need to know. Now, Good Night!”

Blinded, but very much alive and very much paralyzed, El Torpedo could feel her limp body sinking into the dark, cold waters of the Lacksdale River. She held her breath for as long as she could, until finally, she gave. The water filled her lungs, but she did not die. A chain appeared around her ankle, it descended deep into the abyss where, presumably, it was attached to something that would keep the girl secure. I'm not sure, I couldn't see that far.

“I've secured you between dimensions, Dear. No one will find you here. Enjoy your stay.” and with that The Artist was gone. But, she'd made one, possibly fatal, mistake. She'd left a witness, ME!
We open our minds to expand to the times not to pretend there is some end to confine the limits of prime; we defend to remind to dance to the trance we redefine to enhance not to surrender to chance.

We open our hearts to embrace the new space-time transparency, interdimensional race as we become united and one, open to truth we exhibit ourselves as one infinite youth, gifted and new, eternally pure evolved to endure no end to potential, perfect and cured.

We strengthen our bodies and build on each other we love ourselves and love one another we grow and mature and extend to our neighbors but as we think deeper our expansion is greater our planet is one and our galaxy peace to the opening worlds we bring wisdom and ease we do not enslave or deny or deceive but we share our pure knowledge our light and belief.

We raise up our souls beyond science and physics to evolve beyond consciousness confinements and limits our imperial nature shifts to emerge from the boundaries of body and smallness of Earth we expand our perception to include all dimensions from previous eons to future inceptions.

We shift our new world from finite to light, universal, infinite, natural, bright we embrace the day and welcome the night to work with each other to be perfect, upright, to evolve our new planet, our galactic mindframe to expand from micro to cosmically aimed to unlock the portals to open our brains to evolve from old gears to interdimensional spheres uniting creation without hesitation pure as clean water and deep meditation.

-Ryan Christopher Brandes
Im focusing my energy elsewhere as best I can, but I keep thinking of El Torpedo.
Trapped there between dimensions like that; It's no fun. I've been there.
It's no fun at all.

I generally don't get involved in petty squabbles between lesser beings;
But, this particular situation bothered me greatly.
Is it because I'm lonely?
I'm too lazy to be lonely;

So, that makes no sense.

I can't even enjoy my coffee for want of piece of mind on the matter.

That's where I draw the ******* line.

My haven, it will not be disturbed this way.

I had to do something.
Something that required effort;
Asking favors from entities I don't particularly care to visit with.

I've never felt this.

Why do I care all of a sudden?
A question for which I currently have no answer.

I really should've paid more attention to the goings on,
but I was distracted by thoughts of Sacred Geometry
And dreams of Fibonacci...

Here is what I think I know so far:

El Torpedo thought she killed The Artist.
So did everyone else.
That turned out not to be the case.

Killing the Scarecrow, I can understand.
It would make perfect sense to me- but, I'm not the Artist.
She works differently.

She takes her time.

This was a crime of passion, she was in a hurry.
She didn't sign her work
That is unheard of; it doesn't happen.
El Torpedo is alive.

The Artist didn't plan this; it was happenstance.
They interrupted her;
She punished them.
Ghost was opportunity (I'll explain),
Torpedo was mercy (How mundane).
Anthony Moore Jan 2021
Inside of the infinite
I'm feeling rather finite
and I find
that high tide
is my time
to dine with the divine

twice a day
once in the light
once in the night

an angel with stretched wings pulled by a string
longer than it seems writing symphonies in my dreams
she whisper when she sings
each song rings betwixt my ears
reverberating reverence
evidence of the eternal
never evident if I'll return whole
each trip through the worm hole
requires a sacrifice

peace of life

many nights lying awake with gut rot
many lights where the wrong fight got fought
the water is rising
yet the boat is not
Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
Here comes The Change
That has the range
Of emotions
And demotions
And devotions
Of a perilous populous
That likes to raise a fuss
When they eventually learn who I am
And treat me like I'm the Son of Sam

To be specific
They discover I'm gay
And begin to filet
My mentality
In totality
For fatality
Merely by acting differently

If my sexuality isn't the first thing people know about me
I get to witness The Change
Like a dog with mange
I am shedding my hair
While screaming no fair
Because of the shift I see
Because of the **** I need
To make my heart bleed

There is a steady bellowing burdensome baggage
From those that want to ****** some *******
So I search for weight lifters
But only find shapeshifters
That become great grifters
When The Change occurs
And The Change burns
So The Change turned
Me into an interdimensional changeling
And an unintentional rage king
After they use words like flaming
Because the results are so draining
It becomes hard not to hate people
Who are inspired by hate steeples

They say I'm going to Hell
While I notice the smell
Of being buried in their banal ****
While they play their greatest hits
That are as unoriginal
As they are cynical
They say I'm a degenerate
An embarrassment
A parent's lament

I want to change into a carefree bird
Instead I stay in Hell with the herd
Wanting to escape like Lupin the Third
Rather than be oppressed like the Kurds
But there is no relief
Only re-grief
When changes aren't permanent
But The Change is

