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Karijinbba Aug 2019
My Mayan Cross: DEATH/TRANSFORMER
is Karijinbba's
Mayan birth chart
character, traits blessings gifted upon birth

So, Karijinbba/ASG

"Your Mayan Cross is comprised of six integrated, archetypal energies (also called Nawals, Day Signs or Day Lords) represented by Mayan glyphs and numerals from the Mayan sacred calendar. According to the Maya, this is your cosmic blueprint, your energetic signature, your personal Tree of Life. It is used for mapping one's life towards a destiny aligned with divine cosmic forces.

The energies of the Cross are viewed as a human form facing out. The Vertical axis represents your head, heart and feet, and the Horizontal axis represents your left and right arms.

The Year Bearer shown on the right constitutes additional qualities to the make-up of your soul.

The following is a breakdown of this Mayan Cross.
Karijinbba
Feel free to dive deeper into the meaning by rolling over and clicking on each component of the Cross, calculate other Crosses

Interpretation

Overview of Death/Transformer Energy: the great cycle, ancestors, skulls

This energy encompasses the mysteries of life, death and transformation. A profound understanding of other dimensions is deeply felt within their bones. Their clairvoyance and clairsentience leads them to Mayan priesthood and, like the day sign Dawn, is considered an auspicious day to be born because their spiritual path is certain. They are very familiar and comfortable with death and will be protected from violence, illness and accidents.

To realize their true merit, Transformer signs Aries Ram people like you should spend time in sacred places and listen to ancient voices.

The Vertical Axis, Death's Cross is strongly influenced by the direction North, where the color is white and the timbre is intellectual, analytical and cold, like the energy of winter

Heart Sign: The predominant sign of your Mayan Cross
There is an uncanny allure to people born on a Death/Transformer day which is attractive and magical to those in their process of awakening. They experience emotional ups and downs as they play out the karmic debt created in past lives, but they are wise and lucky in love. They need to remember and respect their heritage and will receive their power and direction by doing so.

Conception (head) Sign: Flint
The person born on this day is engendered by Flint which provides a good childhood and protection from any problematic situation or person. As youngsters, Transfirmers may intuit thought processes like intuiting voice like thoughts of their spirit guides.

Destiny (feet) Sign: Jaguar
A fate ruled by Jaguar provides an intense life, both good and bad experiences, but clear recognition as an authority. This energy helps Death become a master of their own land as well as match making. They often carry the gift of lightning blood and become adept healers.

The Horizontal Axis reveals those energies that need to be balanced in order to reach the destiny, influenced by the direction South, where the color is yellow as the Earth brings fulfillment, like the warming energy of summer

Left Arm – Challenges:  Road
The challenge of Road energy is to be clear about the direction in which you may lead others and to know your purpose as you travel. Staying focused with work on service projects and/or spiritual tasks can keep Death people on track. They will travel and be influential leaders.

Right Arm  – Gifts: Sun
This energy keeps Death people from being too heavy. Instead, they are vibrant, attractive and very successful. With Sun, the praise and respect are earned and well-deserved. This energy provides Death all the ingredients for becoming a highly regarded prophet or healer."

All these above in real life I am exactly.

I was born with a "knife Etznab"on one side
spiritual kind of knife that is
it cuts through the pain fire and ice of life's harships as it comes and on the other side my
Death sign Mayan
protects me from death by enemies, its
The sixth day sign of the Mayan zodiac is Death also known as Cimi, Worldbridger or Transformer. Cimi is considered a lucky day to be born because death was a day of transformation, not dying.

The sign of Death symbolized the ancestors and getting guidance from the ancestors was central to Mayan cultural practices

If knowing me is loving me understanding who I am is better
thanks for reading about me
~~~~~~~~~
BY:Karijinbba
grateful for your comments hugs to all stay blessed
RoKu Nov 2013
Stirring morning
Open eyes then feel… open ear starts to listen… open mind learn humbly to think and to grasp… open heart with passion to feel… (Continue quietly breathing in and out)… "What that feel deep inside?"
Sensing and intuiting, searching  with all feeling and wits, while heart and mind still clear and unblemished.
Attempting to fly off into the morning wild blue yonder. Once again, no ponder souls' supposing… only relinquish… go beneath the core of being human: "What that feel deep inside me?"
At the culmination, golden morning rays teach, to experience  the surrounds as they are, as gold as they are naked… as warmth as they should be… allow diminishing self-image first to be humble… then I might cloth being in the present and be a friend with I am who I am…
"What that feel deep inside me?"
And I know…
When…
There will be…
Karijinbba Feb 2020
That's the most beautiful thing anyone said about my writings.
I love you too for saying it for reading for caring and intuiting it's my truth..
Your poetic profile name Paris is beautiful
Paris is engraved in my soul from another lifetime
a DEJA_VU to me it seems

Although several great poets love my work too you expressed how it helped you be better person.
Surely what you've written
helped me profoundly too.

Sorry if my questions were irelevant insomnia does that to me I rush the second thought
not the spontaneous first.?
I must learn this virtue.

Assume most likely I have been reading all of your work
from my memory bank.
Do not fear me I do not betray
anyone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Paris Hlad: commented on,
"Deity Mine Thee."
"I think this is favorably reminiscent of E.B. Browing - "Whoso loves,
believes the impossible."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Answer-
Elizabeth Browning makes a great poetess.
I am here with my old Scarlet Letter A memorized old scripts learning how to read and write myself.
To me anything placed in God's hands apeaces
"Whoso loves believes
the impossible."
         I am after the opportunity to speak up writing about my inner truth my life.
For what I regret most is
what I didn't say back them to change my life.
but disclosing ones truthful innermost feelings is apeacing.

I learned from you that one has only one quick small chance if ever given one, to communicate effectively to let a dear one know they matter dearly.

What's impossible with men is possible with G**. is apeacing
~~~~~~
Paris Hlad commented on:
"Ratoncito blanco,"
        To Karijinbba:
Thank you for your kind words.
I have read a bunch of yours, and I believe I am a better person for having read them.

