Set of cave genes If you could read... pluri freedoms of the dark light of ignorance teach understand that breathe under the Naturality Natural Nature is not necessary to have an understanding heart and store on their empty heads of knowing ancient rain where wisdom possess. If dance on every grain of chickpea for each foot plant what could a plant obey; foot, Plant, and Plantation...

Resulting in kingdoms on my animals, fungi, plants, and protists, media freedom as a seed to reach our evolutionary lack of ceased hopeness...

First  Ellipsis Angle loneliness"God felt Chained"

Chained down by dragging the last link of its multiple arcane freedom in which transfigured recent swings where he collapsed with the latter being of himself whose life lies lifeless alive but lost. The latter that child not to know and deprived of nascent freedom that will never be born and come knowledge in our genome of Independence.

When the caveman thought to be a complement to the world is enslaved by the mystery of lost in himself... The born and born, never dies, that's so naive and innocent... is still full unaware of their free will, rather it is he who must re-literate and be a living part of the ancestral genome Cavernario component. Oh Heavenly Lord of the steppes I look because more of you today without having lived what you lived, as he would have played with my gaze to succor and keep you had fallen into the fangs of an animal, or you had fallen on the glacier cliff where he has separated you from your Clan Cave.

Emancipation means to be always innocent, my blood runs through yours,
I read and understand any phenomenon of deprivation exist without you lack wisdom satiate if all your generations crushed by the ignorance of falling subject will be well, me and my being I take my precognitions as a tormented child's worst nightmare before about sleeping. Sixth Papal almost, almost kneel before the creation of memorizes creation. This prerogative Lord lives Bread’s God Minor remaining....of whose iconography will not leave this fifth fraternal dimension will not come, if not more will enter the latter end of absolute solitude... and shorter than the last thousand years of Neandertal.


Cavernary Political and Ellipsis:

On a day of gentle wind and tense rain proclaiming Clan joined, they all shouted running, the ground shook and the children slept in terror... the 10 infants who were talking about the Sign from above, but the nines they crossed his arms remaining to create solidarity roof that protects the man in your imagination...
The eighth child of the clan ran quickly into the arms of his mother and she imagined how far, how far would never come... uncharacteristically who came with his brother seventh had in their hands the word of entertainment of Being, to be a plaintiff political all of braiding them together with lines enabling the hermit may decide that creation is a mass of lines of certain fashions together, everything sings like the slightest cyclamen dew on the line pointy rough fallen fungus. All arms folded on the upper porch of the Vatican Macario in Franconia, saying that many who unite in their fevered requests large modern man ceased to be autonomous when it came out of their caves and charnel pit.

Ran all she enjoyed doing that almost without knowing whether or not they fall...
Ran because of every day the sun ahead of them a lesson for a man of the future...
They are running to be released the day of his birth chained to stars of light, to carry him to his mother and father, sneaking to his brothers.

Brother worn eleventh birth to her existence as another being evolved Eukaryotic: Surely those provided beings of cell membranes rhizomes reflected in higher liberty lives purged of ectoplasm walk without a discounted subsidiary. Shakespeare in Helsingor appeared immune to a blood brother to all that limits the Draconian feel in the pinnacles drawn 700 greened steeds. From the deepest swoon in the underworld subway Helsingor, follow the prevailing souls presided over by the great ear of the hard sandcastle, stressed hard Ghosts of Stratford upon Avon.

Freedom plague spits words of pancreatic poisoned exordium, spits verses of confusion disorders without permission, without solid bass sound without liquid sea that resists mad edges followed by solid sound...
But smaller stones give priority to conjugate final sentence and noble verses Guardian
to mission how important would Liberation:

Maybe it's a synonymy of Astral Solar...
It is not Solitude, is a free nation that has its own kind prosecutor's office for even when Euthanasia closes your eyes to the astral, will run the stones of the Sea of joy believing that neither you dare if there is no healthy grass to clarify the rainy day terror.


Reverse walk creeks aggravated birds feet, walking great playful ruse.
Reverse run my comrades preparing festivity meals with chandeliers and singing lay plenary., Singing Avenue pine port Firenze, Second run subtracting minutes and hours the minute is enough for me with your face in my arms to recognize your longevity anathema times oblique faces for lip-smacking hailstones Templars.

In 1297 in northern Italy nearby rural families migrate to chalky Venice, Perugia came the exiles walked to find their independence south of the Iberian Peninsula. They were so atoned as in the echoing flutes, harps, zithers, and harpsichords field temperate; They invited the blunting of intemperate monocordio.

Golden Chariot Carrenio

The golden carriage carrying them came without a single space rather than inheritances acquired goldsmiths of ancient noble and chaste solid shine. Carrenio; the coachman wore on his left arm bracelet thousand mobile travel without stopping to drink more water and to feed their horses. After revamping its gold pieces bartered by a slave who was getting Carrenio Christians fleeing the Romans. Well, they fled as far as the plains of great earthly squandered his memory and that end of the end should come.

How am away from my land more I learn it's back to her,
There is no ground for the first time, but that which is foreign
Carrenio of Perugia and sensed that ****** was Jewish ashes,
Luther King black paste of burnt forest,
Mandela and Biko Ogre garage from Victorian Empire,
Gandhi in his humility is always put behind the Sun
to figure out the small
Tagore trashed my heart caressing the entire universe uncorrupted
Hölderlin together in the cabin waiting for his mother at Zimmerman,
That my beloved Borker forest should shine gold teeth with black resin,
Theresa of Calcutta was eaten and swallowed all diseases lepers knowing good taste proverbial dessert psalm,
Jose Miguel Carrera was more than a trench, clay bullets in each of his temples where he received
To be doubly Lonco is to be halved, lacerated by lay his head on his land, not galloping on his back throngs of wit and hope out Nazareth trembles when an F-16 diluted ***** covering landless caravans Heritage continues to lead the people killed but the mosque wall has been Fe Erecta.
Helena plenipotentiary Kowalska at Vilnius, Faustina Divine Mercy Diadema
The agonizing deprivation of millions of people with cancer in every continent of private well-being analgesic, weighed down by increased pain, almost as strong as the Master Hammered Golgotha, so it was that Joshua has cancer always to slow it down on us. Benigno whether metastasis, malignant albeit benign finance.
The death of an innocent little angel devoured by the beast remains as a fluff hairless sardine in the jaws of a shark baron.
Khalil Gibran writes that with both hands to support the reviewer behind in Bicharri and bohemian Paris,

Salvador Allende Gossens was born since he was deceived by his parents who would heal politics, would rather dig their ancestors in their brains scattered in the currency in face seal or tail of.

