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EssEss Jan 2024
The very mention of Portugal's Lisbon evokes an anticipation of enticement,
Replete with rich history and heritage, any visit is bound to be one of excitement,
Linked to the legendary Ulysses, it is the westernmost capital city in continental Europe,
It's historical prominence is due to it's beautiful natural harbor, that needs no lookup

Even for those who love city walking, the steep inclines of the streets could be a stretch,
A plethora of pleasing tiled architectural facades however, makes up for the arduous dretch,
The city is built in a succession of terraces up the slopes of a range of low rolling hills,
Elevation variations offer spectacular views of the river & cliffs, adding considerable frills

As a city built on seven hills, Lisbon's topography is a mix of enchanting contrasts,
Monumental buildings, elegant squares and broad avenues encompass large vasts,
Quick digression to hilly, narrow, winding, cramped streets is a common occurrence,
The ambience while strolling is pleasing & the transition in terrain is a nice experience

Lisbon's uniqueness is in it's hybridity of historical and modern cultures and lifestyles ,
Smart rooftop bars of hotels contrast to excellent inconspicuous restaurants in style,
The city boasts of an internationally acclaimed one-of-a-kind  architectural singularity,
That can be seen in scores of buildings where spectacular tiled facades are a specialty

Building facade tiles are characteristically ornamented with figures in blue-toned colors,
As seen in homes, public buildings, cafes, train stations, shops, churches and many others,
Called "Azulejos" in Portuguese, these unique tiles also serve to remove building dampness,
Innovative iterations have made tiles more vibrant, rendering greater degree of brightness

One of Lisbon's trademarks is the famed, oldest Portuguese paving on most streets,
Made of limestone cubes, shaped and placed by skilled craftsmen, never missing a beat,
The designs are geometric, figurative or specific depending on the final location,
Special atmosphere is created as it reflects all light falling on it, that begs causation

Lisbon's distinctive colored tram cars are iconic and, for visitors a must-have ride experience,
Hop on board to the sound of squeaky brakes and shrill bells, that have little consequence,
Navigating the steep hills, narrow streets and sharp turns, the journey is fun-filled & exciting,
The ability to lean out and touch perilously close building walls in narrow streets, is most defining

Baixa is Lisbon's central business and shopping district that is always bustling with activity,
It houses the most emblematic squares and streets with neoclassical buildings in the vicinity,
This touristy part of town is flanked by fascinating historical sights that are iconic, quite frankly ,
Fusion of it's history, traditional Portuguese culture and modern tourism, is depicted very aptly

Overlooking River Tejo is Praca do Comercio, a magnificent plaza and Lisbon's grandest square,
The surrounding arcaded buildings, equestrian statue and  Rua Augusta Arch all add to the flair,
Bustling Rossio Square with cafes is Baxia's principal square with it's wave-patterned pavement,
Adjacent Restauradores Square with much history has a standout obelisk - a landmark monument

Navigating around the hilly city is commonly by cab or metro as both are relatively inexpensive,
Other options include trams, funiculars, buses and ferries, that can be fun and equally effective,
When it comes to a tossup, Lisbon metro with four lines, is usually the fastest way to commute,
Providing a seamless experience for visitors, thanks to  a system that is designed to be astute

A visit to Lisbon is never complete without a day trip to  Sintra, perched atop a mountainous site,
Sintra's jewel in the crown is undoubtedly the famous Pena Palace - an UNESCO World Heritage Site,
The iconic twin conical chimneys and the lavish, whimsical interiors have an unique construction style,
The castle rooms with colorful, artistically painted emblematic ceilings are surely worthy of a besmile

Lisbon's charming tourist attractions and lifestyle are the prime reasons for it being a go-to location,
It has a welcoming and liberal allure with extensive history, that makes it a popular holiday destination,
One continues reminiscing the sloping streets, effusive warmth of locals and colorful architectural tiling,
At the end of it all, a visit to Lisbon always remains wistful, whilst at the same time, leaving one smiling!
Aaron LaLux Sep 2016
Lost in Lisbon,
just me and my addictions,
and when I say addictions,
I mostly mean my addiction to women,

caught in the same cliche,
but I can’t seem to get away,
like a dream that keeps repeating,
same place same case just a different day,

thinking that somehow *** can replace,
the actual act of acceptance,
thinking that regret can somehow set,
the pace for some sort of repentance,

but nothing changes,
except the weather and sometimes the faces,
found I’m still lost,
I’m a great shot but what’s the worth of a great shot that’s aimless?

No target,
no goals,
just a free market,
that’s completely uncontrolled.

There are no rules,
there’s no reality on which to base this face it,
we are all lost that is for sure,
only difference is most of us don’t want to admit it.

Addicted,
to the chaos it’s such a turn on,
even when I feel sick,
and my heart’s gone cold I’m still burnin’,

she’s turning,
her back on me,
says she doesn’t want to have ***,
and I understand her exactly,

sometimes I wish I wasn’t a man,
sometimes I wish we were all brilliant light,
want to leave my dull bland body so bad,
that if someone came to take my life I wouldn’t even fight.

I don’t fight her,
she says no so I sit up and ask her to leave,
it’s almost 4 o’clock in the afternoon already,
and she’s got a flight to catch that’s leaving for Italy,

and it is then that I see that she’s leaving me,
both figurative and literally,
which I guess I accept because one fact,
we all leave everyone and everything eventually,

even ourselves,
the cards we were dealt,
were bizarre as a guitar played like like a bagpipe by a Celt,
and even though we feel no more well hell at least there was a time we felt,

oh well,
I understand now that you’re timeless and your love is priceless,
fairwell,
we win some and we lose some I guess that’s what this Game of Life is,

blameless and shameless in Lisbon having a midlife crisis.

Living in cities of sin singing songs of wrong still trying to be righteous,
lost as a lark trying to parrot a song to carry us along and guide us,
flying through this civic blueprint climbing high we deny lies and define all aliveness,
and even though your iris is sublime and so is mine we can’t seem to see through our own blindness,
  
like trying to adjust to the distrust that we feel when we’re told that someone loves us,
and the ironic thing is that in your strangeness I see a similar likeness.

We lost us.

We lost us and our fondness for any sort of conscious conscience,
so now we’re in love with fervid thugs and hooligans that are heartless,
and when we’re asked why we’re in love with this life we say because we are artist,
which partially explains why I’m in Portugal in pain with a beauty that’s stunningly monstrous.