You have more than wisdom on your side - You have truth and a deep understanding of the existential paradigm, which is to say that you think about much bigger themes than most people do -
A true artist."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear...Paris Hlad  
Thank you I am no artist
just sharing a long overdue truth
So welcome read me thank you.
I am truth an open book. Eternally greatful.
~~~~~~~~~
I am thinking of you

This is in memory
of rdd/bba
Nat Lipstadt Feb 18
I suppose I will never lead the ordered life my father led.
And I’ll never live in the kind of house he lived in, with its rituals,
its dignity, the smell of polish.

Leonard Cohen

<>
the orderly of an individual life,
guided by the guardrails of family life,
superimposed upon it by a calendar of religion,
that layers into you with a cyclicality of communal ritual,
that rules, guides, tides and hides you subliminally, the individual,
in ways that forever alters how one comprehends the meaning of
belonging

the oven~heated, banging smells of the kitchen,
the hubbub, frantic sounds of a Sabbath eve prepping,
vacuuming house cleansing, far more than just a cleaning,
the young boys in their jackets, white shirts, for Friday night
candle lighting, the girls in Sabbath frocks, assisting Mother,
but by
Saturday morning sermon time
those boy’s shirts
were always untucked, sweaty and always less white,
from running around outside synagogue from playing Ringolevio,
for which you were justly critiqued by a mother’s glare-stare

this play-within-a-play poem,
played out in homes nearby,
for community was very defined by geography,
and the candles of Sabbath oft visible in every home as
Fathers & sons returned home from Friday Night services
where the Sabbath’s peace was welcomed like
a new bride.

but the knowledge that this scenario was occurring in
homes around the world in almost identical custom,
lent a larger perspective to even the youngest, of a
belonging

As for me, I passed on that life,
not as well as it was given to me,
but as best I could, or honestly, desired,
but because I the individual inherited these
ways, words, knowledge and sensations and deemed
failing to transmit would be a grievous denial of a heritage
were I to not gift them this order,
the dignity of these rituals,
the pungent smell of a polished home,
a life of intuiting

belonging,
be longing.
some of you know that our paths nearly crossed
by virtue of the intersecting diagrams of the circle
of three degrees of separation, and our similarity of
upbringing  overlapped in ways that molded instant
recognition of our commonality and community…I
saw both the house and the factory, when visiting
Montreal in the 80’s

“Whenever I blow into Montreal, I manage to take a look at the old house. It’s that large Tudor-style at the bottom of Belmont Avenue, right beside the park. It looks the same. Maybe the elms on the front lawn are taller, but they were always monumental to me. I wouldn’t hold on to the place or the factory and properties that went with it.” Leonard Cohen
Nyteshade Feb 2017
The two gates are open me
Normality, and chaos
I know my feathers well
Shifting between colours
My eyes hide guile. I slide
Between worlds, intuiting social rules.
I am not proud or humble
Except for when one suits me
For normality requires a yoke
And it important to find one
At your size. And chaos,
Is just that, chaos
Unbound, the ultimate hubris
Of an individual, creative will
Which, like slender candle
Scorches itself to nothing
Out, out, burn, burn
Leaving only a pile
Of melted wax it calls art.

So do not
Fear your dual
Nature and be
Not trapped in
One or the
Other. Cross bridges
Of darkness and
Cleave to light.
There is no
Truth in this
Cosmos but that
Of ‘all thing
Are’ and no
More.
James Rider May 2016
Dust and bits and pieces of metal, water and heat
..wait...is that a soul in there as well?
does this morass perceive me at all, or do I see it only?
A robot only in the sense that it isn't emoting or intuiting or showing empathy.
Ken Pepiton Sep 2021
A gain for us now, init
intuit
intuiting ting
tink think ****.

we did it, a gain, a step we took,
passively
was taken as granted, as that saying,
take it
or leave it, we took it, I guess.

Here we are, thinking
human is my class of creature,
I am not a bird, or lizard or ant,
but
I imagine,
slow thinking,
I am more mind than body now.
Human individual elements seemingly
cease reproducing after fixed parameters
of imbalence in cellular rechargibility,
and friction,
itches and scratches, aching bones
fighting gravity
for eighty years, parts departments
empty, vacuous cavern, no flame,
no dancing shapes of unseen things

-- nada comin' in boss, burn wha'chagot

it’s a mess, being old
and urgeless, lazy
laxed, empty
of anything I needed
to do, performance enhancement lessons
missed, cue questioned, one too many times…

this is that, the after math, from an idea virus,
adding dividends we
derived, clearly,
from worth of beauty,
shining, true, all luring beauty
{diamond farm- laughing reminding me}

in our native wished to be state,
ever after, beautiful
to all who see
your rarity, your victory
in being and doing and becoming, nothing but you,
and this, more than mortals think to ask,
satisfied mind with riches and no woe,

are there truths I have not witnessed,
are there joys that drive the storms on Jupiter?

Does it hurt you
if I scorn the lie that built your institute
of holy known secrets, framed
in faith most precious, peace
of knowing,
for me,
there is no hell, ever after
this, if I suffer this, if I fail not now
to live to be old…
too late.

I am old - not useful for much -
and retired, not poor, not capitalist
wealthy, rich in the common precious things,
husband of one wife, who holds that certain beauty,
to this day, few I know dare say,
why
time is not kind to some old ladies who fret and fuss,
and rage too many one more times, to
have a partner, in the last days before hospice…

-- raucous throat clearing noise, to remind me
breathing is unconsciously already reminding me
-- if I wish to breathe, I must put to more labor
on the bellows, fan the
flame of famous desires that warm the cockles of the
part
of me happy to warm up and flow as
any
flowing thing, if you notice, flowing, as if being
init initially in this fluid state,
floating, not rowing,
fluid peace
of mind, not roiling boiling, cataracts, just, iyustified
ya, da, yes yada yada
ya, da, yes yada yada, we take our time,
we take our turn,
merry is gentle as wisdom,
say an ifery what
I sang like a blue jay squaches skritch, if you listen;
then singer is not the fullness of me, as I am blue,
when you see me,
as a jay, flying, you know, I am beautiful.

Part of me lives in my heart, in my part of all
that remains in my future.
Thoughts are thought as swift as this, once.

Gain and loss, sorted said senses
of cost and worth.
With a glance, see the flash, feel
me hope, feel me hope you choose
not to lie, not to
say, I know
I know, amen, amen, until you walk a jubilee journey,
suffer not a novice to teach or preach,
and ignor any grumpy old men,
who cannot
laugh
when they don't shave,
and feel themselves seeing
seeing wordsworth or whitman
or some wizard where the fool is hidden.
Fancy that.
Ken Pepiton Jul 2021
Had you known, who knows,
according to current time manipulation dramas,
how to make
a device used for aiming a public,
any size…
propagating the faith in-- that character,
drama shapes our social beings, you know,
you know all you know, and the
who are you, to all of you, the devil is real,
Lucifer proves it,
{Ai aight check it} Yah,
gotta match
07%
on YouTube, and who are you reading? random
acts of kindness
deflecting
conflicting kinds of cultural informic acid…
ascend
ants in the family tree?
how old are your mitochondria?

How would an egg tell a tale of parasitic invasion,
that resulted in reality,
as we seem to think this is, reading contrasting
edges of bits enstatiated, dark and light,
- Louise had a piebald poodle named Bit. -btw
Black and white, toy model, noisy
but comforting after the shock therapy in '63
Some
Singer Sewing Stories
from the TVA dam-good reasons.
- leaked into Oakridge,
- you'v been listening,