There's an illustration of my life
That will change your perspective
The picture is in my words
When the painting is what I choose to say
And the canvas is your mind
Whose textures I could never imagine
So I jump off a cliff blindfolded
Expecting to be changed once I land
Guss Dec 2013
When I came to, it was already too late.
Tumbling at the speed of sound and pointed
at the only thing I ever cared about.
Home.
Readjusting and stabilizing
the shot towards earth,
I remembered what was packed tight
in the cargo hold with the titanium alloy exoskeleton.
It was a matter of total energy.
So powerful,
that I used it to come see my home world
even though it was long since abolished.
The destruction was a mystery up until now.
As I hurled towards earth with my incredible dangerous load.  
My only hope was that I could come back and save my family.
I would have never considered
that I would be the demise of my entire species,
nonetheless all of the underestimated subspecies that would die too.
"Captain."
The vessels computer was attempting to revive me.
“Impact in thirteen seconds.”
The ship commanded in the most perfect womanly voice.
"Ten."
"Initialize magnetic gyroscopic shielding." I say.
"Nine."
My planets surface was closing in.
I could see the coastline waves
rolling and ebbing with the moon.
"Eight."
At this moment I considered my probable demise.
"Seven."
“Captain, interdimensional equipment
charged and awaiting coordinates.”
She said,
as her other voice commanded,
“Five seconds till impact.”
Collapsible was the style of our Universe.
All I had to do now,
was tap the controls and I would leave the atmosphere instantly,
taking me in between the folds of particles.
The hull was losing integrity as was I.
And on that thought,
I simply pressed the button
and started my return to my lonely place in time.
Alone in the distant future and in the silence of space.
The passing eons of space-time were rattling my very bones.
But I ascended to the very place in time
where I would have been.
And there she was in all her exaltation.
Earth.
Untainted as I once recalled.
That’s when it struck me.
It was only logical that my life had been
looping all these years.
Destroying and saving humanity
all at the same time.
So typically me.
"Computer, set a course for San Francisco."
Tell me how you see time.
Thera Lance Jun 2020
To say that we’re both far from home
Might be a bit of a stretch,
Since simple roads and passable oceans fail
To describe the true distance between worlds
Ripped apart so that only faded myths
Whisper of how once they were one.

We are not quite
Sitting right across from each other
In libraries where books scream secrets
While we glance up with the silent truth of distrust.
We are far from where we should be,
Yet if either of us want to traverse past the stars
And into the worlds that exist in mathematician numbers
And in the dreams we have at night when the other is no longer watching,
We need to do more than simply wait for that moment
Where our eyes meet once in connection rather than separation.
GAETANO Dec 2015
People have talked about 'FUNK',
For the past  forty-five years.
That's  FUNKY!
Music is Funky.
Gimme' some  FUNK!
Listen to that Funky beat!
Play that Funky music Dude!
How Funky can you get?
This is Funked up!
I'm feelin' FUNKY today!!!
I'm in a Funk.
So many different uses.
So many different meanings.
Uptown Funk;  What's Uptown, Funk?
Classier than Downtown Funk?
People can take a slang term,
And make it anything they like.
That man smells Funky!
My Lady...She's my Funky Mamma!
A dancing child is Funky;
YEAH Little Man...let your FUNK out!!!
That restaurant is Funky,
Don't eat there.
FUNK, is an interdimensional, Transracial, Interdependent word.
It came from the Seventies and,
Will last forever,
And never go out.

Now;                            
Don't let yourself be...
...Caught in a FUNK!!!
The Birth Of Gaia

"The changes themselves are already under way for quite some time. They are energetic changes, not so much on a physical 3D level. The Hunab Ku wave signal, on its way to Earth aka Gaia, will open a Stargate. The wavefront will get here by the end of 2012.

In physical terms Hunab Ku (Hunab Ku aka Perseus aka Ouroboros, the Milky Way Serpent who swallows its own tail) is a quasar radio source, also known as Sagittarius A, 'weighting' about 4 million suns and so 40 million kilometers (or 2 light minutes) across and about 25,627 lightyears distant from the core of the Earth.

The changes will result via energy Matrix changing not the planet itself. Gaia's ascension is interdimensional, not physical.

Changing the rotation and inertia of Earth (geographic pole shifts,..etc) could easily destroy the planet. The higher dimensional envelope is changing (subtly seen in environmental changes).

Energy shift is slowly displacing the old Matrix - this is the ascension. By 2013 it will complete the reconfiguration. Old humanity will be "forced" to either adapt or go crazy. The less "dense" reconfiguration will enable the ET (extra terrestrial ) contact by then. Until that time, ET will only be seen as plasma (white light, orbs..shadows of 4D).

There will be a pole shift....but at the center of the Earth. Its a dimensional 'Opening' or Rupture of spacetime itself as a 'SelfIntersection', of geometry. The wave signal will than bounce back and begin transmitting all the gathered data from Noospehre aka Akashic Records aka... to the entire universe."

THE COUNCIL OF THUBAN
Taylor St Onge May 2021
the asteroid hit the earth so long ago that
                                                             i do not remember a time before.  
(the bones of dinosaurs do not remember a time before they were
petrified into brittle and fragile memories; the moon does not recall
who she was before she got stuck in the earth’s orbit; uranus knows
nothing of how he came to spin on his side.)

you could stick your hand through
any of the gas giants and find
                                                          your whole body
                                                           slidi­ng through.  
this same theory can be applied to my skin.  i have very little gravity,
or at least it feels that way most days.

maybe it depends on how you look at it:
one way is perfect, and the other all wrong.  the woman in the casket could either be sleeping or dead.  she could either be a stranger or my mother.  the head or the tail.  the light or the dark.  the two sides of the moon.  the comet striking through the night sky.  the interdimensional toll could refuse to let you through.  the cult could accept or deny your entry request.  there is one and there is the other.  the upside down.  the rightside up.  the parallel universe.  the evil twin.  it’s fresh and then it’s rotten.  this could either hurt a lot or a little.  it depends on how much you let in: how willing you are to bend to the emotional blow.

science says that the human body tends to
                                                            forget physical pain as a survival tactic.
but science says jack **** about emotional pain.

so am i living?  or am i just existing?
     the difference is six feet deep.
writing your grief prompt three: how do you live in a landscape so vastly changed?
John Apr 2016
Just like Earth girls and
Taking a stroll through hot Hell
Haikus are simple.
Matt Sep 2019
They are not "aliens"
They are the Nephilim

Interdimensional creatures
The fallen ones

The mark of the beast
Will contain Nephilim DNA

Most people of the world
Have no understanding
Regarding spiritual matters

The worldwide disinformation program
Nears its completion

Don't open up your homes
To the Nephilim
They will claim to be the saviors of mankind
They are filthy liars
And they will burn in the lake of fire
With their father, satan