Frei Montalva that today has to receive the Macro Augusto Heaven their arms, their sorrows, and regrets, although his worst military executioner.

Legion is an offshoot of liquid central gray material, which defers well done becoming but not defeated, it is the decree of the divine threshold space Living or ceases to live, that failure does not exist, it is the postponement of success - success.

The Genocide September 11 in New York was a ritual, who produced was a small wrath strength of the Rotary world, as the camshaft is upset in the history of trying to make more alphabet in schools where the flag hoisting and found scholars in West and East, so they can learn more than reading of both unlettered, lip and water to possess it to write with it. The worst disaster is read with the memory that will never happen... I write my greatest need with lipstick and my greatest need I write eagerly to participate. Yesterday I passed by a boutique and buy lipsticks that are closer to the language, written with the mouth and not the hand. !

Freedom, debauchery, libration, drawer, Bookstores..! Carrenio..: he said see I'm right! Raise and educate has a great synonymy with autonomy because the ancestors wrote everything that deprived them and made them fear, but do not have to eat the autumn gives me to dress the return of spring, bread orchid, and cineraria. Hence by that inner syllabic singing hunger sated that sought sheet to sheet rid of everything until the end of the book as the encounter between night and day without considering oblivious to anything or anyone on the track window swing wind, wind seeping.


It was old Zeus or Hera of Antique,
Cavern to house geometric polyphonic, angular seeds to create fashions kiss kissed everything that any vertical plane does not fit with the closed horizon
For hands and angels, Hebrews the inner soul of every carpenter and stonemason shrunk, wash their eyes and cheeks with songs of vibration and idyllic comfort,
Everything resembled and sounded Bethlehem 2.0 deities choirs sweeping grasslands,
The similarity of this clairvoyant child is born in a cave...
Rising motherly free Soliloquy Papini sitting to the right of ruminant cattle,
So archaic that to be born is not born in a clinic mega Cristus but hundreds of kilometers and hundreds who are born with the undergirding whispers and servitude being.
Where the multi gray impetuous born star is a healthy gauze story in the present tense... this angelic child grows by Miriam washes his feet in a belligerent abolished stone. His father must wash their hands on a stone which is where measured his ecclesiastical mystical stature, stone Madonna to heal his feet where he leaves to free himself, to free us... Marble gamete fémina vault, where he sleeps without knowing whether it is due, the ***** fell from the sky.
How wise is the Wise, it makes permissible for much more than two thousand years we stone quarry wheel and wheel, homily, and blessing to not wake at night to sleep startle middle and uphill.

Me of the referent of antiquity is not me of today is polished cobble stone,
Useful weapon quarry road there and backtrack to have blisters stone and soft thoughts under my pillow soft stone as a whole.

If you're ****** private living and have a free soul choosing coexist, then you are low in the cemetery on a tombstone of heresies.

Neolithic early 4500 after Hildegard von Bingen and his entourage and prowled full and channeled, swooning in her swoon with flowers in his hands and his followers planting forests on top of Stonehenge.

Carrenio says...: you see I'm right, we coexist, I die like the worst ****** cancer and then put a tombstone Stonehenge conspire in my honor black pain prayers of Salisbury. It blooms in vibrant red rubies that detonate in chromaticity and life. The stream itself is exceeded the aquatic plant Macarenia.

Call us and civilize us, outdated as far as my tired feet though I come not ashamed to see my new tracks.

Carrenio says...; see I'm right Joshua has traces of gold from other Caterpillar shod feet. Antique everything is prescribed according to their legacy today is Lent Pro that came before it was Lent vestige Pentecost came to be a nickname of the mystery of the passion in less than a rooster crows.

Beside it is the mystery of the disappointment of stubborn demon, which helps you all carry the cross, but not the entire load. Fire and Light at dawns where the splendor born...


Genome Freedom, even today every centimeter of my witness of each component, if the basic origin of the signs of the primitive world, is that we have lost the bark of the lexicon, which does not allow us to understand the meditations to ask for something, not You need to ask something. Today genome is requesting something because thousands of people who asked for millions of years, now it's time to cater to them. They were wrapped in cloth shroud of spiritual sacredness, today cemeteries mega dance their souls leave no sleepers both much grass on their heads not yet sullied by the puppet Azrael.


Impossible not to decorate the rocks forged empires that fall into the rubble, they bring 476 d. C., a new opening Middle age freedom of travel both in history thousands of years begins a new axis Golden Carrenio’s Chariot.

Carrenio Wagon

This great colossal ship Carrenio time is a timber that holds the sky, a beam that does not faint or distended thousands a. C, and the old age of King's large musings that were forgotten. It is astride ship millennium, their history of oppression has seen in the wheel, instrument wise rolling like a wheel before 5, 000 years ago, here  We fought and prostrated to distant lands millennium after millennium him away.

Golden Chariot is the structure that freedman us to enforce a new life on earth, even the Gods prided themselves move the stars to constellations called her noble Auriga sailing in full the Universes and Cartwheel Galaxy or cart Wheel. As if to say that when the Universe and its own mythology, were visited between them inch by inch by wherever they shine.