- to the father of lies…

If you listen too long, eventually you die.
Right. Safe bet.
Where did the you become, this
result of all you knew?
As we see you be,
Informed you, h-ex-ept-t'be-yewas
misinformed,
-cept that, snotspelt gnostic, digitized
info such as this
disinforms that,
we all lie, some times, in error of who
sees what when and in what order
fortuitous use of anointed words,
unspeakable,
we talk that here,
we know all the gnostic snot, muse-like, we
'hold the world on the back of that top turtle.
Slippery,
spelled wrong or right, or improper in text,
of this crystal interconnectifing  iferywas
effectual effing fluid lattice windowed
digertai illuminahtai wit,
pitching infinity beyond
ort clouds of human intentions
blown
to smithereens, those we
sparks,
as the hammer whams the blade, pulled from
the forge, whamms
sizzle set the temper
in this clay, stick the hot blade init,
set - a frame for clay, such as Romans wrote on,
set a base, see, the clay frame,
fits the blade, hilt to tip, but the hiltman
has yet to form the hilt and handle,
and the turban knot
that ties it all, last piece,
the pommel, perhaps this one is
a pomegranate shape, for the legend sake,
let's say…
-- once you have a handle on the knack,
you pull this blade from the stone, the clay, unbaked
becomes, in time, any way, stone;
some day, it shines!
the legend of these blades,
the never edged blades,
set in fine shining clay, true jewler rouge,

one day the hammer that made the blade,
strikes the clay, no
not that way,

some day, a knight called a saint,
shall come in humble submission to the mission in
heirical position, authorized with gold,
to swing a blade, anointed,
called of Peter's Holy See,
don't look
let him try to pull it from the stone,
--------- and the whole crumbled in mythery
No, it was art at work intuiting hear ears
in silence, nada humm
- you sneezed, bless you
and this is the dust

-we were doing inner being never been a hero
therapy,
not all kids have the disney channel, thus
this is not etched in the very characters
you imitate as easily as I
do Simon,
the pi monadic,
scatterbrained whimsy seamer,
seaming in steam,
one thing
to another,
here a stitch, there another, fifty years, and more
we won every war,
we won every war,

we won every war,
that got within a hundred thousand English words of
this action actively involved, literally, actually,
in defining the terms of weaponry allowed,
when war was called to reason… ready
to give an answer for the faith in it,

in the everlasting experiment
becoming
us, then us becoming
something else, too quick to tell,
like something fallen
from the Higgs field, pfft.

Gone.
So... of course, there must be more, for yet, there is war..
Onoma Dec 2018
it's strange--

like dancing together

after the music's stopped.

miles apart.

the sound of a house

settling, alienated furnishings

binding together for a home.

the dance slows, anticipating

hesitation.

intuiting those that crammed

fear into uninhibited space,

for some measure of step.

control.

so she stretches her neck to

get a glimpse of him as if in a

crowded room--feeling virtually

smothered.

he never loses sight of her...it's how

she'll trust in being drawn to him.
In a lost paradise where the sea shrinks with feminine conscience, compassionate flashes are ratified in each groove and I calculate footage, this previous present attracts the magnanimous representation of the lightning emission of its speech representing itself where the queen judges the king Consummatum Est, with little difference from culinary art and its very dense genre. Here is the carious aspect of the bluish faskéloma or exasperating of the paws that move the occasional ones in sub-vibrations softening in the shiny mark of the sessile columns in consistency of its weak receptive propagation and masculine science, lacking what prospers with moist regulars of flashes that are cooling from their imbibition. With thousandths of his enchanted parasitizing and prior ego I wonder afterwards not far from a Para-Celestial and sacrilegious lore of Lochnith; Who, what and where would have been able to support such or such, rising on the beams and girders that make a whole for an inaccurate Menthe, going to the arcane of the seventh external love with clear magenta lights, on rounded ultraviolet reliefs, here is where everything lulls from the adverb Eleusis, seething with a consonant flight that suffocates in spite of a Pseudo Vernarthian, where it will go without any exception disrupting the courses of hesitation, leaving no more the divine portent and going back to the loaded Cibatus or barley in northwests that flatten ultra winter, mowed down to its glacial bluish water discharge in unequal thickening of fast secrets with thirds of vox with bordering called in pair of trios, and symbolic of a reborn flashed subsoil of a lifetime swollen in its low course and ministerial occultation that isolates itself on Patmos. The skies were beaten where nothing germinates from dreams waiting for thousands of those like me with acute senses of the Anthesterion, or of March taking me towards an enigma not posed even if it is not clarified yet not resigning from love or smelling in the singular uni-lunar desolate with venerable fulminations and inquinas of the branch of the bakchoi, which was whistled by an Aulós that was remade generic when restarting fasting from a day rebuked and repaid in the emaciated Cibatus. Such light grasses were polarizing prohijadas when recovering from resounding beginnings of the rhizomatous aromatic nuance, and from super life machined from the metallic oscillation of the fires and rites ruined in the aromatic arthrophagous of Lochnith, nauseating at night in flowing enigma and gramineous rictus, intermingling while he longed for the ritual and his graceful plumes in feasts that honored his Canephores transferring mead towards the bakchoi psychic adept revealing himself from the masculine to the feminine in aqueous positive bed and supra negative redemption, which was fading into sharp matter attended while the world was created that they would live with more than forty stratagems, seeing themselves praised before their eminent Truth. Myself…being its own tyranny…, which erects whoever classifies it sacramental, and notices the squalid lack of control of its barbarism flash when I still pursue the darkness of my purge that is falling even without finding where to do it, falling however from its end and of guilty thunderous glances..., what more public decree do I wish, for more rituals that you have close to you when feeling sharp minorities of its aftertaste although in double life and night your memory continues to spy on whoever denatures you from the paganism of Lochnith, more than a proselyte , plus that a lien conceived in dethroned galleys of homeland and fusca haze. Meanwhile, quantities of Omphalos from the ego micro center are distancing themselves from mine, my faded lost throne hallucinates lost knowing that it is a probable sculpted flash subject to the gleaning of the Cibatus in fraction of the cereal ritual, and of sanctified illumination with tableares that have to dwell all the times that they revive from the vivid purple red, and from the debtor clairvoyant mystery sky that is reviving in the revealed luminescence that throws it in ornate nickels and acidic rattles at midnight falling on a positive particle devoid of yours returning to mine, and preparing for the flashing praise that pigeonholes him from his crippled fallacious and previous theory suggested after favors by not being reconverted. Lochnith capitulate capitulation suffers from glare towards her beloved, placing his phalanges on circular and angular waves on the virtual milky river of Eleusis caressing her face and glare from her. “I, Lochnith, was on the cliff with my Canephor Aerse, near his Athenian paternal landlord, I was going to say goodbye to myself and carelessness, not being able to see myself in the reflection of the water separated from my ego, knowing that Aerse would not choose me, much less to my abandoned superior.