Jesus of Nazareth Is Lord
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
It's too late, I think
    Pouring myself a drink
They can't relate to me
    This ain't my place
I paced myself too much in my day
Now face up to a world where nothing's built for me,
Everything I see's off limits
I get it, I don't dig it.
What's left but to dial those digits,
Or did I forget em?
Best not try it
She won't buy it
She's got guys lined up
And I'm stuck in the last place

   First thing, morning time
Wake and remember I've already forgotten a dream
Light outside, no clock
Could be 9, could be 10
Could be 2 PM
Ain't showered in three days
Ain't shaved in 373
Coffee's warm, not hot,
"I've GOT to start waking up at more reasonable times"
But now it's 9 PM
And I'm trapped on the interdimensional
Adolescent internet tubes
In silence waiting for someone to laugh
And flocking toward what sounds like happiness
For ungodly hours
Finally falling asleep
To a Joseph Campbell lecture
Hoping the awareness of what I'm missing out on
Is a suitable replacement for devouring the ***** of Osiris in earnest each Friday
Will Sep 2020
Blazing down the midnight streets, driving faster with every beat.
The higher the mile, the bigger the smile.
At this great speed, they felt at peace.
Hoping that it would finally allow them to outrun their life of greif.
Lights flicker, fingers numb.
It hurts so much.
Knives claw through the memories.
Faster.
"Please!", they cry out.
Fingers release, speeds increase.
There it was.
Clarity.
"Amy is right, Chad ***** major ***!"
She drove her pink Hummer to the sorority house.
"Yaaaaas, Queeeeeeen!"
They yelled.
"Chadsworth is gone!"
Cheers went round and their souls rebound.
But Chad was near, he always was, because Chad was an interdimensional demon.
1063629 was it's /name/
Sorority in flames, ladies Instagraming the pain.
1063629 sees this and claims
"/names not found/ feel pain! Emote!"
Empty space.
1063629 cries.
It is alone again.
Soul shattered in the war of JPSL20.
Alone in shame of loss.
Tears of an interdimensional demon.
Like glue.
Glue.
I love you too.
Glue cracked the sky.
Crazy glue.
Stuck on you.
Glue cracked the earth.
Hades ruptures beneath.
Hellspawn rise up from the shattered surface realm.
Glue.
The new savior lost, in a battle with the demon 1063629.
In 46-70 the Lord of Demetrius defeated the beast once known as; 1063629.
Glue was the cure.
Earth sealed with glue.
I was maybe a little high. But it was fun to write!
I used to believe the way I felt was
it.

There was nothing more to me.
I was cracking and the world around me fell away, before I learned how to travel,
I was lost.

My mind was fragmented and skipping through eternity. Some days I'd wake up a new age. Reliving days I didn't even remember.

For longer than I'd like to admit,
I believed these were dreams.

That my brain was throwing me from nightmare to nightmare,
Just trying to wake me up.

I only fell deeper though,
deeper into the faded moments from the past.

Once I learned,
once I realized these were
parts
of me.

I found myself...not lost...but

wandering

from one beautiful daydream to the next.
My world's were no longer stories and fantasy lands. They became my past, I used my pen to tear open holes in time, to relive the things I'd rather forget.

I felt strong.

The demons that haunted those placid corridors in my brain,
they didn't have power.

The fear I felt was real,
Living in it was easier when you knew you could leave. So I traveled from dream to memory, polluting my timeline with my anachronistic presence.

It wasn't long before writing felt like nothing and the only thing that mattered were the spaces in between this reality and the past.

Poems were the maps I drew.
Each an outline of the steps I should take when I open a rift into my memories again.

At some point though,
I could see those ghosts in my timeline.

I spent so much energy in other realities,
they began to bleed into mine. Just like I was
intruding
On things that were,

They were now existing in places that are.

The only real way to be rid of them was
to stop all together.

To force reality to put it's pieces back by forgetting.
So I killed the old me and threw him back into my notebook.

I sealed that gateway with fire and

stopped opening doorways to demons.

They still creep in sometimes though.
I imagine that's
the problem with interdimensional travel.
POSSIBLE Apr 2016
I destroy as I write
painted movements upon the disease of blankness

fulfilling the open potential
shining through a darkened tunnel
fraught with the weight of culture's phantasm.

A projected collective
imbuing meaning and density leaving the propensity
to do more in the hands of the unconscious.

A generation  of dreamers caught  in a co-created nightmare

It takes a forceful shaking to wake them into waking, a kind of tremor like the earth is quaking

but stillness
still grips

those who would otherwise toss and turn

You've had your time, now its our turn

Interdimensional investigative procedure
Prepare your resume, for today you will be hired or fired

Welcome to the game.
Place noise in of hands of  those with silent faces
danny Sep 2017
dear interdimensional space traveler,
it's been both an honor and a privilege to watch you traverse far and wide and maybe you will find your way back to the year and 4 months when you filled the space on the other side of my mattress
do you miss the gravity that pulled you to me?
do you miss linear time and when we were on the same wavelength?
maybe when you finally "came home" you forgot where that even was
is her apartment floor your new safe haven?
212 miles is too close for us to have given up so easily and you were still light years away
time has stopped here since you left, interdimensional space traveler
i hope our time and space aligns again
******* magical
despite psychopaths
running the shitshow
egoic stoic will unfold
as origami hearts turn
etheric tissue paper
interdimensional winged
aglow in palm
brandon nagley Jul 2015
Humbled
I boweth mine knee,
Seeking one
To taketh me to interdimensional rocketings....