Lost in this,
constant concoction of consciousness,
lost in this,
city by the ocean caught in the North Atlantic drifts,

lost in Lisbon,
just me and my addictions,
and when I say addictions,
I mostly mean my addiction to women…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

20/08/16
*** is a drug...
Doug Potter Nov 2016
You probably think this poem is about
Lisbon, Portugal, where women
dangle your imagination like
a necklace of sun-dried
currants. No,

Lisbon, Iowa, a town twenty-two
miles removed from the 21st
century, where I stopped
for coffee, flipped eggs
and a place to ****
on my way home

from  god what  a day;
a man ordered a plate
of Rice Krispie bars
and tea—shuffled

his wallet for ten minutes,
made me nervous
like he was on
Thorazine;

it was the last
time I visited
Lisbon.
Joana May 2016
From my window I observe the beauty of this city
That I was born in  
From my window I watch the river being touch by the sun
Reflecting a light that illuminates the whole city
The light that travels through the streets and eliminates any kind of sadness
The colourful buildings mingle with nature...  
So softly
So unique

Just as only Lisbon can
If you hear closely
You can hear the singers singing their hearts out
Singing away their pain
While the guitar accompanies the rhythm of their voices
Echoing  
What beautiful melody

Lisbon blessed by Christ the Redeemer
Lisbon, my immortal city
Julian Sep 2020
I famigerate without taciturn timidity the straits of a straightened jury-rig of nesiote narrowbacks harping the accordion zest and zeal of the plenilune consuetude of a scrivello infamy sprung into the rows of rip-tide acclaim hamstrung by the decline in fastidious upkeep of the timberlask vesicles that avoid the phenakism of prismatic reformation fundamental to transmogrified simpers of dismal saturnine darkness encroaching on the parallax of realms within the dominion of the Almighty for the omniety of the usucaption of the fruitful prune in the priggish afterglow of a noontide eclipse bereaved of whispering retreat in the hallowed wasms of stiltanimity becoming an entreaty to ecumenical barbs of propriety selected without intimacy to folksy bibliopolists but rugged in sterling tribute to the true vine of the appointed ways of sacerdotal triage among a roughshod vanity of a derelict world marveling at otiose rejoinder rather than true spasms of tragedy flickering in the recessive alleles of a careworn culture. The travesty of Beirut is the bromide of current leapfrogs of sentinel lust and malapert destruction forming an ironclad camaraderie with chocolate-box langlauf disasters wed uxoriously to the penury of the brackish version of the catadromous bailiwick of despotic nescience pregnant with sophrosyne redemption at the cusp of a plaid perfunctory quip of quisling intimations of the sketchy provenance of humdingers of comestion lurking in the plodding prowl of a ribald wiseacre of a beckoned billow of trinkochre welded into a conscientious blarney that awaits the popinjays that sculpt brittle redshort fictions into awakened carapaces of a limacine reduction of impoverished fulmination into the neatly sworn footprints of a geotaxis shuddering with magnetism only in spectacle without the overhailing zeal of vintners who specialize in curtailed wine drawn from Caiaphas and soaked with the muddy turgid Siloam as avenues toward the repentance of asunder becoming marginalized as a whimper of taciturn choleric war receding not even into an audible delope as the masterful chryselephantine assault of cryptic auditions in the theater of effete refuge sink into the pelagic oblivion of a remarkable blister festering into inconsequence as the rebarbative emoluments to tattered travesty hearken a battle-cry yet emanated in the reprehensible bulwark of the gerendum of a poised plastered humility aggrieved with such friction turgid on rollicking magpiety that even the larceny of brutish renegades of triumph sink beneath the brevity of accident rather than the fortitude of globalized turpitude weakened by the improper demarche of fuliginous homeless depredation of innocent bystanders flocking to the harvest of war found in insight rather than the perfunctory bromidrosis of the macroscian enmity of hidden maleficence spawning a credenda that is spayed on arrival in the faineant zoolatry of a spelunkers’ madcap dash to flex the filigrees of turmoil in resentment of the amicable truces of a God who never tempts and a lurking lie that never itches for trigger-happy hapless rebukes because the skittish skirmish of futilitarian repose is a scoundrel of the profligacy of errant weakness blinkered by the humdrum din of deafening semaphores of provocative thornbush on the threshing floor of cowardly imposture president of all affairs of spirit and all renegades of caitiff megalography of forgotten oblivion despite the curglaff of vindictive and never vindicated assaults on the integrity of the birthright of Lebanon to wager a presumptive gamble of trifling retribution for the alacrity of suspicions eloping with forbidden mistresses in the humdingers of flackey rather than the troudasque harbinger of a lunacy impugned by a restive triumphant fallow time seasonable for a litany of pretenses demassified for a liturgy of seances with eldritch commiseration in the saw-toothed serration of selachostomous bravado wielded by likely or unlikely culprits of ravenous ruin shepherded by the guilty cardinal sins of the complicity of explosive vanity marauding on the ruins of a fortress debased by pettifoggery of internal excuse rather than the wrath of provocative ire in the irksome cauterized wounds of the inured to deliver spectacular reticence despite such grievous diacope. Evil gilderoys of maleficence carve the sapwood of the periphery to aimless subversions miscarried by the modern atrocity of glamour memorialized as a sound-byte underminnow of a roaring rhombos rip tide as stocks wavy at the curvature of edgy demarche despoil the denuded wasteland of cultural despondency a wagtail to the impudence of famigerated affronts that deserve a sterling recompense wielded by the onerous and operose burdens of a prone decubitus of aboriginal bread seeded from Heavenly realms dissipating into the roars of blinded conflagration too meek to even exist on the ramshackle hillside of a barnstorm of aggression powerless to encapsulate the nexility of unspoken allegiance to destruction rather than the halidom of consecrated marriages balking at the caulked provisions of a slugabed monolith of craven capers on the recesses of abeyance in the interregnum of a time where famous people communicate with me. How can such a charismatic bravado of lurking presidency stoop to the denizens of usufruct in licentious latitudes on the outskirts of consideration even pretend anymore that the vacuum of effluvium (Gal 6:7) can be mocked and milked into the row of centuries blistering through the calenture of apprisal and heaved awakening as the zephyrs of the Occident meet temporal juncture with the coenesthesia of a hibernating trumpery formed by the turnverein of listless lethargy billowing through fumiducts of siphoned lavaderos of hypogeiody that the underground spasms of cacophony could marvel at the historic emergence of a magnate with the most powerful magnetism of God shepherding the true flock John 10:27 because he is willing to be the good shepherd and potentially die for his sheep John 10:11. Remember, whenever you hear a Queer Studies Radical Feminist bloviate on emasculated sardanapalian posture John 8:44 and even though personified as a masculine titan of bulwarks of immense otiose wilted inkburch shielding the world from true meaning, the maskirovka of the Devil is present in the dark trespasses of personal abandon among the wilderness of many marsupial jackals of martles wagtails to an invictive proclamation of invulnerable sappy sopanaceous filibusters against hefty sinew forged the bony fragments of the charnels lost to brief epitaphs never mourned in threnodies worthy of remembrance that the departed died with us and live again through us whether in Heaven as participant or on Earth as an acting battalion of the skullduggery of the mystique of shimmers of God acting on Man’s behalf 1 Col 1:15-16. That the firstborn of all creation obtains supremacy through the finalisms that I seek as the captain of trailblazing untrammeled roads we are reminded of the narrow and wide gates expanded by the explosion of thought that trespasses into the hidebound ratchet of a reasonable bleat becoming a harsh outcry of justice for Lebanon that they feel so powerless in implosion what could aggrieve potentate civilizations to the precipice of global maleficence in destruction. Swarming for alveolate