In Keri on the Island of Zakynthos, I synchronized the fall of Aeschylus in Leucas, which perhaps without my local would offend me by reputation and snoop on cliffside suicides that only see nascent effigies of the bakchoi as a potion for serials of life and cities of the incongruous dramatic space , where its tragedy and antithesis do not fit in the basket carried by my priestess Aerse. I am flying over the structures of the acropolis, not yielding as a deity who prophesies where there is no room for the world in which she and I can inhabit. Lochnith, jumped after her as she was falling down the frontispiece of the cape..., She watched him as he fell..., forbidding to skew him from his gestures and get close to her so as not to fall where the wind is more docile and free, intervening with pashkein inclination or entangling them of the vipers and rims of the heroic hair in a condition of evanescent reckless touch against her suitor, trapping her from the Omphalus that she had tied to her neck transferred from brilliant didactics before a puerile boxing of vicissitudes, and spring flower shops next to the flayed serpents of Persephone and Kashmar floating on the Lilies of Aerse. Prey to the escarpments and cliffs, she remained possessed among the sedimentary dolomites that emanated near her veins before plunging down the steep side in over cascading prayers for her, always knowing that he would love her on a singular base of enchantments while he looked smiling before fall yielded In the end, forty-one seconds she was thrown off the cliff..., Lochnith passes from one end to the other the Omphalus of her neck by a lofty plume ready for love, imagining herself in the midlands of a ruthless positive affection of the mysterious flashing Eleusino, and by the divided ***** that took them as they fell into a splendid world with serials and images of Aerse, tied to the prehensile sacrifice and the cold hand of Lochnith, together as they fell between their subconscious selves, becoming heaped and vivid as something plunged towards them fleetingly, knowing that he I was going to survive him.

Lochnith's gleam was northwest of Athens once lost in the scrupulousness of a pagan polis and cult that kept docked in the sands to find her on the cliffs of the acropolis, where they had lost each other after two thousand years since they Theodosius abolished by decree the rituals of Eleusis. With revulsion and unprecedented insight, Aerse remained a recluse with excessive eagerness to self-eliminate, possessing for both the due imagination that he had possessed of the devoid neckline of the omphallus causing the inclination of the avalanche and their bodies towards where they supposedly would land on the divine and Dionysian path which leads to the eschatological of Vernarth's Diokitis. Apparently they were leaving as a result of an immortal Vernarthian existential catastrophe or decline, at the same time of a rhythmic alkaloid hemlock with its Achene that carried them for any pretense by being triggered towards the meeting with Persephone without her or he knowing why to fester at Eleusinos as Lochnith and Aerse in a single concentric whole, and quantum beings of the octagonal by the straight or transversal line that slipped into the hypotenuse at the instant that they were conceived implicitly as they took him from relapses when he went towards Aerse, after winding up from his conclave Hypomorphic writing and Magna Mater Misterica. Under the established power of his ministerial, the redemption that went in adjoining the ins and outs was consigned to resurface from the subgenre, and from himself procreating exultation with the analogs of Vernarth that were prolonged in excremental purges and disagreements of the cult of what should be twisted in the ****** of the magnetic genre and of positive tendency that would be eternalized after the cessation of the active decrees by Theodosius. Eminently Aerse suffered on some semi-dead watery slabs next to Vernarth, she remained after the agreement to centralize what irradiated her humanly as semi-Itheoi from a reinforced gender that was cohesive in retrograde worship to achieve pre-flowering in all the springs of the world, where they could be seen together with Persephone in the finnis that was distanced ultra terrestrial towards a dowry of profusion and disproportionate wealth, not being categorized as a mystery rather as an unknown of a super method of rummaging in the lanterns where no reflection of Aerse could to be found by Lochnith after getting lost in the polychrome figures of the acrotera, lying in watery nitrosities on the escarpment of the cliff. Physiology will influence Eleusis with systematic naturalness for the active hydrogenated elements, and of such unknown prebiotics or phyto-estrogens where remnants of the great sepulcher of humanity are manifested, as it is found to rise from the true hecatomb of July with a hundred halters arranged with foreign beings towards the oasis of transition. The little will of the annals will multiply in millennia of obscurantism, taking him in transit to a more exciting late management by harassing the search for Aerse in a clear mystery already in the jaws of a clamoring night by the reefs of Demeter for those who know about Persephone! even being with the inventive fallacy of a addicted spirit in correlation to the rite and its lineage. Every night that he convalesces, he will look sleepless with the servile promise of divinity from a vision that fades from the winepress and the Boedromion party, moving from the born ****** position of a hierophant towards the mold that dies and that does not renew itself from Boedromia itself. The representation of Aerse was reflected with transfused majolica and Eleusinian threads when she was seen walking from the beginning floating remotely in the meadows of the knoll, from which the cyclical anagram of the lost cliff rises when it separates from its Adonis being able to expose them in mythological treachery and transcended from epic truth to be related to the treaty between Zeus, Hades and Demeter for the rescue of Persephone after being dented from the beginning of the arcana that sprouted from a distorted symptomatology. She aerse carried the flayed serpents even on her body as if she should look for them in an omnipotent volatile gray so that it would come out by itself and be unguarded by her gone eyes, witnessing secrets and resting in anarchy from where there is not and will not be. Archon or governor What a mesmerizing problem is improvised from second after third that provoke astonishment to see him in the course that he could not have of his cursed detection! Aerse was beginning as a curious Canephore, he came to meet his ephebes Lochnith after excessive self-inferred hypotheses by following him at her command detailing the Kykeon that paled her psychotropically from a discarded and mineral exhibition, of which she would be devoured by the numinous portent of the Mashiach with his Sunday appearance or concerning the numen manifested with the eternal powers in front of the hieratic presence of the man who looked at her paternally, with a crass profile like a Damian Hessian drawing them in, plotting in a colossal fascinating stealth. Here she wraps him up but does not approach him and falls, lost in love, such a Faustus dilemma, granting herself at the initiation of the portal of the twelve lunar months in Eleusis, with immutable years and origins where they will bounce to meet in childhood that made them known as Aerse and Lochnith . Here in the greatest trance of life, both would begin to overcome all the twists and turns of the gestated gloom that separated them due to the shaken annoyance and confusion still divergent in sediments of runoff and bark oscillations that emerged from the unevenness of the acropolis, until a meeting in the amazing light and divine libertarian of two tendernesses, and martyrdoms that purely push them back towards a new end of the muddy gleam in a found paradise where the sea unfolds by male consciousness and is ratified mercifully in each flash of the striated. They will meet again in similar attachments divided by the fluctuating one who unmasks the one who drives him away with his dominant ******, and