Blasting off
In hott sensuality!!!
Spílaiaus, noticing that Vernarth felt unprotected on the iridescent Nimbus, greeted Zefian; he was in the Phlegrean Fields reliving the Sibylline Treatises of the Pytia Cumea, when the last death rattle of the Universe began to beat with force Zefian sent from his Thracian Gold Quiver right next to where the Sibylline Treatises could materialize again by withdrawing the Arrow of the Vóreios where it began to protrude from the Doric stylobats of the Megaron, everything was comparable to the Parnassus from which Leto; Apollo's mother would grant them Vernarth's Megaronic Songs, making up for her withdrawal since he was saved from the fire in 548 BC.  from the Acropolis, being able to assent to the presence of Triads Women who moaned at him due to his deserted unbalanced voice without being able to receive his exclamations. Zefian then before the lightness of his cosmic phalanges withdrew the Fourth Arrow from the Phlegrean Fields; before it from the volcanic caldera, he released the nine books recovered in total from the six cremated, to then be pierced by Zefian's Arrow to finally project them towards the contiguities of Prophyits Ilias where their spirits appeared here with such reflections of Miletus conversing with each other that the beauty of Coronis was not enough tenor of Paralesias of the Firmament of Apollo, so the Heavens of Patmos had to be opened with the nine sybilline books along with Vernarth's Hellenic Trilogy to establish the Duoverse as paralesias of the world that would restart from the Ádyton to save the Inheritance and his astrophysicist strangulation.
Both vicissitudes of the Fourth Arrow were heading at incalculable speeds to collide and merge with the Arrow that pierced Apollo's Lynothorax to the detriment of Coronis, thus abandoning transcripts of the oracles that crossed paths in the Seventh Hour of Paralysis to later touch with holistic chrysanthemums with their pointed ivory ornaments that hung from the Universe wrapped in an omphalos, which became a Kosmous of wands encrusted with igneous flames to burn to a great degree among the stylobates that the upper canopy prevented from being incinerated from the rest, protecting the parapets from the Megaron that depended on the nearby Cloud of the Iridescent Nimbus where Vernarth resided in the armband patterns of the monarch Croesus.

Spílaiaus replies to Vernarth: “From this promontory, I go to your parents, I tell you that I see signs of great parapets where the center of the Kosmous rises; “The Ádyton, is closely linked to the fusion of the Quarta Saeta, and Septenario del Ibic or Virola to the depths of the Katabainen; whose Katabasis grows through places of impious land from a Megaron that is nothing more than traces of Lycurgus in limber blood that the tabernacle could not contain, nor could it dispossess for a chalice the firmness of an instigated Christus that could now flow and be reborn by submitting to Cyrus, and other satraps of the past, referring to the fact that Vernarth's asceticism depended on the minimum luminance that could come out of Tartar. Vernarth, distinguished himself more calmly when he perceived that Eurydice filled him with greater agreement with the one who is delimited from an underground room, than from a sub-empyrean who began to separate him from the parapets of the Megaron with the shape of a Howling Kosmous burnishing from the same district Strategoi.

In this way, the Adyton was made up of a temple with Seven Steps until the arrival of the fusion of Zefian's Arrow to collide with that of Apollo, then both being the curtain of the interface of the Duoverse that became oracular with the presence of Jerome de Estridón, and Spílaiaus taking them to the Forests of Parnassus and Kanthillana with the Pythonesses in the spurious Oracular of the nuptials. The Sybilla Herofila is present with her veil with the darkness of Castalia, with ceremonious gestures also in front of her the Sybilla Cumea for the brothers of Delphi and Adyton who reopen it with the power of their God, who was accumulating access to an infinite where nothing isolates it, not even from the sip of a sea that does not grant the gift of quenched thirst, then the Psiloi custodians as advisers of their "V" of the pentagram would take charge of the Oracle's minions to unite the center of the Kosmous with the Universe-Duoverse where he rested on the niche of Hestia.

Apollo emerges between some proxenos that accompanied him before noticing the impact of the Arrowheads, and compasses between proxenos that would admit the New Duoverse of the Oracle of Adyton, for a new universe that was gestating from a polymer towards a multidimensional height that rotated to exhibit only the edge that would admit the mass of Saetas to create rings of vibration, and frequency of Apollo in front of Vernarth looking from the magnanimous lookouts of all Greece. This is where the shepherd Coretas juxtaposed himself with his flock to swarm in the thin strips of landslides that would be left by the atomic detonations of both colliding Arrows, whose cracks would drop obtuse crude oil down mysterious empty cliffs in the face of a Greece that would be born before Anthropotite or humanity, only eclipsing Vernarth in the company of the atomic hatching in the middle of the sieve of the same faces of his entourage that will make him return every day of his transition, like fiery Ashin of the Roman Vestal in assiduity of Naples.
Apollo indicates to Vernarth: “If you stay alone in the drift of Astro Cirrus, you stay with the shadow of Coronis, or you will tell me that it dissipates from the discharges of Tarquino Prisco, you must treasure your Trilogy as a pendulum on the towpath of the Dodona or from the hiding places of the fetish between leaves of the inventory that unknown is not by an auspice that will open from the greatest Paradise ”

In advance of the hallmarks of the Itheoi Duoverse; with the Pre-Kelesete or Possession, they decide to contribute the Anticipatory that will open the doors of the Soul that they have to enter the Universe of San Juan Apóstol, from then on a whopping bump are unleashed with the hatching of Saetas between Zefian and Apollo. The Cabal skirmish was accomplished in the dark! The macro transport of spiritual masses begin to coexist transporting the end of the Himation Ceremonial, later until an impartial right here appeared from Camphor, it was his signature Macrowave protoform of the Himation itself; called Camphor-Xórki (syllabus). The Pre-Kalesete began its walk through the Nothing when Vernarth tried to look down on the limpid spheres of Patmos seeing the holistic whole involved in a Greece that was hailed from the Hatching Arrows coming from the last breath near the Camphor-Xórki of San Juan Apóstol where the Xorkí began to syllable “O θάνατός σου είναι τώρα Ζωή – Your Death is now Life”, from the Quantum atomic that began spelling out by Vernarth's Stóma; or beginning of his astonishing mouth that was regurgitating the oscillating lapses between the Keselete and Xorkí.