hominid hominism as an outgrowth of alienation by design polarized spectral dangles at jaundice flamestun by the ordeal of oppositive barnacles to the chryselephantine habituation of a masked menace of Procrustean authority to muzzle the free license of armamentariums of a latent man keen to the kenspeckel visibilia that we might have punctuation in the poised primiparas of a hearkened unprecedented in modern history that the traipse of lapse is no longer the tenure of mindless calculation of authoritarian gabble sentries of a mobilized fleet of embodied human ignorance but a foisted sprite of whangams of apothegm that deserve in their gnomic respite from the phenakisms of a philogeant kumbaya assertive in its treony of radical compassion for those who dwell in tentpoles of revelry bound not to the covenant that sent us into light and sparkling in hidden obsolescence that the fulgurant words of Mount Horeb (Sinai) are both immaculate and without trace of sin because Acts 17:30 declares a powerful truth lost to the twinges of time that issued peremptory governance of my theology but through remission I admit the grievances of septiferous blockades of ponderous plodding nescience haunting the spectral aubades of paeans to a high-flown sun darting through galactic space apace of the velivolant sails of divine wind that come in the spree of recompense authored by the vines to which all roots belong rhizogenic and immutable because the demarches of time forget the marches against the cauterized grime of new-world suspicions of aleatory fickle gubernatorial proclamations that issue reverb more than sprinkle flanged atrocity in the sight of the holy ramparts of an active double-edged God who reminds us of our many witnesses but provides not a single latchkey of escapism resident to many hapless homes of the drunken sing-song rhapsody nullifying the psychotaxis of the motatory miserly Draconian charades of Leviathan grasping the tridents of warp-speed revisionism in a benighted world overrun by mandarist fictions that fumigate a pasteurized control of cultural malcontent in situations of dearth infested by the concentration camps of China that remain unheralded in brumal and brutish indoctrination spared from worldwide outrage by the tribunes that are complicit more in malfeasance than they are celebrated for the herald of heinous bletcherous crimes of abecedarian abligurition anointed in waste rather than refined like unquenched slakes of eternal water so that no man can thirst hungry for the daily bread without returning to the providence of God awakened. Recalcitrant by the impudent quislings of repugnasket flarmeys of advenient flummoxed besieged clairvoyance I bask and beaze on the light that never fades because of the brackish whisk of a barnstorm of allegiance that is contumely to a bromide society listless in inferiority of intellect to my former streaks beyond jejune reiteration of the Jehu mentality against the canine fate of Jezebel and her faltered ministry of ewnastique waged as battalion gore of a trifling musket of an aboriginal swim through the oceanic gaze of peerless eternity squirming because of flagging resolution among the spandrels of incommunicable largesse lolloped extravagantly not just for the spoils of hyped pedigree but also a chamade to Heaven to enlist the purblind vestiges of a crambazzled Earth rejuvenated in adolescent esprit rather than callow eclat against the outrecuidance of whimpered miserly conscientiousness that exists in a shorter frame of reference than the provident dashes through a furlough of time and ancestry to cobble together a lapidary bristling excoriation of the tumescent squabbles of mystique brave enough to rarefy the humid pasteurization of a mannequin kenspeckel still-frame jilt of jostled infamy brusque in its curt envies borne of still-born promenades of a whasper between the youthful ligony and the intrepid soul of a collective warrior debased by the adscititious participant to elegant effronteries of the newfangled intellectual vogue that is the grombang of the tralleyripped hamshackle of ostentation meeting mirrored paralysis in sheepish ewnastique creations meddlesome in their ironic frizz of recursion as I lounge on the habits of creation by intelligent lurches of design that appointed the demarcations of all creatures and the mysterious bridge between the missing links that remain elusive to the flombricks of the misery of epigenetic rhizogenic imparlance of desuetude cringing at foresight littered with the disaster of ravished hindsight blushing at the limpid degeneration of the vapid varnish of benighted ligony rather than heroic strides of stoic-epicurean compromise in the apolaustic pursuit of the one eternal God present in rebellion but never the temptress of mendacity and mendaciloquence because the tug I have on speed is ratifying a cauterized casualty in the spumid betrothed wicked snuffs of extinguished furor for a time beyond barnstormed racloir rugged origination and faulty phenogenesis that escorts mythos into actionable litanies of the awakened breed scoffing at the inkburch of “Electrolytes”-wernaggle that besets the queer fascinations of a warped generation. The pytherian swank of artrench embodied in the recocted rendevation of hypetrophy in hubris swaddled by the reductive dranger polluting the realm of compliant complicant complaints of the ashowel of albatross astroud in the hibernaculum of langlauf rather than the ultramontane fiduciary tether to the estrockentch rather than the laureates of plevisable courage found in truest shades of vinsky not the subhastation of a gaslighted galvanization of purebred classy swivels of opportunism nor the ravenous incubus appetite for usufruct in subversion belongs to the behest of an insular nesiote flexing the flux of subversion as the candid posies of saccharine immodesty become relegated figments of the everlasting age of promised propriety rather than rigid stultimathy of hackencrude virtues of virtuosos that marvel at troudasque wonders occluded by the girlcott of Team Biden and his militarized soldiers of desiccation of trumpery and the faucets unbounded by swanky concealed epithets of regaled rentgourge by a hapless objection of the runic destruction of apothecary leniency becoming of the betokened emblazonry of scrimshank in every perfuncturation but embodiment of character shouldered by every chasm of power erected in demolition of the warped egintoch radicalism of the submerged wernaggles of the hopeless minority swimming with autodimplage few have to bear but the truest flock of God heeds my voice and has the sapience to spare themselves of contumely and invective to hearsay of invictive triumph beyond radioglare swirk to renege the musical providence of the chamades to the asterongue I often take for granted by immunifacient degrees of the foretold encroaching upon the crux of a pivotal and pivoted destiny not distant from cordial providence. The sweedle of epigones for the risctender of obligation to subvert the coryphaeus with the rigmarole of gentincture borrowed from the Gates’ formulaic effleck of perverse warbles of collectivized contrition for abetted cultural pederasty limpid in its achieved objective of the crudenzy borrowed from a lacking impediment to arentrum belonging to the knowledgeable happenstance of the glorified dengonin is a denostram that forestalls the agelasts behind porsters of culture rather than legitimate mainlined contamination of wellsprings of fliction of paranoiac enthusiasm might swim in kinkativy blinkered blind piebald girouettism but never dauntless in sematic entrenchment of robust dilettantism as the swaddled corrugation of time into centripetal ****** against centrifugal modernism that alienates propriety while estranging by vacuous vacuums the outspoken progeny of the surviving age beyond the Jay and Silent Bob travesty that manifests as a glower of menacing Bushian invention to tarnish with ****** mythos the drapes of a defenestrated realism of the flinkers of sheepish indignation against many drakstings of intonorous sclerotic mandibles of crackjaw chockablock annihilation of core precepts and institutions indelible from the face of a quixotic entreaty of a ragged intrusion of ageotropic monoideism above the secular-clerical fidelity of honest witness borne of triumph and tribulation festooning the nativist hyperbole into a useless effigy of mountebank imposture silly in precision and purblind to gallantry. Yet I must kisswonk rather than truckle under such ponderous pretense because of a sertivine certainty in the thickets of prudence rather than the tomfoolery of humgruffin impudence scaffolds me to a post-modern ****** that shanks through prisons of guilt and burrows an interrogation of reality supreme over all complaint that the virtuosity of the Gifted (the elect flock that comprehends my volcanic diatribes against mandarism and stomachs them without sardonic pastorauling insults of passerby vicissitude) will spare many nations of awakened perjury against human instinct in the fitness of nations to denigrate the populist squalor of lurid and livid ewnastique wernaggles of the listless buttress against my formal modesty encouraged in all affairs even in aggrieved humility belonging to intimidation rather than spawned jostles through the rumpus of shunamitism that might rankle a later age.  