ill-advised caudal space seducing the contiguous public and private astral bodies that have never been coarse or dissimilar in ablution or sacraments of gods the pagans, everywhere nor whatever its fragmented remains by the gullies and ravines of the Kêphisos. After the remnants in politics, the desolate serpents of Aerse flowed down the river, as a link section that declared itself from an initial that was an evident flash that enveloped them as a cardinal canon with bucolic politics in all the nearby regions. Athenians, after the vertiginous regressive parapsychology like an Eleusino flahsback or Anadromí sto Parelthón Eleusia, with the visualizations of Aerse and Lochnith when they follow each other through the learned induction of feedback that was arranged in the inclinations of both, refining their morphological bastimento for the purpose of instituting them as articulators of the evocation of the millennia. Prophecies were reported from the 8th century BC. with ends, and interprocesses of the eternal in the unknown mystery that began to be clarified with the reinvented personality of the amendment of Life and Expiration experienced with Lochnith of the month of Boedromia, fleeing from a federated Polis that would be unified to a substantial dimension and of sacred Eleusinian space with brand new warmongering for the culminations of being incorporated into the Hexagonal Primogeniture integrated in this way in the indissoluble ephemeris of foundation and hegemony of the Megaron or Opisthodomos of Patmos. This is thanks to the beaten serpents that were nesting the reanimates of the question with subterfuges that make the widths of inter-pairs prevail, which are consolidated as a reality of session and space, agreeing on the defeated parapsychological memory or future in the economy of two resignation blocks of the repealed Sacred Space, in consensus of the beams of the Vernarth Military Command forging from the beating sacralized ***** that cultly intensified from its mysterious nature and territorial domesticity to come from the attracted Agoras that were repositioning themselves with the metaphysical agents that they will be restored in the polis with the scope of furrowing in a civic action induced towards someone who virtually recognizes him in the purge of the exclaimed strangers. More ardent passion was added to receive them even being wary of further mutations vibrated with the Faskéloma, or exasperating that moves the tint of the occasional vibrations, similar to the tendencies of the Sacred Space of Gethsemane, with the disastrous passing of the aqueous levels of the Kêphisos, which it would mean the presumptive ordinal of unreal historical worlds. The parapsychology of space was absorbed with torched quadrilaterals that were hanging from the invoked meditation, they were lying on futile folders and anodyne Aerse molecules, which were still welcomed by the magical exposed extra-corporeal substances that were deduced as they were experiencing unprecedented transit preserved of the eccentric deconcentrated radio of the refurbished of the spectral chromatic. The precipitated mental field dared to invade boldly towards another unheard-of generator that dissipated between Aerse and Eurydice coming near the Coasts of Patmos, coming from hypothetical planes that flow for their definitive moderated unions. The static refluxes bounced in simultaneity of bilocation of the Eleusinian exordia that were exorbitating each other with the rollers that were uncrossing the corporeal margins that concelebrated the quantum crankshaft, and the fibrous distinction that was teleporting the rescue rituals unforeseen astrological

Lochnith says: “in the proximity of the mortuary reality there will be no hesitation outside of our body and geodesy of our lost zafral or of lives in transit sub or supra quantum, obsessing in the eyes of erudition and unknowns, while our contraption self-obstructs with our electromagnetic sensory interactions paraphrasing in the convoluted distance and residues of related-metaphysical electros that are reconverted into the appearance of a premonition” The ligation of the arteries of Cephisus carried the emanations of Lochnith to love him in a healing act suspended with beings devoid of physicality, on the way to specters and healings of a perverse, to repair his extra-corporeal suffering confined to those who condescend to the androecium and gynoecium as a unit of mental physical motor gender, at the instant of the exacerbated and ectoplasmic world regulated by means of the Vernarth regression that was going lowering your blood pressure, increasing your red blood cells side effect rivers intertwined with Eurydice and Aerse in the opening Othon, directed at Vernarth's outcomes that came in the bow of the super-aqueous ship with some fabrics from the ship's stowage directing the speculative and autonomous advance that was already dispersing in the waves. Dead cells of the right Lynothorax,  A savvy military mancomunal became syncretic with Lochnith, he was determined to continue reinstalling us in his white blood cells that rose when it was already dawn on the shores of independent Skalá, and in the circled cohorts of Phalanxes and Psiloi that accompanied him in minutes that seemed millennia, all succumbing to the physical dismay of the underlying necrosanct and telepathic prayer that took place at the dawn of parapsychology trances cysts of recovery that descended on them in pure novel regenerative membranes, persé of merciful acts that became thick in the flashes when freezing from the weightless rays of the ultraviolet, which was separating between Sóma and Gnómi or corporal opinion that was joining synthetic networks with indefinite emissaries and receptors, subsequent bodies of the Bachkoi chemist, already deficient for a compensatory universe and varieties that were taking shape in a disintegrated emotional quantum world. Each time the bodies were reinserting themselves into the full unknown and subjective material, the concrete material united in the network with each other as a single force was transforming into the greatest passion and sparkle among their own, reinstalling themselves in the Super Egos.

In the Latest Minute Dogmate according to the rictus mortis thesis, the globules would move like a big explosion interacting with everything, so starting everything from the beginning of nothing to the indivisible with optional digits of coincidence or inseparable digitized, such a phenomenon of meekness of aligning times were massified with the probability of finding them in the vestige of real anomalous presences that occurred millions of light years ago. Aerse replies: “My admiration, the sparkle has a measure of astral body in reason of the vigor that underlies reiterated expiation and measurable virtuosity in its perfection of semblance p and corporal providence, inquired of being transformed far from disaffection rather than a continuous healing . The smallest and most coherent in the fabulous Griffins will join my clairvoyant and component with the ballast of his final game, not reflective of another who can measure or predict him for an undivided being. But I am already here, and I am your infinite…, I no longer know of other bad illusions of trying to separate myself from this life of what Eleusis is, perhaps a cosmic coarse that is and was in all time that passes speculatively, for this flash that is reflects whether it pales visible or not, I hope it will be compact on our intertwined attachments”
As living organisms, various life methods will be postulated as an initiative in the announced Big Bang, for the profit of those who are real close and real logotypes of resonant neuroscience as a daring that will influence the progeny, for ****** volumes, exonerations of bearers experiences and evolutionary lives of the emitter outside of an ignored Parthenon, since the gender of the world is also associated with random ambiguities from anode to cathode, positive-negative towards a Hellenic parallelism of roots in life dressed with lasting vernacular inheritances. Much of Lochnith's electro-dermal conglomerate was in full congruence with retrograde Eleusian parapsychology propagating from Vernarth's Invisible Eclectic Portal, which was nebulously teleported down the Kêphisos River with saprophytic living organisms acknowledging it in indigenous originality. of the species of reborn Vernarth, and super regulation of the euphemism and mysterious underworld below their protocols.