With expeditious speed came the Arrows of the Phlegrean Fields, forking one by one until the Fourth Sagittal that was isolated in the evolution of myriads of stars that were made up of the proximity of the Nimbus where Vernarth provided himself in decades of nebula Celestines that shone to tear pimps fibers that still aspired to hijack the remains of the Millitum Vernarth, in the form of clusters of radio galaxies that moved towards the reddish, expanding from the Campos Phlegraios in Naples itself; like geological hydrothermal fissures that clustered behind a sudden crimson blue of the great Universal that split receiving the Saeta Prima from said field of fire. The gravitational completion of the curve generated the Saeta Prima that was made conventional with assistant telescopes, before exultant excesses of wanting to see it as a Quasar that descended from Andromeda together with the Auriga, in such a radio galaxy journey to melt the bars of the Universe to be distended by Vernarth's bombastic Stóma that expressed itself more than his dwarfed senses by the Galaxy that was propelled by the waning of the radiance of the Quasars.

The Primal Saeta is abducted in the intermediate vortex of the Quasars, it remains in the orbit of the Nimbus where Vernarth remained in photometric that allowed him to reflect it in its silhouette with the closest astral referent of Orion. The Secunda Saeta came out of the transversal valleys, this came with the agreement of the Pre-Keselete of Saint John the Apostle bathed in ultra-luminous infrared Ouranos, making vibrating strings of the frequency of the Universe in an ultra-luminous dream emanating from molecular gas, adapting to the new fusion of Zefian's Prima and Secunda Saeta with the determination to split the monoxide at the base of the Nimbus from the acroteria that still accompanied it with the universal entity of the Empyrean as hydrogen that formulated the Saetas clash in homologation of the same aerodynamics prop of the Xiphos, from solid metal to liquid in pearly spirals from the magnitude collapse of the Tercia Saeta, this would bring the same from the Horkun hydrothermal or Horcondising Mountain with thousandths of a thousand light years that would unify on their Solid and Liquid pedestals as the Fifth Essence of the Horkun, the Third Bolt arrived between five Kyrios who followed her through the atrium that was beyond the Hydor that incarnated in collusion with her deformation to soon reform, beginning to go towards the manifest of shared energy towards magnitudes divided by the coefficient 0.7 Micron of atomic energy levitating from the quasar equivalent that stretched from the luminous zenithal meridian in front of the mast of the Four Leaf Clover, which pretended to be a Cherub still emanating from nothing, towards the fractal splendor of the Patmos region ten times greater than the hydrothermal that reconfigured Greece at a distance of ten molecular cycles minus a molecular trace of the carbonate crystal. The diameters of the absolute observable were coming out to the delight of a Hellenic Ego observable in the wide Cosmos rendered in anti-gravity of the Fourth Arrow; being competent to see how he appropriated a snowy-blue sky that softened with the obstructed eyes of Saint John the Apostle, granting more than ninety percent of the explosiveness of the Quarta Saeta above the infrared that dominated the collisions, leaving them inactive for only seven seconds before concluding the snowy waves with the dense and glacial gas helically topped by few waves of any gas that sprout from each galaxy that never ended as an isolated Nimbus as Kant preceded, in a time that becomes more extensive than our own light that lives in its bright end. The dislocated morphology of the Fourth Saeta would ignite the border of the Pre-Keselete from the Phlegrean Fields, Kimolos, the Horkun, and Patmos in an unleashed spiral since the matter was uncontrolled from other unknown matter between myriads of collisions caused by Zefian to the limit that cuts his inspiration, only falling asleep all the previously mentioned Duoverse with Vernath's Megaronic Odes in Epilogue of Xorkí, from here towards the metallic lithic tip of the Xiphos with its spelled enchantment.

Megaronic Odes

"You see from the Enchantment in which all matter becomes Free, You see how each one of them after being Four will now be one that speaks of their very existence that you do everything... you realize that the noise of the Duoverse is born from the Xorkí, where everything dark turns grey... and black is Xorkí.

“Everything that has four digits moves with your four wings, everything that you call Quarta Saeta is a Xorkí syllable…”
Camphor is the heat of friction of the contracted memory, it is here that all pain that is in this field of tragedy urges it, and leaves you distrustful of sap that is another that you lead to the Pre-Keselete as an environment of infernal turns that seem to be good of a good that is born to crash fatally. I want to tell you with these Megaronic Odes that I write, which do not belong to me, they are concise clashes of two atomic ignition fields of the Keselete and Xorkí of San Juan Apóstol that make me not mortified, that you will destine me to the gross speed of the blinking of my Hellenes eyes quicker than those of enchanted thought.

“I need to tell you that between La Prima and Quarta Saeta, my charms between frictions will rest on herbs from Corinto and Sudpichi, I will join the choir that will begin to rise for me, it will do so for you who have just begun to know me, soon we will see you, my dear Adelfos"

"As for the Primal and Quarta Saeta, it is the fanfare of a being that would visit every night, it would invite you to live your own experience that was seen to shine for the last time while being handcuffed to an agro bush, which would sustain itself against an enchantment of the Xorkí in a revived future of the brand new Vernarth with his prodded and resonant Xiphos”

Vernarth utters: “Eurydice... here I am, a closed pilgrimage looms towards the dim light with the nocturnal phrase of him endowing me through the conclusive!! Father... Mother, Myloi of the Sad Wind, here I am with your Primordial Arrow endorsing Pillows, beloved Adelfós, the Rabih San Juan? Almighty God bless you from this Quilt holding our spirited hope of seeing you again! "