Yentrified morality is a personal flapdoon against the promiscuous pederasty of freewheeling ophelimity and the lurking narquiddity of the traindeque of donnist hedonism to hijack my psychedelic tolerance into an unwarranted and inadvisable sanction into the netherworld of the frinterans of cultural modality that curdact religion into a cosmetic cosmogony rather than a soldiered infamy becoming a beacon on a towering hill growing in solidarity with the pleonasm of existence itself which surpasses crude formulas that already abide by the riches of decorum too much to be admired as trigger-happy fools run the asylum of domesticated irony and the librettos to downfall rather than the wassails of “The Man” becoming more masculine in featured charisma rather than defiled against Leviticus among others who preach belonging to nuclear creed without fission but for true rapprochement to the fusion of the treony with legitimate gripes of unsung complaint among the masculine minority. The traindeque of a baseline complaint aggrieved by the kilmarge carapace of stiltanimity for the hackencrude resentment of the inkburch of illiteracy is a profligate degeneracy lurid in hyped enmity that the envied entreaty becomes the despotic shadow masquerading in shadows blossoming into the full wisdom of the mature sophrosyne heart eager to pour out blessings upon a conservation of recycled epitaphs becoming hearsay in a rebarbative convolution of redacted rigmarole incendiary to whittled henpecks of political engineering but never vapid in their flagging insistence upon an ecumenical toleration of the brooks of modernity and compromise upon which much felicity is aggrandized and permuted against the spoilsport frinterans who encage a dodgy moralism in wilted etiolated jaunty pedigree that espouses the maudlin grievous and ghastly ghouls and sprites that haunt the fictional hobgoblins of the Potemkin Village that finds usury convenient and perjury even more facile for the glib facetious engineers of modalities of hatred unsung by the ribald witwanton “I got a Solution...You’re a ****…South Carolina What’s Up” crowd that never marvels at ingenuity or rarely attempts it in the summit of the climacteric jaundice of hidebound whemmles of ridicule sparring against spartan flagitious wiseacres of genocide of ideation for the revelry of armed missives denatured by raw promotion of the questionable ethics of a flavork of needed slakes of unquenchable desire swarming us with daily temptresses not of wayward women but the disarmed pretense of a lapidary rejoinder to a long expatiation or harangue against hackencrude curdles of rowboat injustice masquerading as sentinel savory destruction of the towering edifice of proclamation. There is great menace in the casuistry of sophist philogeant philocubists dicey with destiny for mincemeat puppetry against sciamachy for the gallionic rise of gammadions in the craven lore of baseline pasquinade rallied to the insuperable causes of tribal shibboleth anointed by secular totemisms of fracture and fricative hisses of lineage that amount to pleonasms of brassage rather than mystagogical mystique of the prestige of human fraternity that shatters paradigms of creed and invites an honest vestige of Noble Savages to roam the Earth yet again unencumbered by lugubrious welters of misnomer and malapropism wagered by artifices of guileless supremacy that is cursory prima facie neglect of even the sororal duties not of sophomoric glib facetious cowardice of backbited backlash of venom militarized for the desuetude of entertained visagists sculpting *****-nilly their version or verdict of decisive apartheid when we should all rally behind the united frontier of the chosen flock in the chosen generation to truckle beneath the pews not of ignorance aggravated by the polluted kilmarge egintoch puritan barbs against publicity choices I now regret (as an emolument to an incredibly euphoric track with a poor miserly message to the enchanted flock inoculated from such diversions) because alighted upon the quenched thirst of salvation I will be judged more harshly as a teacher James 3:1 than the rest of my flock but gifted with the gratuitous salvation carved from the chiselers of ribald infamy capering around with dacoitage and ladronism of the bomans of unsuspecting quixotic caprice I must reckon with the burden of ghoulish shadows on the spectral imprint of my eternal soul relishing in vicarious splendor yet bereaved of quintessential love 1 Cor 13:4 that is necessary for the nuclear conclamation of vibrant hues of resplendent and refulgent providence necessary not from a dynastic perspective but from an aimed providence that alerts dynamism rather than chides with mimes of useless schadenfreude carved from the prestidigitation of the wicked condemned in Galatians 6:7 for the mockers of sanctanimity accorded upon me as gratuity that no man can boast my elite ears and my astute wonderworks of imagination qualified me for prophecy and among the most mesmerizing prophecies registered to fulfillment that the world has ever yet witnessed because the watershed isn’t a bridgewater for the chavish of ignoramus hatred congealed into thrombosis but the narrowed gate enlarges to encompass the swath of man amenable to the flocks that escort me into permanence rather than regale the tridents of a hedonism that elected me clairvoyant at a cost of immaculate splendor registered to the holy clergy of the Sacred Catholic Church and the broader Ecumenical Endeavor that tries to be a seamstress and bridge elemental divides inherent to divided approaches to liturgy which flex their strengths in times of robust fortitude rather than become a subhastation to the vestiges of the pilgrimage to false tabernacles erected by people cozened into charlatan endeavors by the pernicious and persnickety whiplash of Least Common Denominator subversion of widely heralded sentience and sapience enriching the lot of human ambition rather than stoking useless conflagrations of refracturism accorded to the swallock of primposition of the hackneyed hackencrude that swivels with the odious ornery pretense of overtures not to apertures and lychgates of the true abiding Heaven felt on Earth by many Christians whether in sobriety or not without the evil maleficence of a misguided donnism of narquiddity for the grambazzles of aged recklessness aborning on vacant responsibility that is rickety in its magnanimity of absolution because of the ulterior chase for bottom-line top-dollar oligochrome foisted by the cartels that blind true spiritual insight from ever reaching the magnitude of ambition required to shape mountains of revolution among the tertiary squabbles of a conversant Earth open to the troudasque gallop into yield and cloveryield for repcrevel reforms the paludism of the swamp remains skittish about conforming to because objectivism is a renegade of perspicuous light blinkering in hubris and gourmandizing the hinderbaggle of cosmetic pollutions aggravated by the plevisable articles of envy and TLDR politics to “Electrolyte” logic that is a sad recursive wernaggle of the useless buffoonery of humgruffins of tatterdemalion spate rollicking in the magpiety of a timid consentient faltering myth of unanimity among the beleaguered rainbows of many lugubrious tears showering bickering blasphemy upon the mockery of God for the pleasantry of self-aware sheepish resignation that professes only that any form of meritocracy is existentially unfounded only because the beehive elected its progeny the scepter of the ironclad kingdom that wages war against idolatry and serenades heaven with luxury simultaneously. We are all shepherds of providence and there is power enough in collective prayer that we don’t fiddle around with bodewash in mistaken identity but riddle the persnickety blemish of the fastidious critiques of biting sarcasm as a tantamount blasphemy and a criminal repartee of sardonic cloys of inanity foisted above truth. The peevish breedbates who scour my evidentiary pillar of chiseled vertebrae of unbroken bones of solidarity with oikonisus will be sorely disappointed in their