Revelations of the mental-material, made reluctance and support of the estrangement of inviolate perceptions, precognitions, telepathies and premonition, which debuted in this intrepid adventure intuiting in perpetuity with the sensory corridors and interferences of a reality of body in an explosive world incontestable. Lochnith, was already in possession of a hypnotic mental reincarnation formula in the form of neuroscience vessels close to scarecrows of expiration, allocating the subsequent locks of an enlightened decency of the ethereal sleepy baggage and the oracular review. The more we experience the laws that explain his prodigies, the more our perspective of media and complete fiction will increase in something that begins to be typical of the laurel of a true slowed-down ******-kinetic process. Within the curvature and the dim light that remained in the Lochtian days, normality returned to them after this long epitome in the parapsychological biosphere, and the intriguing contemplation and even mischievous tenuity of idea that can die suddenly, after self-incubate in the intangible coexisting passage and medication rupture of lived art with alien morbid beings. For a character archetype, it is only known that reaping is consuming capital from the disruption of a non-profit loss and its incontrovertible paranormal, which is paranormal and parapsychological from the plane of posterity of life, which will be an act of peaceful coexistence in playful spirits, compensating for seclusion in the vaults of an involutionary dramatic past, if its material or monad (spiritual) is not dissected in the cosmic train of perception of unfolding, and of the concept of purging energy that goes out of its way in its seventh heaven. The hypnosis of death and purgation to whoever requires it in the convoy of their conscience continues to be a tiny unruly space that transports us physically, reverting to minimums that are neutralized in alien foundlings. From an aedicule depository to an empty body that is neither independent nor from the lord who claims it (V.g. aedicule of José de Arimatea). The impersonal voices that officiated at the ritual of Eleusis were heard far beyond those who could hear them merely with memorable spaced therapies, recording themselves in interspersed layers of sounds and imprecise electroacoustics in the serial of an alarming complex frequency of the regenerative stumble in an organism of Continuous movement. Everything spreads in bends of abstraction that revives those who promote the perfection of marigolds like buttercups that they wear in the clothing of the Canephores like Aerse, but soulful and latent ephemeral of the ethereal alchemical entitative of ignored molecules. Lochnith says: “My submission heals, it no longer maintains being far from who represents it and where it comes from, I know that its remains in me do not reason, clarifying more my journey towards the crown and vilifications of a nascent humanity that mourns me, and that does not recognizes by rebelling in my desires to attract him"
the sky closes in vermilion digression and you inquire that they should answer for the silence of confusion in the parapsychological aqueducts of Athens with Patmos. The organization of the Sacred Space starts with the bizarre totemic quantum by sacred paths, Megarons, fictitious hunting places, double surrounding lunar ring, curves of virtual walls, Propylaea to embrace the Vernarthian enigma and finally the Telesterion that received Vernarth with a naked torso that perched in front of Aerse and Lochnith, looking at them towards the futuristic survival with five digits in a quarter of the waning of his right hand containing the small coat of Betelgeuse and the Pleiades in inklings of the umpteenth apocalyptic Megaron of Patmos. Scrupulosity as an Electro-Eleusian placebo effect, went alone, dismissing itself in the singular of a Templar niche and towards a Megaró-Omega Telesterion for catechized who endowed themselves with super-resident halos and litters of priesthoods that fled in terror from the Aerse-Lochnith fusion, prior to each rudeness and their contours swearing eternal exaltation and idealism, to be reconverted into individuals saved and votive to love each other with third parties, escaping from small frames that still did not hold up from the ecumenical mess.
Lochnith Eleusis Quantum
Janet Aitch Sep 2019
"A stitch in time saves nine"
is proverbial
"Inchworm measuring the marigolds"
is a song

Snippets remembered
from days long gone by
built by a poet
intuiting a story
imagining an ending

a prize-winner
Onoma Jun 2019
laying on air i trusted

in the falling crucifix--

as the long cosmic night

bore a tree from my heart.

wind wept holier and

holier spirit thru seasonless

leaves.

i was torn apart in moment

expanses, as gasp penetrated

gasp--newly formed foundation

spread an impossible strength.

intuiting circle-bound masters

whispering finis to engolden

The Great Work.
Ken Pepiton Feb 4
seeping art intuiting in our time.

My time, existing while others
struggle, my life has passed thus far,
with little efforting on my part, low ambition,

what good can I do
beautiful nets, Arpa to Darpa, through my time,

crossing all faith's propagation lines, living long,
on a single strand that ties all things in mindtimespace.

our jointed articulated mind frame with windows,
the old … mindshare bubbles in bubbles paradigm;

William Blake painted his visions but failed
to make plain the lies he believed, because all are
cloaked in the grand cloud of all no one needed to know,

until our eyes ^ 10x'd Galileo's and Newton' s
up and down,
and around and around,
we twisted, till the sun shined through…

did that ever really happen to you,
or did you see it at a drive in, with an easy girl,
every body knew, knew the drill, an easy lady
later made famous,

after a series of booms in economic terms,
good pay working on future warfare,
nobody could afford, until, somebody

ran the numbers, attention value,
glimpse the ox,
that gets it going, all the way to the ride,

But where is the bull that was that ox,
in a previous purpose?
Soon the whole novel forms around the initial point... pastless state in mind
Dr Peter Lim Jan 2018
It would only seem
( I can't be sure
whether this is THE thing)
I can't persuade other writers
to agree ( readers aside)
their experiences
are not mine
they might know more
and could be right-
in my not-knowing
alone I stand
but to doubts
I don't bow
I write
in order
to know
and to understand

is a poem reasoned
it's its birth-place the left-brain
the logical and analytical locus
that spawns the poetic thoughts
and outpourings? A mechanical outcome
a product from the conveyor-- belt
when the factory's button
is switched on
by the eager writing hand?

is a poem born
from a test-tube
a microscope
or a clinical trial
with the poet
as scientist
or progenitor?

An avant-garde poet
(just an acquaintance )
to me he wrote to advise:
'  You must sit down
   and plan
   you must map
  your thoughts--
  don't forget
  your are an engineer
  a scientist
or architect--
  
words are your tools
  have your dictionary
  and thesaurus around
(your tool-box so to speak)
you would need the hammer
the nuts and screws, the spanner
a welding machine or a cutter
nail your words
and thoughts
think of a factory-line
let your every phrase
and sentence
line in sequence
as the railway carriages
follow the running train
if you fail
try and try again
all works-in-progress
would end as finished products
ready for the market'

but
I was not trained
and would be pained
under the weight
of rigorous constraint
I would be imprisoned
the best part of myself I would lose
all my poems would then
weep unrestrained
perhaps I would not write again--


is this THE thing
that does the intuiting?
a feeling stirs within
(its whereof I have no inkling)