Carrenio mask and frame used had strength, temper, and tittle. When the first libertarian squall of antiquity came closer, Rome was already small and nobles populate what is a quote, Piccola. The executioner always frightened and starts out of his own wickedness. Markos Botsaris as did in Greece, and surrounding towns Messologhi remote, they were free more than tuned in massif Arankithos high wind. He was riding to Kanti once again with the golden rider Etrestles of Kalavrita. According to the Chronicle that came from distant millennia has envisioning promote its neighbor's heroic to free Messolonghi of ****** wars. All this I saw with his own eyes Carrenio, every thousand years styling with Etrestles, cleaned their nostrils so that new breed of horses to thrive,

Avignon, in the necropolis, witnessed as Azrael was cleaning his wings Jade antipopes, another story begins... even he seeks to candela who can read this story, and who can provide it from hand to hand cutting semicolons who disclosed.


Second  Ellipsis Angle  New Era:

Ara released the ropes throwing a big ship, History makes a man is at the center of the world. Revolutions, thinking, communication, and especially vindicate man in his right-libertarian. artists with their creations flowing all over the world, mutating classic Renaissance to abstract overlook. Family appearing welfare and needs. A ramble and so many broken laws. Mankind is distracted l film and theater artist of tradition. Art now has sound and movement, then social and political revolutions are industrial that unite everyone behind the pivot deployment of social classes.


Everything evolves until we get tired of doing so. It rests and then continues. This is modern reality, we wrote about the history of events on facts that have never been told. The world has tired all the Eras, but each pause time that has happened has been recharged, nothing finished if not started again. After so many wise lawyers, clergy plunged into great towers bound books. Is evident again can not read or understand. Our realities are missing valid without knowing I close and then open another door. human and civil rights, fair wages, so excessive autocracy monarchy. Freeman can walk along the paths, even if they were trenches.

Zephyr soft murmur which clutters in the Irises by Van Gogh, the painter is the biggest star trek, called with his feet images and colors that would make his own liberty to live naturally insane. And many others Brueghel "Triumph of Death" that roam the countryside, perhaps a medieval piece of Tarskovski; Andrei Rublev in futile painters decorating steps in the fontano chignon Androniko Monastery Moscow, extinct Rublev 70 years, Tarkovsky 54.

Early ellipsis - Campo dei Fiori in Rome to see die at the stake Giordano Bruno by order of the Holy Inquisition. The irruption of the Inquisition, but their feet are touching the flowers, the seasoned cassock continues to haunt the universe of Faith Dominica Trastevere, it is seen to lectures on how to be bold with the informers and the Whistle Blower dies without shade in spring, you resist the star on the asphalt on the magical island of holiness.

Carrenio says: Come I'm right, we can not read, because the brutality of the Cosmos is manure per ton weathered in the backyard of the aristocracy. I will continue with respect and crosed in Crete. Lila Kedrova means the fear of bunk bed tied to her bed and is free in foreign lands leg. Queen insular matriarchy, she lives more than any Greek Goddess, waiting for his Adonis, to fill out honors. Win an Oscar but lost to Zorba, he loses his house but won a Tony Awards. How many women teach us that to win you have to give everything to lose his brains, and thus count as the lost number remains to be retained. Zorba whines in her arms, she moans in the arms of her husband Zeus Steve, proof of a new era. Onyx for his tomb, plate of this great tragedy.

On the evening of December 14, 1964, attended the premiere. Soul of Carrenio was with them but was denied his attendance at the banquet, finally running out and watching the glasses lips and stoles spent his neck.

                                          
          ­                      Numbered Mysterious Death
                                                  Mané

If I have to feel floe on my feet and cold in my prayers will be the Dark Glory. What is slimming rays of the day, everything smelled of silence, maybe it was Kennedy, or better was The Mané.

Closure of my glory suffers the wind...
Flowers lying silence my soul alight,
Thick square displays the song of my voice...
When they speak Quadratils one to one order their
Spirituous voice.

And the spirit singing fiber of my heart told me:
Never you say I Exist ¡ not exist because they do not exist!
Only face daily the different reflection of your body
In front of yourself with another face and another body...

I want to talk with the thought
And this same subtract my little silhouette,
Lavishes wingless bird that flies only in their theology...
That is the duty and melt with my look,
Solid colors components
Crunching the altars of heaven retaining its pale warmth of anorexia.

Yellow Glory hair good event...
If you receive yellow lights, plus I do not sing my own game here in my empty veins,
Yellow my heart...
Yellow my heart
Yellow my collective heart.

They are run by large green and sunny meadows, children who had Mane in this major milestone in its last gasp. Now she is the mother of his children; it up and them in the last temptation of the mystery of death.

Carrenio keeps rolling, the brightness offered his Golden wagon to the ground. Gold grooves ago, and looking at where it realizes that it's landmass light mud. Since he felt whispers from the confines of time he had never felt as if you were finishing your journey or the world. It raining years and years and continues because nobody mends the mysterious death Numbered.

Heaven and Earth did not hold, the bottom fell precipitously pocket Lord and denied several times uncontained. She shivered in the World and the rooster crowed several times to never be heard or the Pentagon.

He is walking and knees bent,
we embraced by the golden chariot and oxen nor held
we bent us all lying on his knees,
up shoulders not hear from where came the bad grace of his departure,
numbered all the time of complaints of how then she would come,
It is unknown who would be but brought wine in his hand on the crispy mask
We ran from side to side and nothing was real

Everything seemed to sing in the chapel on a sad day,
But I hear loudly like Latin and watchfulness,
Those who know his mystery is no stranger to them
They all look but transgress the sin of silence.

Carrenio still absorbed in the hallway,
Angulo ellipsis she comes winged like a star burning tar,
A high speed to give us the new
No garden can deprive greet in speed visit
Dome comes, it comes on the eve of the new moon.

Numbered Widow mysterious,
Mané is a land of golden color and no celestial whoever wants in his cell,
A breath test, and feeding the Toffy and his henchmen
That sustaining more lively detail, there is no one that can not be targeted

It was modern, it was night, it was his torn life as an accomplice of his exile abandonment in his allegory of tender dismissal. Carrenio achieved so say goodbye to the beams of light that told him of the mysterious death Numbered. He sat on the roadside and drank some wine. Then dry with his handkerchief his neck, and have never wanted to experience such an event in a toast ever drunk.