Between The Prima and Quarta Saeta, enormous hydrothermal plasmas of the drained Don would be cited, which would conglomerate between the interdimensional of the four Saetas, to later send them from the "Heroon Hurkun Funeral Home of Kanthillana", from there to Lefkandi for the transition of his cremated body that began to revive from there ipso facto, later from the Phlegrean Fields with the Fourth Arrow that Zefian would finally bring with the III Trilogy of Vernarth Hellenic being transferred from the iron prop, supremely seconded by settling in the Prophytis Ilias to revive in autonomous descent of the body of a “Hero in his Heroon who will be reborn from his immolated body”. Incontinently, the arrows will be spaced through the interdimensional strapping of all of Greece to revive its awakening just as it happened with Erestles in Messolonghi; but this time of Orion's Wagon breaking with its coined bar eternity in its Hurkun chamber. In this way, Vernarth is distracted by looking at him at three hundred and sixty degrees looking at the Prima, and from this Secunda Saeta seeing how he rose and accelerated his trajectory adjacent to the Tercia and Quarta that would take him towards a failed break over Thyatira; with the Son of Yahweh, who has eyes like a flame of fire or Aish, and feet similar to going burnishing the bronze chaff towards Patmos to revive immediately with the subrogation of his body in the company of the almighty Mashiaj, Saint John the Apostle and the granted Right of the Hexagonal Birth, with the posterity of prosapies remaining everlasting to resurrect him from the neophyte and Hellenic Hortus Heliacus.
Quantum & Alchemy  https://www.academia.edu/105786699/Hortus_Heliacus_Hellenic
I'm starting to piece things together
They control everything
They manipulate everything always

Demons

What we see as typical grey aliens
are really just physical manifestations manipulated
by interdimensional demons

All part of a bigger scheme that's always been there
Fear is the main factor
But what the full secret is who knows
Terror
Sheer terror
sounds about right though

I feel them as i think

Lurking growling smirking
Dripping evil

Daring me to find out

I'm getting really creepy chills as i write this
Evil is near

Hiding in the buzzzz

Stealing my thoughts through devil frequencies

They are agitated

Good

So am I
machina miller Feb 2017
the anti-siren alarm song
collapses the dimensions of the oneiric realm,
fidgeting infinitesimally,
the tangled engine of acidic tubes
combusts last nights pepperoni bacon chorizo pizza

all of sparta trembles
stalagmites shake loose and dust the bedclothes,
cemented eye-lashes decalcify and split,
as two stumbling gargantuan steps
off the promontory of your bed
lead an unguided hand to the light-switch

the florescent hum gnaws at you
a singular parameter in the speaking mind's running mouth
“caffeinate me”

a hill, no, a mountain, no, a sheer abyss
'the stairs', a godly ascent
an ascent for winged creatures of light
creatures with legs for arms, zeppelin-like centipedes
legs whose construct are Dalían,
nightmarish vaulting apparatuses,
whose step is a bound and whose bound is a flight,
as if all of the thirteen foot-tall steps become cliffsides
and all of the cliffsides become interdimensional worm-holes
as the distance between two mustard seeds grows
and exceeds the circumference of the universal ellipse
we see our premonitions are of infinite potentiality.

resignedly, we take the first step
the next twelve follow succinctly.

we reach the ochre chamber of caffeine
only to be halted by a question
a sempiternal question,
a question of mythic, unverifiable stature
a plaguing question,
a question rooted
in our achey-breaky hearts and nigh-arthritic bones,
rooted in the seeping pathos
of our ritualized morning zombie-shuffle:
but it doesn't get asked today, we drink coffee
the world is right-side up again.
"before the sun rises the world is upside down
this i will prove with the informal, childish logic of prose"
Ciel Noir Jan 2023
we are an infinite                regress
    of reflections and           refractions
    of actions and         reactions
         complex       fractions
of interference     patterns    
and mathematical    interactions  
intricately intersecting    connections      
   branching on   tracks
through the     confusing   profusion       
of this soothing     illusion   we create      
            of reality     being a   place         
tessellating in   parallel  space   
               like an  abstract fractal  
in an interdimensional tesseract
reflecting back on itself forever
Blue colors are attracted to me.  

My Destiny.

To Explore The Mother Sea.

But what can that mean specifically?

I heard they tried to embarass me in front of reality.

Thus I'm interdimensional. But I digress..

To proceed.

is to progress.

ah but there's a reason one can walk on water without getting wet.


No regrets I know the ledge

these words will remain under the sea bed.

The color blue.  

My love for you.  

Mý Mood .
written on sept 7th for Yemeja.
Gigi Tiji Jan 2015
Holding my breath,
I'm floating
up, up, and awaay
darkness beneath me
I break the surface
and take a deep breath
of sunshine as I wake up
and rise up
and then i've got some
time to exist in peace.

before I start focusing
before i start noticing...
before i start getting caught
getting caught in the thickets
caught in the thicket thoughts
thicket thoughts
thickets

so now I'm trying to savor that blurry time
'cause I like to walk that blurry line
between sleeping n' leaping
from keep to keep

because life is just one blurry line
...
between sleeps

__

I pour a line of salt onto a table
and it's dissipating around the edges
and you can see the surface beneath it that
rises up like a mountain range and
I'm rising out of the ocean like a *******
performing an interdimensional ion exchange
and I'm a surface rising out of a sea of salt
and I am an ocean rising
out of an ocean rising
out of a surface
of a surface...

waking up, up
and away
- Nov 2017
(?)
Of all clear stages, an interdimensional touch, outness dream, the entanglement of like matter
Of all clear stages which shall touch the poet, which shall touch the concubine, the exotic dancer, the artist, the entrepreneur...
Of all sorts in the aughts the same is different so in other worlds, is the difference so in other hearts?
Creepstar Jun 2016
I caught my reflection,but it was not me,
It was an alternate reality staring back you see.
We waved at one another,mirrored interdimensional mimes,
I thought,"does this happen often & how many times?"
What if there has never been reflection,just a window to a parallel reality?
What if it isn't that at all and this is just an onset for skitzopheria and insanity?
Julian Jul 2022
The loony warbles of a sentient time are the granular epiphany of beckoned realization curtailed by the bamboozled foofaraw of inclement centuries weighing upon freebooter avarice and becoming litigants of their own specialty because in costermongers we find the worst gyrovagues issued by humanity. We spin at warp speed for a dilettante triumph because it issues with it a declaration of inclinations mixed with a desuetude of infirmity that spans the gamut of the global incontinence of dredged infamy becoming a retinoise to a selective fame rather than a bulldozed femicide sparkling in the mist of a wicked ***** rather than a bedecked hypertrophy that sustains us through tachydidaxy as we try and conquer the malingered tropes of kilns of baked bronze.