it won't go away
and begs to be listened to
a strange mood descends
and guides my hand
I write
(I don't reason)
the words from
some stream
of half-consciousness
rushes to fill
the empty writing-
paper that lies awaiting--
I am reborn
my energy begins its soaring
to a celestial- beyond- time unfolding
(what beauty and radiance
that follows without reasoning!
the feeling
embodies
the ultimate meaning
undoing
all conscious thinking)-

then the poem
by the heart's purity endowed
springs into a life of its own
and comes into resplendent flowering
* there was a glitch just now and the title did not appear--now inserted
Heather Hoffman Jul 2019
I might never stop crying
tissues wadded up in my pockets
sunglasses worn, still
when it’s cloudy and gray.

I smile through it
tears living their life Incognito
but becoming less discreet
time and time again
when provocation rears itself—
more ****** of our fellow humans
defenseless creatures with no voice
killed in carelessness
or deliberately slain for sport.

I cry when I’ve realized
someone I wished to know
is gone, and that time has passed
never the chance to lock eyes
travel to a secret world together.

I’m almost certain
I will never escape the tears—
unrelenting erosion
of love, life, and the possibility
of intuiting another
with random and unexpected
depths of knowing
—still unknown.
Pow War Full Pointed Outlook

As I ponder what to write
today august thirtieth
      two thousand eighteen,
     thy ploy doth in vite
a gamut of spontaneous thoughts,
     that loosely cluster
     before becoming tight
lee bound toward

     quasi definitive agreeable, amenable,  
     and attainable in sight
with no deliberate intent
     to suppress perspective
     couched asper left of political right,
though mine embedded
     liberal democratic ideology
     automatically shifts, gingerly

     escorts, inherently focuses,
     and understandably dodges quite
unconsciously, naturally, and expressly
     viz zit ting orientation trained mindset
     spiked railroad ties to follow
     a NON "FAKE" conservative track,
     cuz existential plight
of this run of the

     NON mill (let) airy night
owl hoot trumpets,
     thru his pen chant
     pedantic laden poetic might
(albeit gently modest)
     with artful badinage,
     garbage, and persiflage light
nsync with his (my) being,

     an aspiring good (rook key) knight
calculating, formulating, intuiting,
     where to shine
     his (mine) figurative jacklight
asper shying away
     NOT to antagonize
     predicated on me
     humble extrasensory insight

drawing, distancing, and detaching
     metaphorical grip,
     sans innate bias height
end from lifetime
     steeped within progressive
     (forward thinking atheistc) paradigm,
     hence impossible to adopt
     a totally tubularly neutral

     point of view presents avowed challenge
     to present opinions of yours truly
     without instigating a verbal
     and/or virtual gunfight
boot hoop fully friendship,
     asper attempting tubby forthright,
and apologizing for

     any stinging backlash
     if accidental affront,
     thus encouraging healthy
     discourse without excite
ting vitriolic, toxic,
     and/or dramatic dogfight
with this cat tug gar rick cull
     poet hood dont bite!
Dr Peter Lim Jan 2018
Doubt arises
from reasoning
Zen circumvents logic
triumphs through intuiting.
Dr Peter Lim Jan 2018
It would only seem
( I can't be sure
whether this is THE thing)
I can't persuade other writers
to agree ( readers aside)
their experiences
are not mine
they might know more
and could be right-
in my not-knowing
alone I stand
but to doubts
I don't bow
I write
in order
to know
and to understand

is a poem reasoned
it's its birth-place the left-brain
the logical and analytical locus
that spawns the poetic thoughts
and outpourings? A mechanical outcome
a product from the conveyor-- belt
when the factory's button
is switched on
by the eager writing hand?

is a poem born
from a test-tube
a microscope
or a clinical trial
with the poet
as scientist
or progenitor?

An avant-garde poet
(just an acquaintance )
to me he wrote to advise:
'  You must sit down
   and plan
   you must map
  your thoughts--
  don't forget
  your are an engineer
  a scientist
or architect--
  
words are your tools
  have your dictionary
  and thesaurus around
(your tool-box so to speak)
you would need the hammer
the nuts and screws, the spanner
a welding machine or a cutter
nail your words
and thoughts
think of a factory-line
let your every phrase
and sentence
line in sequence
as the railway carriages
follow the running train
if you fail
try and try again
all works-in-progress
would end as finished products
ready for the market'

but
I was not trained
and would be pained
under the weight
of rigorous constraint
I would be imprisoned
the best part of myself I would lose
all my poems would then
weep unrestrained
perhaps I would not write again--


is this THE thing
that does the intuiting?
a feeling stirs within
(its whereof I have no inkling)
it won't go away
and begs to be listened to
a strange mood descends
and guides my hand
I write
(I don't reason)
the words from
some stream
of half-consciousness
rushes to fill
the empty writing-
paper that lies awaiting--
I am reborn
my energy begins its soaring
to a celestial- beyond- time unfolding
(what beauty and radiance
that follows without reasoning!
the feeling
embodies
the ultimate meaning
undoing
all conscious thinking)-

then
my poem
witnesses
its natural dawning.
Satsih Verma Apr 2018
Ah, in this―
culture of shames
you will need some divination
for mooning around.

You cannot mend the old
shoes, become an explicator―
of complex human mind.

Cannot face the sun to
catch my shadow. Father and
son were water apart.

The things become no-things
inestimable. I keep on intuiting..

First came the rains,
then winds. I stand for nation.
I fall for you.
audiological "second" associated with ordinary soundlessness

Second of time not decided arbitrarily, but...

Under International System of Units,
the second currently defined as
duration of 9,192,631,770 periods
of radiation corresponding to transition

between two hyperfine
levels of ground
state of caesium-133
atom at temperature
of 0 degrees Kelvin.

Even if deaf and/or
blind Impossible Mission
to escape incessant
atomic elementary coalition
my dear Watson,
through rigorous erudition
pursuant, predicated,

postulated, plotted, pinpointed...,
whereby basic interval
of time engineered fruition
jarring inquisitiveness regarding
yours truly intuition
one body moving thru space
and time till manumision.

Upon mortality liberation comprising me
molecular constituent parts will thus free
repurposing (reincarnation higglety pigglety)
without preserving jammed consciousness, ye
might beg to differ,
yet that precept re:
guarding retaining awareness

previous life thee
less prominent poetic
intent to squander ably
(slight bias, I aver)
precious minutes agree
gated intuiting the
invisibility of ethereal me:
deem (or quantification

thereof) measuring je
nais sais quois (extent
of French words known
to yours truly), whose
lofty ambition key
ying focus, how
every moment allocated

into base unit to run
of the mill by the floss see
George Eliot (Mary
Ann Evans) garden variety,
generic **** sapien,
(no matter differentiation sets E
shove us apart).

Inescapable maddening
march to maximize
potential choice to exercise
fulfillment, or nurse regret
case in point I surmise

extensive disappointment,
though Matthew Scott tries
to separate the figurative
wheat from the chaff and vies
to distill some semblance

of value, cuz he doth realize,
how tempus fugit defies
longing to go back
to the future as he espies

countless reasons that qualifies
as his life left unlived no surprise
since aforementioned sentiment
mentioned, in tandem with
self destructive behavior I despise.
My motto comprises to exalt in this moment rather than delude myself with any grandiose illusions.

PREFACE: PREPARE TO SET ASIDE A PARTIAL ETERNITY
TO PERUSE THE CONTENTS OF THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE.

Ohm my...volt a mort...
coalescence of coaxed friendship
analogous to miarculous birth