Third Ellipsis Angle  of  New Era

Independence of Chile, it concerns Mapuche atingent case. Araucania pound, then 1818 central Chile. In Brief, Earth makes free an entire nation. His naive and primitive braves inhabitants emancipated themselves from all sides, they came to save a people who were just following where nobody can reach. Independence of the United States separates us for approximately 42 years, breaking up owners of nowhere. Industrial Abolitionist and South Slaver and Agraria. The biggest event that more than 640, 000 men and fallen activists planted safely from repression fields.

In Chile all rule resembled this secession in today's Araucano man prays for his fallen by almost more than 3 centuries in Chilean lands of Araucanía’s men. Lautaro genius and his supporters the heart of Pedro de Valdivia ate; Map ever made to your battle mapping Tucapel. "Initiation and final symbol occurred after 282 years of fierce war" and Mapuche land forever their independence from the Spanish Empire Captain-General important in foreign lands never subjected to foreign rule would eat.

The Machis and Loncos make supplications in native forests falling on them pollen on its back as if nothing out 10 times better...

To Libertas strengthen in the west is necessary to push the limits of the earth beneath his tongue and penance for the greedy entangled in the lines of bloodied sky, rebellions Chieftains death-defying all together at the edge of a cliff. 1769 The Pehuenches led by Lebian Cacique, joined the Mapuches razing Yumbel and Laja, the most peaceful Huilliches also joined mass alerting perhaps innocent people land blood-stained war and the Mackay Luchsinger.

No doubt portals military rebellion trigger blood, where they opened a tip and swords in the past. Here's reading concern is that the succession is timeless time, a sword without a sword, but on the tip of her blood is seen where there were herds and warriors crushed by their own footsteps. Here the phenomenon of freedom begins; Humanity runs treading his own footsteps, to save his family from a threat, but not strange forces that force you to use your defenses, because in the groves populate many helpless souls with his sword unused at the expense of being forced to use.

Freedom genome; It aims to reach where it has not come without looking back,
Chalices pour out is where the troubadours do not cuddle her close looks like time, singing while watching the changes are not of a new life


Heaven star,
Come to me,
I ask a sign to see them arrive,
Because I want to thus been dragged
Being together Eager to feel...
Those respites without being comforted
going to the mouth of the serpent.

About the Garden,
My home is to put my love,
He has to put the days imagining close...
To enjoy yourself is nonexistent...

Oh, my house tormenting me...!
Because in it I feel your smell
They are alone lights
Where I would wait for me to be in the dark...

In the coming future,
You will not see or hear my anger...
Perhaps my happiness nor peace praying
As the spear in the hands of the perpetrator.

You know a storm of whispers
I do sow your name in the wilderness,
It's because my judgments of hope
They mount up arable land deposited in my frenzy
Misled by a love which is my love.

But you never understand,
Because time has invaded my dwelling,
Invading my brain to give
It has invaded my choosing to love...

On the grass path,
Every time I move away from you,
I turn to see if you have not been...

Love came,
And I think that leaves us alone to avail ourselves
Ranging in our time...


But I can not resist his silence,
For my house want the noise of its action,
Why keys to the gates that serve my understanding.

Tramples my heart the fragmenting oddities into smaller pieces,
Your answer that call.

Tur love be like if I had created...
As if only you had appreciated your beautiful creation.

Do not destroy your work expresses in his mystery give life to your dreams!
Man aiming better earth, ask some of you to join your dreams...

! Your wife of this land does not procrastinate your misfortune,
I discover far peaceful landscapes like an echo in the spring,
As large and deep as your forgiveness for loving me more


It tells the Earth to the Sun in its perky tear benefactress of new opportunities as good and healthy smile rainbow on the back of Oviedo sheep valleys of freedom of Pietrelcina life.

To be continued…

Give me your tired,
Give me their dreams to crush for my bread
Give me  your poor
let me drain their life's blood
give me Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free
And I will give them eternal sleep
Smothered against my *****,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore
I will allow to crumble to dust.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door
and set fire to their bones.

Full many a dreary hour have I past,
My brain bewildered, and my mind o'ercast
With heaviness; in seasons when I've thought
No spherey strains by me could e'er be caught
From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze
On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays;
Or, on the wavy grass outstretched supinely,
Pry '**** the stars, to strive to think divinely:
That I should never hear Apollo's song,
Though feathery clouds were floating all along
The purple west, and, two bright streaks between,
The golden lyre itself were dimly seen:
That the still murmur of the honey bee
Would never teach a rural song to me:
That the bright glance from beauty's eyelids slanting
Would never make a lay of mine enchanting,
Or warm my breast with ardour to unfold
Some tale of love and arms in time of old.

But there are times, when those that love the bay,
Fly from all sorrowing far, far away;
A sudden glow comes on them, nought they see
In water, earth, or air, but poesy.
It has been said, dear George, and true I hold it,
(For knightly Spenser to Libertas told it,)
That when a Poet is in such a trance,
In air her sees white coursers paw, and prance,
Bestridden of gay knights, in gay apparel,
Who at each other tilt in playful quarrel,
And what we, ignorantly, sheet-lightning call,
Is the swift opening of their wide portal,
When the bright warder blows his trumpet clear,
Whose tones reach nought on earth but Poet's ear.
When these enchanted portals open wide,
And through the light the horsemen swiftly glide,
The Poet's eye can reach those golden halls,
And view the glory of their festivals:
Their ladies fair, that in the distance seem
Fit for the silv'ring of a seraph's dream;
Their rich brimmed goblets, that incessant run
Like the bright spots that move about the sun;
And, when upheld, the wine from each bright jar
Pours with the lustre of a falling star.
Yet further off, are dimly seen their bowers,
Of which, no mortal eye can reach the flowers;
And 'tis right just, for well Apollo knows
'Twould make the Poet quarrel with the rose.
All that's revealed from that far seat of blisses
Is the clear fountains' interchanging kisses,
As gracefully descending, light and thin,
Like silver streaks across a dolphin's fin,
When he upswimmeth from the coral caves,
And sports with half his tail above the waves.