truthful audits of my true perception because in every single case it exonerates me from the pulpit of menacing idiots who scrawl random gabble in attempts to sound smart while reeking of iniquity wrought by the gavels of predevoted inferiority of complexion and attitude that gravitates them to an insensate benumbed transmogrified bailiwick of an appalling atrocity of mythomaniacal myths spurned by consensus among those who prize my grandeur above the superstitions of the illiteracy of the rancid rankle of otiose stupidity writhing its own sheepish envy of arbitrary dislike motivated by feminist aggressors waging warfare on turf I already conquered by swaying the intelligentsia to beckon my cause rather than pillory me on a false scaffold of frinteran abuses of the nyejays of bernacle that junediggle in the taradiddle of the nanciful excoriation of my leaden corpse weighed down by the witchcraft of connivance trayning its own delicate myths while avoiding scrutiny for appalling contumely that deserves an audience more suited for fracklings of treony belonging to the trinkochre of the rising alienation and suicides among perverted gay indoctrination that is a scourge on the planet because it willfully denies with its portentous hibbles the regaled wisdom of the culminated age against renegades of apostasy and for the behemoths of true monumental change that sizzles in savory circles among the vanguard only to alarm the Status Quo hijack of my entire endeavors as a covert crusade to use wrecking-ball fashion tactics to cosmetically incisively and insidiously perform a harprick of surgery upon a blameless countenance only for being a thorn to wragatek wragapole slavery which wages war against universal salvation because it gripes with inkburch and circular pleonasms about the most obvious glaring lies and feasts upon the serrated edge of the capers of hatred that frolic in meadows too skittish to enter the barbarian fortress of my forested residence robust in fortitude and glowering with a menacing contempt for runaround psychobabble that obganiates the obelisk of the moribund crusade to make normative ethics effeminate and to enthrone inviolable women’s speech as supreme to any male objections like the Cristiano Ronaldo accuser that came forth 8 months after #MeToo one of the most dishonest campaigns in modern history enthroned by Hollywood elites in gammerstang insurrection against pay-gap ethics done manipulatively with the sapwood of mendaciloquence like Blasey Ford whose physiognomy reeked of maudlin pretense that was so ornery in how obvious of a maleficence the intrepid Abortion Agenda has over the minds of selfish women who prefer ecbolic second-term abortions to the servile gripes of primiparas building new life rather than tearing down the scaffolds of new generations. Hominism deserves its rise because-in increasing numbers-men are derelicted by society and coerced into vapid tallespin enslavement that ridicules itself with the perjury of soul to the soulless vanity of recursive cycles of benumbed narquiddity found in “****** Hero” among other atrocities littering the human fascination with the hinderbaggle of our polluted age verging on totemic blistering hegemony of a few rotten apples corrupting the vagrant ingenuity of the forgotten champion who ushered in a new era of candor in the attempted interregnum of the United States government because I Am Hollywood got the name correct considering how many memorials there are to me in the movie industry. The junediggles of sc-ha-den-freud-e which is as deliberate of a German pun as JUDEn JuDEN which shows the German language is as farsighted as you can get and why many of my neologisms have a German tinge to them. German is an elegant language with botched syntax but a peerless repertoire of vocabulary and even though I love French, the Germans are smart because their language is smart not just because of petty arguments of pedigree which are specious at best. Being dontolesque with  the zenkidu of rengall nauclatic mythos is an artful degree which accords nominal prestige to licentiates while excorifying the obvious metaphors of sunblind logic that scours the scorched Earth of internet diatribes of sophistry and dethrones the Marcie Biancos of the world “Heterosexuality is officially OVER...K Bye” with her 145 IQ and a Stanford Degree in Queer Studies (A professed atheist by her own Twitter admission) with the warped logic to equate a heterosexual relationship for a woman as ******* to patriarchy. For someone that well-studied in literature she sure is a dumb-*** and I will demolish the syntagma of those that root against me for Status Quo preservation in the official interregnum of Saturdays during the Trump Presidency. We need an official referendum on the ideas of termagant illogical anti-egalitarian poison that derives from a deracinated worldview that doesn’t contextualize how powerful language is at shaping thought because if the entire world were Anglophonic every single country on Earth virtually would see immediate dividends in terms of intellectual creativity and limber with concepts and percepts because it is no accident the most successful empire in History the United Kingdom, was favored because of its shibboleths of Shakespearean creativity draped with flairs of the irreverent while gilded by God to be a majestic commonwealth. England and France monopolized a huge majority of history by no accident because although English might be a slightly keener language the French culture of salons of freewheeling intellectual enlightenment gilded the 17th and 18th centuries into absolution despite the Panglossian epithets of Voltaire who was ironically dissuaded from religion because of the All Saints Day 1755 Lisbon Earthquake and Tsunami. We need to be vigilant against encroachments of perceived shibboleths and more keen on an affirmative meritocracy that favors the poor and blesses the meek in their poverty and inspire ambition among them to join the coteries of refinement in thought sometimes harder to achieve with crackjaw lollops in pleonasmic languages that fail to articulate with nexility or forceful wit the true abstractions that govern the pataphysics of the unknown. Language is so decisive over human thought that it is incumbent upon every language to refine its vocabulary to trayne compendious verbiage and trim the hedges of global reform to invite the curiosity of the age to favor all creeds and languages of Abraham and the diverse progeny of a variegated panoply of majestic feats common to all parlance and capacity beyond just the Anglophonic snare because the world needs not a chicanery of blustering churlish buffoonery but an Almighty respect for the consanguinity of all to God’s blessed creation that he inseminated by his deliberate hands to enrich the world with diversity rather than cleave the world with piecemeal skeumorphs of radical propaganda that opposes the modern and post-modern egalitarian streak. One wrong must be corrected, however, the underrepresentation of Hispanics in the media and in film because this grave error is much more pervasive than the ******* LGBT inclusion narrative because these days the lollygags of fashionista odalisques with Obelisks to Baal get more say over the common decorum than the marginalized bronteum of the  rich and vibrant Latino culture which is squelched by the poverty of media and Hollywood representation. Synectics showcases how a henpecked aim at the synaesthesis of culture congregated around our Almighty Father blessed among the nations who adhere to the progeny of Abraham can be more blessed when working together rather than tribal with nepotism and aristocratic in sustained affronts to the elevation of affirmative meritocracy to the forefront of discussion rather than the froward backlash of benumbed narquiddity because the synallagamatic nature of complexity needs to be devolved with industrious ambition to all cultures and the savory flair of the vogue needs not merely a wednongue fascination with an eventual terminus of crudenzy but a sustained intellectual reformation on all fronts to standardize the English language through Hollywood and the Music Industry so that the dragnets of appeal etch a permanent trace into the engraved souls of the true flock John 10:27 are consecrated in divine purpose to reverse the Babylonian Diaspora of confused and conflated purpose that stunts the raltention of humane course and the proper pataphysical syncrisis of an evolved mundane temperament that transcends the circular traps of circumlocution common to the milquetoast industrial titans who winsomely charm with toady gestures the elitism of a moribund philosophy of intellectual thought delegation to elevate the common rhetoric