whoa there lovely reader,
no doubt without resistance,
your smile can generate
amp pull power to light up earth
noah matter this totally tubular stranger
unknown to thee as Adam,
evokes an aura, charisma, enigma,
patina, persona...wis spurs this note
to kindle courtesy tinder warm
fine companionable individual connection
exuding sheepish mirth
per intuiting your wool e worth.

I enjoy making accessible, convincible,
evincible, gullible, intelligible,
kissable invoking comments
perhaps on account oof a cerebral dent
though many respondents rage at this gent
sans his playful wordiness leant
only genuine acquaintanceship meant,
and their valuable time spent
to decipher my gibberish,
which binary logorrhea might rent
asunder unsuspecting cyber surfer
evicted out the human league

since possessing propensity
for presenting ambitious, burdenous,
conspicuous, disadventurous, onerous,
and tremendous cerebral task
necessitating hours decrypting
blurb subsequently forcing
whatever gender appended recipient
to an anonymous he/she,  
forsaking their precious time
maybe even unwittingly affecting individual
impacting his/her employment
ending result they/them live in a tent.

This poet knows a mew lion
ranges of feline artful dodging cat skills,
(especially when cavorting among comedians
associated and linkedin with Borscht Belt - ha)
concocting incomprehensible confusing trills.

Some of these claws pickling skills include maintaining mouse sized dignity muttering cheeses crust (while under fire from Stuart little), kibitzing, nibbling on self crafted bon mots, and rubbing dead giveaway crumbs (from double entendres) using all faux paux into thy maw paw cent less whole foods masticating mouth, where commestibles enter without choppers.

Sanguine at one hundred minus thirty six, or two squared + three squared + four squared + five squared + square root of one hundred = an apt and pithy phrase to matt's matrix labyrinth best characterized as a twisted maze (along a boulevard of broken dreams) lodged deeply inside this dutiful dada shackled to an endless role of scullion, but silently gesticulated for salvation.

This spruced up fun guy (and not unduly coy -- see) pines for friendship to cure nostrum from domestic plight i.e. living like a caged rat in cell bite size state.

Just a spoonful of sugar (hummed to that classic mary poppins melody) will most definitely help this medicine go down.

Mine current existence like a modern Henry David Thoreau.

After perusing this rambling prose (from mine being psyche feeling walled in), you might judge this personal struggle more on a par with Oliver Twist.

I sincerely seek salient gallant wings (with or without dish pan hands) to take this humble human being who can (ha) bring a fairy tale ending to my Cinderfella patterned existence.

Away I want to soar no matter such fantasy a fool's paradise.

An extra ticket to paradise (actually four powerball tickets bought today – September 7th, 2023 for that reason) just needs to be made manifest, and thee could be a boon, balm, salve, and tonic plus receive preferential treatment to travel in tandem with one stranger in a strange land.

Only upon surrendering to a deep and peaceful boss ah nova heavy metal sleep, (which dream state will take place soon) does the fictional world (within the wide wedded web of this wayward thinking wanderer) take hold and serve up a brief hiatus to a life devoid of contentment.

This amateur baker would cook up a souffle or rhubarb ken pie if willingly processed from mine own personal lake woebegone awash with raw bits of flotsam and jetsam and empty boxes of powdered milk biscuits, the one with big blue stains on the outside.

San sol invictus served ancient civilizations as their com-stock load.

Like a modern day icarus this wedded warbler mulls the possibility of finding a real live likeness of what constitutes a hologram of his mythic muse, who exudes able bodied confidence donning every filament.

Keep on dreaming cyber buddy, an anonymous reader might think, telepathically communicate or even communicate via email, which idealism goads me to broadcast the following fanciful (and perhaps not so far fetched) feasible find among the frequent purveyors of this website.

The vague nebulous barely perceptible kernel of a fictional account per my own conjured up vision (as pertains to what might comprise a companionable buddy to me) could conceivable materialize into an actual arch de triumphant revelation once landing this wistful nugget of an idea into the conscious of unconscious mind of an unknown galivanting fellow writer, who just by a fluke (of the worm holes populating the universe) finds themself piqued with curiosity about me.

Not a whit of information yet exists about this dabbler of prose, who envisions himself in seventh heaven (no matter he in truth really admits to espousing an atheistic outlook on the cosmos), where fickle finger of fate (usually the middle one raised by an obstreperous onlooker) ideally finds me all in the family within human species able to articulate in a civilly (disobedient) and democratic manner emotions, ideas, sentiments and thoughts with an unpretentious air of sophistication.

Said **** sapien (meaning balsamic scented hominid) would also possess a cosmopolitan demeanor, yet clear of all any modest knotty suaveness, but also able, eager, ready and willing to allow, enable and provide quite an ability to get into an amazing tangle of literary profundity.

This older fellow seriously believes he got borne in an in apropos century and revels in another illusory consideration - aside from trying to summon forth a living gal of flesh and bone from this overactive imagination maybe an accompanying bipedal hominid within medium of time travelling.

Frequent farcical notions flit to and fro inside the biggest *** ***** triggering bonafide premature ejaculations of bonhomie. Case in point hair with not an immensely large head.

This wordsmith would feel at home if transported to the renaissance or medieval ages, or more recently that war between the north and south.

If hedging bets with yours truly being a reincarnated union soldier of yore, you no doubt already can infer, where thy political and more pertinently national federation of me as singularity amidst webbed wide world would get cast.

Okay, the original aim of (what many might hashtag as yahoo) really wishes to explore make believe world, and just maybe ***** inquisitive online browser, who although she might not be seeking male relationship just by happenstance or circumstance experiences some inexplicable necessity to reply.

In the event should lady luck liberate yours truly would be like a divine guiding star, I know best to tamp down any precipitous illusions of grandeur, but would let the natural course of familiarity usher the chap a roan of sacredness to be cherished for however short or long such a friendship might endure.

Oh yes, an ongoing (specifically offline) interaction motivates this doubting thomas fool hardy spurious posting to be ransacked with absolutely total consent in an effort to be plucked from this (utterly difficult to describe) morass of contemptuous husbandry discontent with self, yet consideration to stay faithfully married with wife (since July 25th, 1996) would be a moderately strong consideration.

So, now with a zing
or an unexpected
gold plated invitation after yodeling
hoop ye kin be a yang 2 me yin
Asia step into the digital xing
via summit da fall low wing
written *** jest byte ting
tongue in cheek unsure if phone will ring
in an effort to hear pleasant,
yet discordant musical ka -- ching
for cherished pennies, nickels, dimes,
et cetera from heaven to bring.
Dr Peter Lim Mar 2020
Leaning
   but to which side?
   would I know
   would it be right?

   (Silly of me to ask)

    The right
could be wrong
    in hindsight
I should have chosen the other side.

    What I need
    isn't just reasoning
    with its limitations
    but my heart's intuiting

   for life but offers
   tools so blunt and crude
   tell me, who has the final say
   of bad and good?
Dr Peter Lim Apr 2020
Thinking
    impedes the intuiting

— The End —