These wonders strange he sees, and many more,
Whose head is pregnant with poetic lore.
Should he upon an evening ramble fare
With forehead to the soothing breezes bare,
Would he nought see but the dark, silent blue
With all its diamonds trembling through and through?
Or the coy moon, when in the waviness
Of whitest clouds she does her beauty dress,
And staidly paces higher up, and higher,
Like a sweet nun in holy-day attire?
Ah, yes! much more would start into his sight—
The revelries and mysteries of night:
And should I ever see them, I will tell you
Such tales as needs must with amazement spell you.

These are the living pleasures of the bard:
But richer far posterity's reward.
What does he murmur with his latest breath,
While his proud eye looks though the film of death?
"What though I leave this dull and earthly mould,
Yet shall my spirit lofty converse hold
With after times.—The patriot shall feel
My stern alarum, and unsheath his steel;
Or, in the senate thunder out my numbers
To startle princes from their easy slumbers.
The sage will mingle with each moral theme
My happy thoughts sententious; he will teem
With lofty periods when my verses fire him,
And then I'll stoop from heaven to inspire him.
Lays have I left of such a dear delight
That maids will sing them on their bridal night.
Gay villagers, upon a morn of May,
When they have tired their gentle limbs with play
And formed a snowy circle on the grass,
And placed in midst of all that lovely lass
Who chosen is their queen,—with her fine head
Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red:
For there the lily, and the musk-rose, sighing,
Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying:
Between her *******, that never yet felt trouble,
A bunch of violets full blown, and double,
Serenely sleep:—she from a casket takes
A little book,—and then a joy awakes
About each youthful heart,—with stifled cries,
And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes:
For she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears;
One that I fostered in my youthful years:
The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep,
Must ever and anon with silent creep,
Lured by the innocent dimples. To sweet rest
Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast,
Be lulled with songs of mine. Fair world, adieu!
Thy dales, and hills, are fading from my view:
Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions,
Far from the narrow bound of thy dominions.
Full joy I feel, while thus I cleave the air,
That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair,
And warm thy sons!" Ah, my dear friend and brother,
Could I, at once, my mad ambition smother,
For tasting joys like these, sure I should be
Happier, and dearer to society.
At times, 'tis true, I've felt relief from pain
When some bright thought has darted through my brain:
Through all that day I've felt a greater pleasure
Than if I'd brought to light a hidden treasure.
As to my sonnets, though none else should heed them,
I feel delighted, still, that you should read them.
Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment,
Stretched on the grass at my best loved employment
Of scribbling lines for you. These things I thought
While, in my face, the freshest breeze I caught.
E'en now I'm pillowed on a bed of flowers
That crowns a lofty clift, which proudly towers
Above the ocean-waves, The stalks, and blades,
Chequer my tablet with their quivering shades.
On one side is a field of drooping oats,
Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats;
So pert and useless, that they bring to mind
The scarlet coats that pester human-kind.
And on the other side, outspread, is seen
Ocean's blue mantle streaked with purple, and green.
Now 'tis I see a canvassed ship, and now
Mark the bright silver curling round her prow.
I see the lark dowm-dropping to his nest,
And the broad winged sea-gull never at rest;
For when no more he spreads his feathers free,
His breast is dancing on the restless sea.
Now I direct my eyes into the west,
Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest:
Why westward turn? 'Twas but to say adieu!
'Twas but to kiss my hand, dear George, to you!

Transplanted to these '...fruited plains...', grandpa,
One of Gaia's fruits, what was his twinkle among
The countless stars? Here, millions have come
To stay, imbuing us with their place of origin,
Their souls dancing, flying, in a universal way.
For over 60 years Americans to be came through
Ellis Island, headed to who knows where West,
My grandfather, Uru, which means hero, a Fin,
One of three who left a concentration camp that
Fifteen thousand entered, did too, to NYC, NY.

Following freedom's beacon, its first light he saw,
The Statue of Liberties still unscorched torch, thanx
To Frederic Auguste Bartholdi, and the French. Of
Libertas, the Roman goddess of freedom and a
'...Tabula ansata, a tablet evoking the law, upon
Which is inscribed the date of the American
Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776.'
The broken chain of tyranny lies at her feet,
Upon a pedestal, wherein etched words are,
From Emma Lazurus' sonnet, 'The New Colossus',

Which may rise again, only if we embrace them:
'...Her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
'Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!' cries she
With silent lips. 'Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!'

Only 151 feet tall, she will ever stand taller, or
Be turned to dust with us, all of humanity and
Large mammals, as well as the Earth, tragic
Members of extinctions annals, if we don't stop
The permanent altering of weather cycles through
Overuse of fossil fuels, the degradation of the
Earth's orbit around the Sun. We can walk in
Nature's abundant balance again, humane beings.
Still, she gives hues to the vast canvas of what
The Big Apple, and its beautiful mosaics' art, can be.
I shine only because he, a Merchant Marine, did.

“and everywhere there’s statues with their arms open wide
surrounded by fences that you, you can’t get inside”
- Jay Brannan


Let’s call her by her name, Statue of Strip Your Nationality.
When she came into this world she was copper as a battery, shiny.
She was broken into fractions of herself, placed on a boat,
shipped across an ocean and constructed in the name of Libertas,
the Roman goddess of freedom.
Don’t kid yourself, she’s French-American. At best.
She’s embarrassed to admit the number of tourists she’s had
climb inside her for a taste of her liberty.
Bring me your decency!
Bring me your hollow promises!
Bring me your cameras!
Take pictures of the things we believe in.
Bring these pictures back to our ancestors and show them.
Mira! Look! Voir! This is what freedom buys!
Us. And our statues. Frozen.
There’s a metaphor standing between New York City and Staten Island
and she’s ******* cold.
We couldn’t even give her shoes- how symbolic.
She’s been standing barefoot in the middle of the Atlantic wearing less than a jacket on the coldest of winter nights, eyes locked and begging for a place to call home.