to reach new pinnacles in both tribune and political gamesmanship because higher standards are required even when they surpass some common understanding so that every ambition becomes a conclave for the goal of human unity solidified by the truth of the kerygma and proclaimed to all creation as the culminated synclastic reformation of the idea of indulgence and the propriety of regaled moderation that appeases the common decorum with a shared vested interest in Latin America especially which is besieged by the cultural tenets of obrogated specialization and denigrated by the common myths of warped phenogenesis which should be debunked as a wasm of hypocrisy limited because its callous tentacles lack the charismatic fulgurant equipment of future generations to bear the operose burdens of a quintessential time of harmony united by the hymns for God by God to appease the sentries in Heaven and the celestial realms that exist for our merriment more than our detriment. The sprauncy have the  frikmag to recognize the spuria of apocryphal heresies that encourage kinship above matriotism and shared fortitude for intellectual valor rather than “*** talk TLDR” hashtags abounding on the turf of the insensate wernaggle of clueless charlatans wiggling through life not because they were borne into slavery but because they choose to be Helicopter Parents of “Baby Shark” rather than token mantelpieces of enlivened culture shimmering with radiation of Gods glory as cemented in Colossians 1:15-16 because the firstborn of all creation lives in some form in the ligature of Christ 1 Cor 12:12 because there are so many talents that exist in our variegated world that the mastery of expertise in dominions of conversant fluency will abet the variegated crops of a draped humanity corrugated on its own ironies for the delicate sizzle of beatific felicity multiplying itself in centupled design over centuries to overcome hinderbaggle while realizing the fictions of some drawflark. The strigine world concedes to this upstart rooster maybe considered a parvenu of dearth but luxuriant in riches boundless to all that draw near to the kerygma of Christ and feast on his daily bread found throughout liturgy because we should listen to people like Cardinal Timothy Dolan who is exceptionally astute (perhaps an understatement) to guide us on a regenerative rather than degenerative pathway towards universal attempts at salvation that broach a new decorum bridged by aliens to select chosen emissaries to bridle the fissions of repartee reserved for the forlorn that balk at ambition rather than relish a new era of seditious determination against the determinist fallacy and for the mental health of those coping with autodimplage and sheepish regrets and persnickety articles of remorse because all the world deserves our consolation and desperate attention rather than the trumpery of the circus masquerade of marauding agitprop which congeals into thrombosis of toxicity as the vast majority of Democrats refuse to even hear Trump speak when he is discussing discursive solutions to enigmatic quagmires,for, if more people listened to Trump they would be disabused by the specious claims of his misogyny and white allegiances because his candor is brilliant and despite the prominent advocacy of Biden who has considerable prestige in my memory, we deserve a bipartisan syncretism that unites the world and unifies the country away from the swerve of salacious mythos and towards a rambunctious magpiety of solidarity against the secular humanism of a defunct piety to Marxist feminism which is a crudenzy among the awakened men around the world increasingly alienated by the hackencrude of wednongue illiteracy even trumpeted by the vanguard as panacea when it is a comestible form of poison. We need visionary unity where there was once toxic divisive balkanization of exclaves of limited foresight clashing with new wave awakening to the persecution of illumination itself for not a rigid hierarchy but a flexible structure of inclusion that adjusts to cultural expectancy and modifies the traindeque that strands many in institutionalized poverty especially in Latin America and India and obviously Africa too. The stegophilists of language should herald the aubade of the chavish of redintegration over the squawk of din of squabbles of internecine redacted revisionism beleaguering our lyceums with toxic agitprop even at the highest institutions of learning who balk often at the recycled auditorium of useful thought because their venal tilt is complicit in squelching freedom of thought and our schools should open early so that zig-zag-zoom politics around feldtrounds who are eagerly outnumbered by the patrons who police thought become agentic not with outspoken treacheries but inseminations of intimation to hint at the spectral mystagogical reality we are all members of despite hurdles that beset the hemiteries of odalisques who seek inertia rather than mobilization. The ribald underminnow of transparency is a carcinogen of the rampant siege of Status Quo coarse hypocrisy for tentative flings with cadged cloyed saturnine professions of the landmines of atrocious miscarriage as I soldier on in the causes of the poor and the forlorn to become enriched by the glory that God delivers with munificence so that all might be enriched by the emanations of the true vine and in distaste of error I rebuke the armada of belittled armamentariums of the cantonment of deep-state breedbates boiling over potboiler frikmag that exists as a transcendent obscurantism flowering in decisive times to warp the contextual footprint of a life served in the service of all the oppressed people as a kind of Moses figure raised by the elite and fighting for the criminally oppressed and the ****** of mediagenic hyperbole is dissatisfied by my glowering spectacles because they dismount from the equipoise of the righteous gallop towards ecumenical solidarity at untimely punctuations of juncture superseding the flictions of frikmag dethroning my righteous valor and provident sanctanimity to prowl like predatory wolves the fathers of the casuistry of mendaciloquence to accentuate the stridor of inopportune squalor of the selachostomous regimes of teetotaler totalitarian freebooters who prevent bootstraps from manufacture as they gradgrind the world into ergonomic insufficiency while I provide a Kamacho-like galvanization to the broader world that favors the consanguinity of all animate sentience to the aboriginal vine of the universe that plays with the toyed cadge of oppositive support but lends credence to a more evolved view than the crudity of encapsulated travesties inserted with jaundice against the lyceum of freedom of thought and the celerity of headless horseman galloping in partial interregnum to crown the strobic stridor of the stiver of the steven of contarianism engineered for walloped ringleaders of the renegades of heresiarch sedition in their odalisque oaths to Pagan dieties carved from the sapwood of gullible Illuminati naivety that professes allegiance to the worst whangam ever invented Baphomet and his faked cronies of ewnastique free-for-all diminutive crags in the renown of dawning light becoming cagey struthious structuralism embedded in sclerotic wasms of the wanhope of a nullified message becoming a sacred creed to the attentive while the lilt of the otiose drawl in serpentine convolution a ribald pleonasm of circular circumlocution that provides locomotive linearity rather than leapfrogged slogmarches into the province of the territorial alignment of kinship against the partisan hollertrap and the stigmatophilia of obsessive persnickety popinjay beadledom the last stronghold of the rickety resistence to this Saturday interregnum which presides over the better part of the intelligentsia if not the common pedestrian parlance because hortatory weights cannot be described in any other way than metagnostic flickers of Yellow Submarine vandalism of a pristine living animation of the humane spirit that prizes the plight of the poor and the blarney and blench of unjust opprobrium faced by the institutionalized bailiwick of flictions of gammadion gallionic posture when in fact they register as seismic entities engraved upon my Christian conscience that strictly welcomes the emigrants to truth from whatever consecrated virtue they originate from because all are capable of the same light and the same compassion of a beatified humanity rather than the relish of deep-state castophrenia which belies its own ribald gay mockery on live TV as not a single twinge of ****** attraction overtakes me in matriotic sardanapalian effrontery of a hollow but sadly hallowed vainglory of the hierodules that bury the coffers of patriotism in a sad LGBTQ graveyard of landmines that demonstrate a complete disregard of the nuclear family and should be decried as an outcry against redefined Christianity bolted to unshakable irrefragable beliefs in the constitution of man and women wed together in one monogamous flesh with the occasional cuddle of close tithes to the ******* of friendship as the slavery of sin in Leviticus 20:13 falls to the wayside because this patriotic lewdness is a vapid fatuous derangement that is a new low for the United States attempt to inoculate China from religious accord with the broader world and should be seen as a Chinese maskirovka worthy of the heaviest disdain and I will disavow America if it continues to bandy the tripwires of Chinese boondoggles under the American banner and pretend its pretense isn’t lagging under its own bletcherous abecedarian elementary fallacy of psychobabble oblivion of dark saturnine brusque termagants of tatterdemalion cloaks of the selfsame illusion of a desperation of China to wreck the United States economy and inseminate Florida, Arizona and Texas especially with the Coronavirus to swing the election in Biden’s favor with or without US Complicity to expedite the course of a virus which sees no resurgence in any other civilized country in the world while the heroic Russians, Germans, Israelis, French, British and true American Christians banish the barristers of bad taste as an acerbic poison on the wellsprings of a flagitious flag I would kneel for in the knells of disgrace if the pompous and completely inoculated missives of Buttigieg ******* continue to roam shepherded by deep state elitism to wreck the opportune moment of religious revival for petty reasons of chryselephantine gambit and gimcrack for institutionalized poverty which my ambition is to heal completely by sacerdotal deeds and consecrated prayers in the Lord whose peace surpasses the temporal despair of senectitude and comforts the grievances of the aggrieved because Galatians 6:7 is no more true than the fatuous display of muscular idiots waving American flags for turpitude rather than flogging very perverse Gay men in the streets which might be a more fitting outcome even though I must remove the plank in my own eyes first to see the irony of the detested. The doytin is no longer misguided by the nanciful derision of the vociferous clangor of the venal Gates mafia militia wrecking ball vaccination Bezos crew in Medina which is a mettle I can’t match when you own every citizen in the world in a few square miles of nesiote territory the denizens of conquest besieging religious sanctity with profane outbursts of corruptible linchpins on the public lynch of the strepsis of periblebsis that vitiates commonwealths of supreme sputtering regimented clairvoyant superlative alabaster wealth of the isangelous protectorate of the supreme God that supervises his careworn flock into the storge against the scourge of prosodemic stigma stained in bleeding heart liberal bathed tears of pseudoautochiria of Jim Morrison glaring in the face of the triads that Killed Him in the French Connection ******* of 71’ that outnumbered his hobohemia of loyal jewish bohemians livid in the rhapsody of nurture rather than enfeebled by the unfurled destiny of the Soul Kitchen he foresaw to his own pitiable demise at probably the hands of strangulation because no autopsy was performed. Although repetitive Transparent is a real anthem for oracular mystagogical transcendence a mandatory hymn for the ryseolagnus of the poetic verve of a new wave swooning the cordial progressive of atmospheric oneness with the primordial vine and the vintners that congregate on populated soil to feed a desolate destitution of synoecy or synaesthesis in the syncretic rhapsody of the subfocal ageotropic plenilune yet saturnine lugubrious toil of those that shovel through the albatross of ewnastique recapitulation to the same tired “Its got what plants crave, it’s got electrolytes” wernaggle of the hopelessly dismal inkburch of illiteracy crawling like a Hyacinth House on a vacant graveyard turf guarding the legionaires of rapid-fire zig-zags through a serpentine curvature of the ligaments of fabricated space warped through prismatic lenses of aperspectival time aspiring for ventriloquial enamored rapture upon Earthly parallax with tapestries of refulgent cascading wandering wonder that meditates its own lucubration with careworn tutelage against the wasms of dying oleaginous swelters of redshort opportunistic vultures swooping with Raven’s claws against the odometer of viewership surpassing records in unspeakable wisdom that crowds out the crambazzle toonardical wreffelaxity of the tiresome nuisance of ornery brawn muscled into a formidable triage in vengeance for Jim Morrison’s scripted eviction from Earth either by poisoned ****** or by  Asphyxiation by the French Connection avenging RFK and the cultural revolutions of 67’ in Haight Ashbury and the widespread percolation of treacheries fathomed to the most obvious degree in showmanship that it bristled as an affront so severe that even the patronage of Paris wasn’t immune to infiltration. His threnodies will always be sung with Triumph that the hallowed day of a monumental soul eluding the darkness of purgatory into the welcoming aborning light of the noontide progeny of eternal ataraxia awaited him in the stagecraft tub of blasphemy bellowing ratcheted warnings that not even the palatine grasp of a potentially divine being was inoculated from the deep dark chasm of nefarious skullduggery for boasting so widely and openly of his professed foresight to glamorous to be hidden as the beacon of virtuosity that galvanized a generation to flout the  futtocks of a keelhauled vision of sanitized purblind mortality that the fear of death rarely crossed the mind of the greatest fearless poet of an entire epoch that we may pray that Jim Morrison feasts in Heaven atoned for his sins and is at peace with God now. The substratose congeniality of marginalia on the outskirts of pederasty in cultural miscarriage owned by hierodules boundless in their lurid debaucheries that they might be remanded for being custodians of hostage to a prolific nescience  reaffirming their dying posture in the extinction of sardanapalian coverthrow of repcrevel camorras of ladronism and dacoitage always cauponate in imbibed throes of lewd AstroTurf outrecuidance glowering at sanctity with a bereaved psychobabble divorced from the purebred empiricism of true giants of industry that are almost insuperable in their extortion that their darkness in deeds of Kobe Bryants assassination do not go unpunished at least in Los Angeles. His untimely death as with many others registered on the Richter Scale because Come Clean perverts from Kansas City wanted San Francisco to win to clean the mops of janitorial revenge of the subturbary rickety foundations of a flailing moral compass so wicked in arbitrage that no subreption undetected would flourish among capernoited vigilantes of poached titanism and illuminism scarring the vestiges of enigmatic encroachment upon untouchables daring the frights of the Living Daylights of scurrilous rebukes so scathing in their menacing depiction of negligent bromides of token sacrilege and scarred sacrifice of a scarecrow example of how the prosodemic scourge of befuddled turgid pristine transmogrified heralds scampered away with pseudoautochiria that afflicted Jimi Hendrix suspiciously as well. My support is behind the justice warriors aggrieved by the Beirut explosion because they deserve a vindictive outcome that quells the quislings of atrocity of the popinjay beadledom of the unspeakable tremors of seismotic popples of unrest warranted in Lebanon the homeland of Keanu Reeves a saint among men for his peerless grace and agraceries of the smog of myth evanescence becoming perdurable swings of the humdingers of berated jaundice becoming the prerogative of the revenge of a city leveled to the ground by suspicious skullduggery and I am surprised they lay dormant for this long in their protracted grievance over the ghoulish frights of one of the most unheralded major events in recent memory. We need to highlight the plight of Lebanon so that world leaders are frightened even of intimidated people tranquilized by terror rather than enlivened by the propriety of redacted rejoinders that serve the ulterior mission of a Titanic bravery that never sinks beneath the sumptuary treacle of grombang grambazzle and supercherie of the supercalendar of poignant repined repose derailing an emolument to ecumenical solidarity. Lets highlight Lebanon as an inexcusable trespass worthy of some mighty reckoning if not a riveted war but at the very least a devastated twinge of outrage.
The Aunt of Lisbon

