Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Wonthelimar, in the last transmigration that he planned from Nyons in the cavern on the eastern side of the Rhone, surrounded himself with mountains that dwarfed them with promiscuous caves of the Eygues. From these buckets as a margin of power and go referring to the nocturnal wind of the Pontias; created his fundamental tool of attraction of the Mementos de Cartography of the Seleucids, decomplexing the logistical notions of the Diadocos after having resuscitated and liberating Alexander the Great from a Cartesian Underworld in the manner of apocryphal late Aristotelianism, mechanizing existential dualisms of Hades with formulas and psychotropic and geometric tricks, licensing them theologies of habeas corpus, coexisting in the first instance with Etréstles de Kalavrita who would establish the term of definitive transmigration of Alexander the Great, so that between the Diadocos and Wonthelimar they would contend the final and disciplinary action to revoke the high arrest, transhuming the sovereign as Macedonian next to the Hexagonal Birthright finally very close to Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth in the vicinity of the Megaron Spilaion Apokalypseos.

The generals of Alexander the Great shared his legitimate Ark without royal titles, they were Perdiccas, Antipater, Craterus, Eumenes de Cardia, and others like the satraps who came to be proclaimed as kings; Antigonus, Ptolemy, and Seleucus. Residing the most substantial in this parapsychological saga in Vernarth; his brother Etrestles de Kalavrita who seconded and predestined his monolithic and constituent sovereignty of Polis, for the purpose of ruling and raising his Kopis and Xifos in the independence of aldehyde and alcoholic carbonyl residues emanated from the ferment of the Backhoi and Nepente, depositing LSD in substantial amounts. to align himself with Seleucus, and materially present himself in the sphere of Patmos as two representatives of both empires, one ancient Christian and the other Panhellenic, placing himself in that totalitarianism of Seleucus over that of Alexander the Great who was splendid in the cosmogony of a king similar to David of Judea, solvent and illustrious in the conception of Apological dynasty and identity, of Zeusian roots and of eternal numeral politics. In the quantitative of the champion of Alexander the Great revived on Patmos, the Mashiach of Gethsemane will continue to be deified with such a signature of both in ****** skies in two absolutist emperors and of dogmatic differential Pythagorean, propagandizing both dynasties with domains in regencies and different latitudes of the conceptual decision. Base, to refute proposals to follow them in part of anti-Alexandrian perplexities or opposed to marginalizing himself from following them after they abandoned him in Babylon. This was sensed in the confrontation between both forces of univocal polarization, for the good of one and the bad of the other of having to distract them from the proposal to enlist and harass dethroned kings on purpose from their deaths and revive them in others than in their own court of observers and bosses, they will only exist in the empty temples and idols without dates to know to avoid and in prevailing dates that will not happen.

Seleucus says: “Khaire my Commander…, unite the divine sanctuaries of Apollo, and take up the harangue of Tel Gomel with us disunited and lost by you. This dating will remain in the offices of reforming Macedonian armies and we will both command our generals in the Panhellenic dynasty, overall the heavenly armies that you will ever have here with fragile oracles confusing your divine blood! "

Wonthelimar, already manifesting from Nyons, lightened his Bucephalus bases, having a great somatic affinity with the bridles of Alexander the Great's steed, unraveling here a great mystery in his parapsychological regression directed from the cavern of Chauvet.

Wonthelimar says: “I have been confined with early Neolithic alloys, here I have dwelt livid among all your intrepid adventures channeling the axons and sketches of manifestations of superior cause and effect of correspondence of the ages and their Aeon and paleo-uncrossing precessions of you and your new death, from the Ardeche river together with Medea and Hypnos, among all of them being aerial, visionaries and northern lights who traveled to my redoubt to spray them in river waters, on the night of Agios San Ioannis. The gorges that swallow the seal of the Pontias, make rivers form with their name since the bulk of their waves of gusts are grandiloquent and robust like a gaseous river that becomes hydrological in larynxes where the wind is astonished when entering the concavity that it is wasted in its nature of time and qualitative content. Unusually I have been the progeny of organisms of rapture and cytological drama, in each one that is represented in these walls in which they are trapped next to me as tricks, and radiocarbon tricks by these vicissitudes, and of their actions that have dated my radiation of radioactive carbon in these caverns and so-called fourteen carbon spaces, for more than fifty million radiometric years. I lived here with my parents until as a child I stayed with my godmother, but one day my father did not return. From that moment on I became after the anticipated axial carbon, to keep myself as a torch in the caverns to see where no one was light but me, only of someone who was more than a dawn to illuminate what they wanted to know in my organic depressions, my trident of dating and carbon, by my parents and I in incisive philanthropy staining all the walls detesting the otherness that made me move towards a Wonthelimar; with dated apparitions and curtains that behind them always like gargoyles appeared before Hypnos, and then Medea, taking me as a child with her hands. When they left, I was left alone and patiently waited for them, when they did not return in the harsh winters they would send me Gerakis Falcons, to deal with your pain my lord Vernarth. In this field, I live, but now I am on my way to grasp the horns of the ibex, which took me to their lair with their goat colonies to give me milk and ursid ***** herbs that shielded me from a lethal genre, although not every day. Remain so. The lord that you will be now is the reflection of the bodyguard along with his ibex that will cordon off your rebirth after leaving the traces and rods of your bone marrow, spleen, and glandular that now belongs to me, to take you to the coldest waters that run inside me since the last ice age. The interference of the Diádocos tried to convince Alexander the Great, this is already a new rock piece to represent him in numismatics, walls, and ceramics in a predominant and complacent way of historical, shamanic record and of astonishing parapsychological fold that I have projected on the walls of Chauvet without your consent "