When was the last time you stood with that much conviction
for anything?

...and upon seeing her ragged clothing
he di'th proclaim, "Alas,
young *****, maiden of America's blood,
where be your books, or the flame and torch?
I'd known thee face anywhere, and avas',
I'd known ye father to be wealthy, of course!"
And with shame in her eye, she took a gander
up the street and then back down, befor'a reply,
"My stars are gone, and my stripes been forsaken,
father has taken innocents and turned them'a slander."
With a glance that appeared to the man to be a plea,
she nervously turned to him with a hoarse whisper,
"Upon these streets I've been cast, shamefully a *****.
Men in suits take my food, and the men of fame keep me cloaked.
The men who speak news on'a radio fill my ears with promise,
and the teacher at the school house fills my head with old lore.
The preacher speaks of God as I stand naked before him
and the peasants throw rocks by direction of a crooked shamus."
The man, with a tear in his eye, reached down from his station
grabbed the ***** hand draped in chains, and with a gentle tug
pulled her up into heaven, lit white with undieing salvation
And he cried, "You're safe here child, free of a crippling nation.
Safe from corrupt companies and celebrity endorsed robbery,
News mutely broadcasted by a governmental eye,
Mind numbing words of public teaching,
ungodly men of unenforced preaching,
And the long arm's short-sighted snobbery."
And with an Eagle's cry and the ringing of the cracked bell,
Libertas stood up and proclaimed, "Only when my child is unbroken,
Shall all men again be free! Let these be my last words spoken!"

Ladies and Gentleman, esteemed friends and collaborators, we find ourselves beset once more by a particular individual's overwhelmingly perverse actions of self-aggrandizement. Yes indeed, there is a stranger here among us, a purveyor of hate and dismissal, lauding his own horrifying mimicry of poetry as the makings of a legend. I will not foul my words by speaking his thrice-accursed name, and in truth, there is no need. Any one of us who has found our heart-wrought pages smeared by the childish, aristocratic and may I say it, disgusting blabberings of this ill-begotten rake shall know exactly of whom it is I speak. And I speak in ernest, terrible ernest, against this self-proclaimed genius against whom we worthless ants are compared as to a god. And in the name of humanitas and libertas we tolerate his vile ravings and insensate curses thrown toward us as if we were nothing but cattle. Why? Because we believe in something that he will never be able to understand or appreciate, the very concept of a community throws him into confusion and fear. People are dying in the streets in the name of everything that we here stand for and he has the audacity, nay, the pompousness to assault my friends in the only haven some of them have ever known. Some of you may retain your hope for him and your patience in light of his narcissism. I however, have lost my patience and will tolerate it no longer. I consider it my duty to counter his message of hate wherever I find it. I urge you all to do the same.

arbore libertas, with fruits of life
grows in a loam of blood and strife
watered with fear, blooms of terror
feeding a home constituted of error
all times too cold, all times too hot
perpetual victim of the coup d'etat
beneath comfy shade, the thinkers think
of some ancient tome of a world at a brink
nourished by sap flavored saltpeter
sure of the future tasting so sweeter
blind to the souls lost underfoot
things they're content to turn into soot
watch the world burn in a blaze of inaction
fueled by logs from a cutting contraption
it's under this tree we're all learnt to sit
and savor this odor, demagogical ****
one thing we'll hear of which to be sure
this smell's required, life grows in manure
it sounds like a lie, then again, what's true?
the only concern in a world full of you
there's only a home fed by a tree
fit with a swing, a rope just for me

.in the back of my mind...
           gyöngyhajú lány -
                  the huns have finally
succumbed to the "pastor's"
                   castrato harem of the choir?!
wow!
                but i will still have
to "steal" from shakespeare's take
on macbeth, in pig latin...
    by... someone known as apemantus...
what other worth is there beside
citing macbeth?
  thus and the prayer:

              hell... let's give it a spin,
english, latin, scottish gaelic...

  immortal gods, i crave no self;
i pray for no man, but myself.
grant i may never prove so fond,
   to trust man on his oath or bond;
or a harlot for her weeping;
or a dog that seems a-sleeping;
or a keeper with my freedom;
or my friends, if i should need'em.
amen. so fall to 't:
rich men sin, and i eat root.

     immortalem superi, ego rogo nullus sese;
ego tandem enim nullus ****,
sed memet.
     tribuo ego licet numquam
demonstro sic amans,
     ut confido **** super
          suus sacramentum vel vinculum;
   uel scortum quia sua ploratus;
ut canis quod videor soporatus;
ut custor *** mea libertas;
ut mea amici, si ego postulo illis.
amen. ita cado to id:
    **** dives peccare,
                ut ego pappo radix.

again, this is pig latin...
the gaelic version will not be much
better...
                       who the hell can even envision
speaking ancient latin,
without succumbing to modern
english grammar? so much for the
current gaelic...

neo-bhàsmhor diathan, mi miann chan eil fèin;
mi ùrnaigh airson chan eil duine,
                       ach mi fhìn.
tabhartas mi a'chèit(ean) a-chaoidh
                          tha measail,
    gu earbsa duine air an bòid no bann;
no ah clàrsach airson í    a ’caoineadh;
no ah cù sin a ’chadal;
    no ah neach-glèidhidh còmhla ris
                                  mo saorsa;
no mo caraidean, ma tha mi bu chòir
                                            feum air iad.
amen. tha tuiteam gu e:
    beairt fir (sin), agus mi ith freumh.