The balkanized internecine divides that separate the barbarism of the epigones of the past from the belletrist of an upcoming foreseeable future becomes a rejoinder to those who count only as sejungible the boredom of fantasy deprived of fantasia because of the serenade of wistful lugubrious decadence clamoring with clangor to become a self-efficacy of situations rather than a bonanza for separations in civilized affronts of masked time that is the avenger for the saccharine entropy cornered by the capers of a caste of maskirovka because it is a lifeless but livid atrocity to fall into the wrong hands of a delicacy bought by the blood of the innocent when obviously the exculpation of centuries erodes the monolith of draconian tyranny and drapes it with a bemused trope that forswinks duty in order to pasteurize a remontant flower of a wicked spartan negligence of reckless rackrent in the temporal frame that favors the non-linear expression  of ingenuity over the temulentia of advanced decrees to serpentine to flow neatly in the nexility of circumstance by the legerdemain of the circumstantial because the categorical prerogative of lurches in time is that a bypass becomes its own cement that berates the lackluster sheen that is formant to reality only in the conscientious hearth of abandonment. Now that I am flexing my linguistic largesse properly I can fathom the depths of any quagmire of residual endeavors that scrape with abrasive fictions the litany of liturgies competing for primacy because prophecy is a mute dudgeon of the iniquities of our past becoming erased by the sinecures of defalcation from the universal alveolate censure of a decimated mercurial bonanza that appeases simple hearts but evades the evasive prerogatives of willborne triumphs which elope predictably into the cadaster of influence that borrows from nescience the ridicule of the legionnaires that are a bricolage for civilization timid in the reticent squalls of naivety but pregnant with inestimable riches for the keen observation of a reckless carom of a waxing time belonging to the orbital physics of psychic emoluments to a conquest of centuries by the privilege of the  violent torpindage that keeps the immutable certainty of our privy past to become the ringleaders of sedition in destiny that ironically invent serendipity to quell that itch for serotinous barnstorms which are benighted and muddled with borrowed effrontery.


The grandstand of the artifice of the barnstorm is the truth seen only through privileged eyes becoming a simultaneous threat and boon to the safety of the charades of the unknown wilting with etiolation at the first sight of gerrymandered incontinence while proves the futility of all endeavors to outfox the future by relying on the past formulas that are a categorical endangerment of rifled time.




There is a delicacy in convergence because the sinuous architecture of solemn docimasy leads ironically to a cleavage of divergence that predicates the uniformity of time to beleaguer the abortive premises of workaday generations into sharp focus of harmony that swivels with desultory prowess above the carcass of the plaid pedestrian attitudes that simper and jostle through the recessive alleles of time to provoke the ascertained future into strictures of enlightenment because to berate and diverge from the optimal is a sore spotty indigence because the craft of the future become the harbingers of escaped dearth because of cornucopias of amassed conscientious deliberation leading to predictable termini.


The wilted dance of a terpsichorean convolution is that the maximum acme and the minimum nadir both orbit eccentrically around bemused confusion of riddled light becoming the entropy of an unknowable certainty in universal ghastly fright because the prediction arms the predicate symphony into an orchestra of harmony beyond heterodyne blemishes because in every witness there is a conflated belligerence that becomes its own irenic accord when it is siphoned through the limited perception of sapience verging on naive negligence because perception bereaves the sublime and subliminal into an etch-a-sketch mandate of sedition against cordial sympathies. We must then therefore fasten our attentions beyond but between simultagnosia exasperated by spartan entrails and residue of our carnivorous feast of plagued gambols in the lollygag of a useless proctor of diminutive civilizations and find the centripetal pivot that enables us to warp the fabricated bluster of the blench and blarney of masquerades of enthralled piggybacks through  the vicarious thrills of dementia becoming a termagant against the rich troves of destiny.
Time Travel is essentially a rejoinder to the question of why? But never the answer for when because it showcases through the furrows of a groovy rectiserial balderdash unknown to even the vast majority of the litany of man that we can proceed through the interdimensional void but never alter its trajectory because the predevoted is always the capstone words that become parallax trajectories of memory diluted into the wooded halls of an imagined filigree of primordial geometry affixed to conflation just enough so that the delusional palisades of demented destiny always cavort with a misinterpreted boondoggle that ratchets and titrates the proper dose of misinformation so that the world contorts from ignorance into certainty and without the categorical properties of deception we would be lost in a world without raconteur suspense because every heyday has its own plagued infamies that span the canvass of human atrocity becoming  benevolent artifice of calculated negligence rather than bemused harm seen miles away to the extent that the extramundane world is just a serial issue of fiction absconding away from pretense in plight only to arrive at injury because of the throttles of spartan revolt. We need to fumble and botch our crimson endeavors into a recursive cycle because the blemish of foreseeable futures would eventually evaporate into abortive loops of prediction precluding eventuality and the eventual superseding the harmful relics of Potemkin Villages erected to serve the almighty dollar because of the sclerotic dementia of ulterior purpose.
almat011 Apr 2019
The most terrible thing in love is that it is not given to you in life to know who really is your second half. And even if you find it, then you cannot be sure that your love for all your eternity will love you, as it may simply abandon you because of some trifle.
2. Cupid is a cross-eyed ******.
3. For many people, love with late ignition.
4. If you have a broken heart, then destiny is going to offer you something better.
5. Love is the blues of sincere feelings. Something that arouses in reality something paranormal, something supernatural.
6. It is love, not friendship, which is the exact opposite of loneliness. They do not understand that everything except love is meaningless, insignificant trifles.
7. In love there is no word I, there is only a word we.
8. Do not confuse love with ****.
9. The image of a loved one is the light in the midst of darkness.
10. When love dies it is as if a person has died, the spirit comes out of his body, this spirit is a memory, a boredom, a memory. It is a life of love after parting, as if life after death. This spirit wanders in your mind, soul, and heart.
11. Love is a beautiful feeling to tears.
13. The more you love a girl, the less you want to have *** with her. You just want to embrace the soul, love the heart and kiss her lips and cheeks. Because love is higher than ***.
14. Love is stronger than fear
15. Everyone is looking for the second half: superiority, someone is a match, and few are the opposite.
16. Sympathy is a bluff, it is almost always the case. Love is a constant feeling of love, an obsession that is only intensified by mutual love. The idea of a loved one does not let you go, she is constantly in your head, and sits there very tightly.
17. Love is two magnets (a man and a woman) that attract each other more and more. Whenever you move them away from each other, the farther you go, the more powerful they are attracted to each other by body and soul. This is the most powerful magnetic force between them, and there is love.
18. When hugging a girlfriend, you need not just hug, you must convey the warmth of love that comes from your soul. What would she feel from this warm sunlight coming from your soul is the merging of souls in love with a single whole. And at this moment maybe you will feel that she presses you to her a little stronger than you her.
19. True love is like two souls merging together, like galaxies facing for centuries.
20. Let the hole in the heart let in the light of true love.
21. True love and friendship, unselfish generosity and forgiveness - these are the main manifestations of higher philosophy.
22. 1. The cause of death of love in love relationships: misunderstanding and misunderstanding.
2. The cause of death of love in marriage: life, money, character.
23. Smart chooses his life partner with the help of: brain and *****. But wise with the help of: heart and soul.
24. Cupid has poisonous arrows.
25. Release all your volley, from your flamethrower of love, into that one and only.
26. Love your beloved powerfully.
27. Lovers of exotic looks, I'm talking about love between nations and races. Such people fall in love much more sincerely and love in bed very hot and passionate rather than representatives of their people. As for most of them, for representatives of your own people, you are something trivial and trivial.
28. Goodness and love are interdimensional, multidimensional spatial forms of philosophy, out of time, this state of harmony in eternity, the key to all worlds and the inner worlds of people both external and hidden. With this vision of thinking, you see everything at once, at the same time deeply and from a height, you see all forms of time as in one palm.
29. Get up now, and forgive the loved one you love so much.
30. Love is when you give up your own egoism and accept that person in your life and you realize that you are not alone in the whole universe.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich

1. Learn to love
Parrots, dogs, cats, hamsters, guinea pigs, rabbits, they are all excellent simulators of tenderness, they teach kindness and love. Practice, learn from them to be gentle and sweet, empathetic, caring, faithful, all this will help you in a relationship with the opposite ***. To your soulmate, as often as possible, give affection, kiss, hug, love with your heart and soul, and only then with the genitals.
2. Love is like chewing gum. First you see a bubble of gum, and touching your lips, it tightens to her lips, and molded into a delicious kiss. Its body turns into a chewing gum and you stick to it tightly and you become one, completely turned into chewing gum, chewing gum becomes your single flesh. The fresh aroma of gum as a symbol of unstoppable passion, over time, loses the sweet taste of lust. But the only thing that remains is that it has neither color nor taste - this is love - this is a combination at the level of two eternal souls blinded together.
3. Love is the peace and tenderness of the light of souls, the union of tenderness. From love you fall into a gap in space and time, love outside the dimension is a very special space for two lovers in ordinary reality.
4. Reality is a snowstorm, and you, like a real man, must all your life, warm your darling with your love and care.
5. True love is the cure for lust. And lust is the cure for true love.
6. Never forget what you love your loved one for.
7. All wear the same bodies in the next lives, and feel deja vu. The most romantic guy in the world will say to his beloved: I have won your heart in this life. In the next life, I will find you, and conquer it again.
8. Your loved one is your best thought in all your mind, throughout your whole life.
9. Love is so similar to *** pose 69.
10. Love is a warm, gentle light that gives peace to the soul of a loved one, this divine light of disinterested nobility in the darkness of egoism, this light is priceless.
11. Slippery macho inside you, takes away your true love.
12. Love is a giant star in your own cosmos. Which is located in the center of the universe, which is filled, it is surrounded by everyday garbage, various trifles.
13. Two lovers are two galaxies merged together, merged into the ages.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
John Apr 2016
flames of hell
burning bright
you can't see it
it's like sunlight

illumination
the only thing
that transforms us
and makes us want to sing

gift from heaven
like a dream
it seems odd
nothing is as it seems

interdimensional
through time and space
seeking truths
all over the place

in this world
on this earth
we feel it all
then locked in a hearse

so before that time
its dawned on me
that nothing is by accident
nothing is as it seems
Amy Perry Aug 2020
Bodies have a language of their own,
And yours speaks in tongues,
The way you keep me close,
Sharing in worship,
Warding off negative spirits
With a hypnotic kiss.
We bring the wicked sprites
And interdimensional entities
Out to a playground feast
When we intertwine, at least,
That’s what I imagine, in ecstasy,
And yet, they have no power over us,
Because of the clever way we are ******
Into these upper worlds that surround,
Cradling me, craving me, faint, mewing sounds -
This is the world that fate would have found.
abp

— The End —