The new turn from Nyons to Patmos was one of the seizures and ecstatic agonies, for a former little prodigy boy and son of an Íbez and a Bucephalus named Wonthelmar, who comes to rescue the entelechies of someone who was an ignorant man who carried in his arms his divine death, without knowing that before she was eternal life waiting for her in the Katapausis, after building the Megaron and negotiating with Seleucus the evolutionary stylistics of the resurrected Alexander the Great in the flames of the candle enlisted in the night lanterns and united with Saint John the Theologian. Seleucus' talks will be one of the stubborn and ****** visits to persuade and catechize his major general, in periods that do not elapse in real-time, and that will be the fatal fate of his obstinacies because Vernarth was already a prodigal son of the Duoverso-Universe., whose basal was unparalleled in attacking their ideals and hegemonic settlements of the material of minimal cause and effect, a wonder of worthy to lean on invisible gods who at a great speed never seen before..., trafficked in front of every gap or shoulder of their destiny, wandering under a pendulum of a sword and under the support of the farmer, who held prey and meat between a lightning bolt and an elder that supports him, cushioning all earthly sufferings, even more coming out from the silence and the most hidden isolation of those who dare to release from the vaporous darkness of Chauvet, Wonthelimar, already forging paths and ups and downs from where no one comes or goes.
Metaphysic • Quamtum • Parapsychology • Regression
Ado A Feb 2010
Coming home to find that you had changed all the hinges
Was worse than losing a limb.
For six years, the sound of your door creaking
Open at three AM signaled me to
Pretend to be asleep, to hang up the phone or
Close the book and squeeze my eyes shut.
I knew if my sister left her room, I knew
When my mother was cooking dinner.
Now the silence is a personal affront, the opposite of ma,
this is the terrible discomfort of not knowing who is coming or going.

When my sister was away, hearing her
Door squeak open on occasion made me
Feel as though she still resided here
Her ties have finally been severed, and she
Hasn’t even finished undergrad yet. This is akin
To replacing all of our larynxes with computers.

When we open our mouths, pale blue text
Boxes with rounded edges and sans-serif phrases
Float out and hover noiselessly.
Wade Redfearn Mar 2018
Frederick I wanted soldiers eight feet tall
and some people believe they can commune with the dead,
or with birds, as if it is not the height of arrogance -
having innovated the opposable thumb, and with it
everything from the arrowhead to
sure, eight-foot tall sentinels on servomotors -
to now want to move things with our minds.

The kingdom of animals would hate this hubris,
would Marx our prehensile hands and
Mao Tse-Tung our nimble larynxes
if they could.

As in moments of great distress some
panicked parents lift buses for love of kin, who hasn’t -
in moments of pain - wanted the dissolution of their love
which certainly feels immortal
to prove itself so, by evaporating every living thing in the vicinity?

What human heart, trembling or melting,
has not wanted to cry a galaxy,
or call down a flock of birds on an errant spouse?

Who doesn’t want the kind of heartbreak
that requires that FEMA intervene?

Well, for one, not I.

The better moments are the ones where absentminded
you look out past the dashboard and have lost a second or two.
Given it to nothing specific, as tribute. You’re giving seconds back
to a hungry mouth and gut, already full of seconds
and the crumbs of seconds. You know that.
But it feels appropriate to bleed a bit, and wonder.