i really don't see the "problem",
with, the, "problem"
containing itself...
          there's a *******
concern...
  but the paedophiles are
self-reforming?
  so... there's a problem?
               oh sure sure....
there's a problem...
gay pride parades...
      to "me": that's a real *******
problem...
          gas the jews...
casanova just ate a rat...
what's your problem,
*****?!
         the eternal law of man...
ever see a former
convicted paedophiles
get kicked in the face,
and take it,
                like a hulk brute?
**** happens:
at least the heritage
of the slave trade /
the holocaust survivors
also learned...
god will take it,
he made gravity
a jurisprudence stasis...
because he knew...
man, for all the jurisprudnce
worth? not worth that
much...
                "sorry"...
i'm not defending,
but i get them...
when grown women become
so nauseating,
limitating, so... "off-limits"...
you know what
a male mating pig's name
is in a porky harem
in poland?
        knur / knout...
that word alone lets me
to remember ******...
          gg... ******: swim...
down the deep-end...
             you were gagging for
this to become apparent,
this enforced egg-shell
walk *******...
      and i was called vermin...
and there came the mongol,
the **** and the communist...
now i'm watching
these bulging african hulks
and i'm looking at my body...
and... there really isn't
much to think of!
             pressing the right buttons...
i like that, now i get to press
the "wrong" buttons
on behalf of me...
      come on...
kinh john of england
wed a bride aged...
   isabella of angoulême
                 (lem) no "extra" e...
there's the ian watkins
example...
         of the lostprophets...
no baby-****** is
given you the jitters
when it comes to teenage girls...
i'm sorry...
     i remember being a teenager...
what's wrong with
teenager sexuality?
there's something wrong with
it?
    oh... there was always
something wrong with it...
sexuality matures,
legally...
when a woman reaches
her prime age
of 40, and she's crazy not having
frozen her ovaries...
wow!
             no, really, wow!
she's not a baby,
she's in her teens...
talk about an elevated
stance on m.g.m.
(male genital mutilation)...
it's like:
harem, ******, strap-ons
are not enough!
the mere thought is evil!
some more pharmacological
revisionists actions, yes?
so the simple process
of castration won't help?
we'll need the pharmacological
amnesia procedure?
cool cool!
         sign me up...
i already have a hard-on
for the experiment...
  if these people want to see
a baboon in a cage
riddled by haemorrhoids...
sign me up
for this "judo chop" sat on.

see... i see a big difference
when it comes to honesty
and outright shaming...
   when someone says they have
these kind of urges,
but is nontheless able
to suppress them?
       that's a ******* diamond...
that's worth keeping...
  i like this sort of honesty...
what i don't like is scheming
and shaming these unique
examples...

             between male to male...
it's the one resort's worth of
a cognitive ****** that serves
its purpose...
again... how old was
isabella of angoulême
when she was wedded to
king john of england?

          plus... all the teens look alike...
maybe that's the problems
facing these *******
reasoning type inhibitors of
the urge...

     mind you...
   lars von trier's take on
paedophilia in nymphomaniac...
at least some had
the ***** to commit
             to the deviant taboo...
but all the children look alike...
    what is it?
the fetish for "everything"
looking alike?
     generic fetish?

to reiterate:            

in the end...
     like all babies...
they just have the faces
of clones...
           non-distinguishable...

the difference between me
and your common folk...
well...
   kicking someone in the head...
on parole...
for distributing leaflets
in a new employment...
    whatever they did...
i suppose
the guillotine would be
a more humane eventuality
to provide justice on the part
of the victim...

       sexuality is odd...
to make homosexuality norm...
but paedophilia a taboo...
  feels like "someone" is being
excluded...
can't exactly make one
the norm and leave the other
one in the tribunal
of the nomads;
                          how is it fair?

in no desence,
   but i gather: what i have written,
will never reach the pop
majority that is usually associated
with a pop backlash,
just like: psychology made philosophy
popular in the 19th century,
by shortening it,
by sticking to schematic explanations...
like this,
   this will not reach the regurgitators
of pop culture, those twitter
sycophancy *****...
        unless, i'm, dead!
            i'll be left with drying
my jeans on the bed, with a cat sleeping
on the same bed i've decided to treat
as a rack...
      even now...
              try reading a Marcel Proust
2 vol. edition...
                    go to the gym, bro.,
       believe me: go to the gym, bro.
              
me? i love it...
it's like i can put on a godhead of either
rat or a fox, and manoeuvre my way
past all these jimmy... ****...
all these jeremy clarksons...
    and jeremy kyles...
                         another whiskey bottle
for me, another obscure prog rock album...
another night...
         and the world can just pass
me by, while i return to enjoying
skipping onto a double-decker from romford
to stratford, through to oxford st.,

some bad latin, even worse scottish gaelic...
these days you're not even famous
for 15 minutes, as, according to the andy warhol
prediction...
no one is famous these days,
not even for 15 minutes...
             the 15 minute window is over...
now? if you want to be "famous"...
sorry...
             infamy doesn't work
in 15 minute slots...
      when you're "famous" these days?
you're infamous forever...
         these days any publicity:
is bad publicity...
           i'll curse the day when i become
relevant to a large enough
number of people...
      that's the day i will learn
that i have lost the respect of the few
i managed to enthral.

tell me of your childhood,
what's it like now that you have a child
of your own? Afford me the courtesy
if just a moment, of time,
and perhaps a dime, I'm sorry
would you like another glass of wine?
Right? – wrong – You're pregnant, again,
and when are
you
due. Do
you
know the ***, or gender, whatever.

And your baby boy,
what's his name,
Aid in Africa or something?
Oh that's right it's Aiden Efrica...
what's your last name again?

Again, again, again,
where did your roof go –
I mean youth go? Do you still
like Rothko and Rilke, and does your husband,
Ross, drink milk from the carton, and
know you're not proud to be a Roth, rotten,
so you're never changing your name,
don't even have a ROTH IRA,
and you say you're waiting; said since you were dating,
Libertas is your name, that till death you will claim.