That corium elephant’s foot goes stomping in all directions
and the town deserts or flees,
but lead contains it; and the town,
its Ferris wheel still moving, but only with the earth’s rotation,
is inhabited once more by grass, then birds, then
adventure seekers with DSLRs, then real, honest people
who have wanted to live here again for a long time
and it is the coming back which feels best
and is only harder with great disasters.
kirk Sep 2021
I've written letters of complaint, and I've made it crystal clear
That constant life insurance adds, are an insult to the ear
A thousand pounds near minimum, I still think that's quite dear
We resent your death reminders, every day and year by year

I'd much prefer an answer, but I'm simply being ignored
Your only interest seems to be, is we all get insured!
We're offered bribes to temp us, if a policy is scored
Vouchers for our honored dead, well that is no reward

A collaboration with the reaper, do you have to get so close?
It doesn't matter if its pure, or if it is grandiose
Biologically it's necessary, but from a certain point it's gross
We cannot deny we've had our fill, and now we're comatose

Larynxes are beyond sore, our throats are stuffed and rammed
Why do the brakes in programming, have to be so crammed?
Material that destroys your soul, should be condemned and ******
Pure profit over sympathy, with the public that you've scammed

Stop praying on vulnerable, stop banking on the needy
The volume of competitors, are getting far too greedy
Cash grabing is hardly fair, it's bordering on seedy
Would we like these adverts purged, the answers "yes indeedy"

Bleak broadcasting is of the scale, it's something we detest
Everyone is sick to death, and I really must protest
Don't you know that your campaign, is making us depressed?
We won't take this lying down, so please lay it to rest

Poor undertakers don't exist, their service price is shocking
Tailored suits don't justify, the dying that their mocking
A sordid quest for your demise, as heavens door is knocking
Caskets and a hired hurse, an expense that sure needs blocking

The pretence of the smarmy gent, his mannerisms are just fake
Pretending that they feel your pain, but their just on the make
Business deals are organised, and its not for heavens sake
Why don't we concentrate on life, instead of hearts that brake

Low cost funerals that's a laugh, who are you trying to kid
You even charge us for the nails, that seals the coffin lid
Twenty companies in excess, touting for your hard earned quid
Con artist's are in your face, waiting for the poor man's bid

It takes more than a few pennies, so don't raise your expectations
Cos in the end your still relying, on family and Relations
Don't waste your time on searching, through the mass of tv stations
It's impossible to get away, from funerals and cremations
As you may or may not know this poem was inspired from one insurance advert in particular the original words are here for comparison purposes only:

We've spoken to our darling dad he's made it crystal clear  
He doesn't want his funeral to cost the family dear
Don't waste your hard earned pennies on a grandiose occasion
I'd much prefer you organise a simplicity cremation
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2018
just when you thought you could
take some archaic joy out
of Christianity,
the secular, protestant, western
narrative takes over...
and always at Christmas i am most
content putting away the Christmas tree,
the sadness of putting away paganism
and listening to some rabbinical schmer,
occult kabbalistic murmurs,
to later write out the holiest of
the holy names,
if the Hebrew will not utter the name,
but curse like a cobbler,
i have no option other that shy
from looking at it in latin geometrics,
namely, hiding it in braille:
   ⠽ ⠓ ⠺ ⠓
                    just when you could
get some fun out of Christianity,
notably eastern catholicism,
   not the relaxed iberian type,
just shy of the Mediterranean sort...
balti sushi, because as the saying goes:
a herring is not a fish, a herring is a herring,
baltic sushi...
          bothersome "heretics"
in the protestant lands, bothersome gnats
screaming till their larynxes do d' pop...
jesuit rigour and discipline,
if not a saint, then a saint in waiting,
Ignacius Layola... rigour, discipline,
tradition, or just enough to laugh
at the little devil's curiosity of grown
people walking with wicker baskets
parading having just castrated
  the golden calf before the altar of
a wooden lamp, in modern abstract art
a lamp that took the form of a crucifix...
just when Christianity started to become
fun, as it always does during Easter,
****! Christmas is so miserable. ..
      just when you thought it could be fun...
you have western Christianity,
    protestantism, those sorry *** Jacobites...
morose clad in black Victorian prunes
who really get into ***** talk during
***...
            doubling up on the word made flesh...
**** no! I'm not buying into this godforsaken
narrative...
           because we know what Christianity
is translated into in the western world:
the secular term for Christianity
      is sado-masochism...
                 at least in the remaining bastions
of catholicism we still know a bella
   from a ******.

— The End —