So you have a couple kids,
young bride, a new house, a new game
but now I think I know you
always were the same.

oculus per oculus -
    an eye for an eye...

it was my first time seeing an eye
doctor - only yesterday:

oculist - not occultist -
coo coo
should i change my favourites
from crows to pigeons?

change my scouts
to messengers?

once upon a time we would
sail across the horizon of
where the seas would
merge with skies
with at least two crows

to scout for dry land...
the boundaries thus established
between seas and lands
there is an earnest need
to levy
a rest for horses and for crows
and invest in the theology
of:

replacing Huginn and Muninn
with Fantasiss
     og
               Havhimmel -

never mind...
the Hebrews are as guilty of trivialising
knowledge as the gentiles
and their astrology bull.... ****...

the Hebrews and their gematria
the gentiles and their astrology -
same ****, different cover...
to allude to A = 1
to suggest that words can be influenced
by a meaning in number
is a blasphemy against
the dictum primo (first saying)

initio erat verbum
et verbum fuit *** deus...

in the beginning there was the word...
so much for the fall of man
as the fall of word
into the lasp, grasp and grub of man's
intestines kidneys
brain and a grieving soul (search)

almost simultaneously:
the fall of word and of god
and the rise of man
and the subsequent acquisition of words
as communication as that equivalence
to the harnessing of fire
gifted to us by Prometheus...

words and fire met somewhere
in a non-dialectical exchange:
for this is needed, and was...

funniest football hooligan chants
i ever heard came from Millwall -
or the London Scoots - Scots, dockers,
who call West Ham (Cockneys)
pikeys...
and call the north London Jewry
penny knackers, pinchers, nibblers...
4 x 2s...
             ha ah ha... tenet (almost)

                               aha!

the most marvelous time... against QPR...
two weeks ago...

also recently: a burglary...
had a PTSD episode last night where i made
my mark on the night air with my breath:
as you can imagine
my mother was woken
as i grieved a lost privacy a safe haven
of my garden...
with a prophetic armistice and fury
i tried to ensure that the burglar might
hear me in his sleep...

nein! nein! nein! du klein sheiß!

oh that it is one of my "neighbours" is certain...
a juicy thumb he left as proof of presence
for the CSI officer...
officer...
that too...

      my mother doesn't take my work
seriously... like i don't take her housewife
"work" seriously...
but during the initial investigation by a PC
when asked about profession
i answered: SECURITY
to which he duly noted: security OFFICER...
hmm... what a moral boost
concerning status...

police officers, firemen, ambulance personnel,
security officers...
and all the moral principles of:

come the age of man in his mid 30s...
time to start looking for a serious woman:
an older woman...
i would have never gone down the rabbit
hole of seeking an younger woman
to have some sort of advantage:
i wanted an equal and an equal
i found in an older woman...
in the footsteps of Macron and Wolverine...

anima per anima
duo per duo ut unum

now for the geometry of seeing with only one eye:
hallucinations in the night,
how the closed eye merges
and disrupts the night
or rather how the night invites itself
to quasi dream -

geometry by letters, one eye and that annoying
nose...
always present however missing
with ().     () two...

it must have been so that
Polyphemus had his eye placed above
his nose to never engage in a nasal entanglement
quiet like the crows are emergent
in flight and peck:

L Γ

peripheral vision of the ape
180º
              but i think that crows and horses
have... an almost 360º vision...
if not 358º vision...

    (a) clepsydra funnel sight(s)

        ∇
        Δ

             stars stars and some David:
this is my colateral,
this is my Balaam moment with the Israelites,
because of gematria
being akin to astrology
such foolish waste of cognitive resources
sheer boredom!


     O
                ∇
                Δ
                       O

cubism - Picasso lettering
that is a face, striking how i can't really tell apart
a nose from a nose or a noose,
protruding or retracting?

ever see a hawk chase a prey?
i'm pretty sure the prey can see the hawk
honing in...
ergo? 358º vision...
given that birds fly into glass buildings
but then glass and air
indistinguishable...
like mirror and water...

Edie Edie my honey bear my peaches
this i ode unto you...
R           ya'R               Ar         R
pi              R           i didn't eat:
but you ate: my hairy chest your *****
and all that floral of flesh of you
i can be unabashed in public
for public to scrutinise:

     since i'm not me now but am me
with you...
given: if everything is ****-
pride charged: i'll create an advent for
the binary cis ****
a nudge in the opposite propaganda dictum
of a culture of a sunset...

cite Trinity in the matrix of:
dodge this...
                              i:              pride this...
and it only took roughly a ***** dozen (13)
of like minded individuals on
an SIA course to get a membrane
going - the walls of Troy have risen once
more...
none of this English
liberal *** nonsense middle class jargon
newspaper friendly opinion section
"journalism" of opinions
without a dialectical scrutiny...

the editorial section i can at least respect
for its impartiality and commitment
to a non-person ghost-like allure...
having opinions makes you less than a journalist
when not debated...
a sort of *****-like ATM
an inflated egoism... which is no heroism at all...

but i digress - having in mind
the poor opinions concerning poetics:
enough said:
too many practitioners not enough
craftsmen...
then again: poetry in a democratic crisis?
at least poetry adheres to democracy:
in principle and above all in practice:
why vote when x
   why not grasp for a voice...

in vox electio -

     in voice a choice: one can choose to either
speak or not speak...
carefully listening to thus carelessly speak:
how glorious that:
to carefully listen but also carelessly speak...
it is this freedom
not libertas per se
but rather on grounds of:

audite diligenter
                                                     loqui neglegenter

and amend and retract
with not fear of prosecution with no
******* mental gymnastics
                                    of censorship:
speech like water - speech like thought

as far as selfishness is concerned:
we all owe ourselves this sort of "selfishness".

oh how i desecrated the initial origin
of these words... from high on...
to this lowly human
and fragile and

'you can't make this **** up...
so i'm still reading Knausgaard's mein kampf
vol. 6 and i'm in this interlude
where he's talking about
a Paul Celan poem,
the symmetry the words, adjectives,
pronouns blah blah
and the symmetry of a poem
resting upon the middle with a focus
on a wet eye....
the past the future, disembodiment etc
and there i am... a day later...
with a ******* eye infection and an eye patch!'