Those nebulous
Short, squat spiders
Living on
Grief
And hatred of men
They cannot have
They live
In the darkest corners
Of Lisbon
Trying to catch
A man
Their slobbering lust
Give them away
Poisonous pens
Stabbing
Futile in air
Dark is the mind
Of the spider
Emily Jane Feb 2018
One last look for Lisbon
Let it seep into my heart
One last wistful wish that
I was back again at the start
I was a girl then
Wondering how to do my hair
I am a woman now
Heavy heart frayed with wear
One last look for Lisbon
Windows glow from the sunrise
The air feels full of magic
I am much more alive
I want to take a picture
So I pull out my phone
But no, I don’t need a photograph
Just this feeling in my bones
Av Dec 2019
The hair on your forehead is soft umber wheat
with a cerulean sky behind it,
the dent on your cheek is deep-
enough for me to rest in it

You are the emerald mountains
and the tranquil rain,
that calms me down
and hands me pain

You are jazz and blues
and if yellow ochre had a sound,
Lying in between our smiles,
was a place that you found

I miss you
and the little church in Lisbon,
across the lone bench,
with a stick that you relied on

In the back of my mind,
how could I ever?
When I've never met you
and I've never been to Lisbon

a.r.
Got Guanxi Nov 2015
Lisbon you look beautiful to me.

Miles high -
the first time I seen your city pretty.

Beneath my feet capture me when I land on you for the first time through turbulence and gin soaked T shirt.

Seeping through to my skin.

The deep sea spoke to the infrastructure,
we landed in harmony with a disruptive aftermath.

The stony paths lead back to those off beat tracks,
as we bask in the heat of the sun.
DJ Thomas Jun 2010
Cycle chic fashion
Our slow bicycle movement
Poetry in bike lanes
Sartorialist's on two wheels
reclaiming **** cities*

.
copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010

http://www.slowbicyclemovement.org/2010/02/bicycles-and-poetry-in-lisbon.html
Sebastian Macias Jul 2016
The cheering had already begin
Nobody was in their seats
The race of the year, The race of the century?
It had been a long season for these two
Each with different odds to face
A rivalry made by the media
Cultivated by the perseverance of each rider
Clocks gone will jumps in front
Dubai tonight follows
But all eyes are on "Casino Lisbon"
And his brother "Silver Sea"
A mile and a half they stride
The race is loud and the crowd is wild
Instinct verses experience
Their strides are graceful
Their speed is immaculate
The younger of the two, "Silver Sea"
Knew he was out to win, his eyes said it
"Casino Lisbon" blood ran cold as he
Took the lead half way through the race
With ambition and determination they pushed
One horse goes out wide, but steady
Turns the corner and down the stretch
They battle for first! ******* !!

Neither can lose. But only one will win/
Who has worked harder than the other?
Who has pushed themselves during training?
Who will survive the ****** on the roof,
Waiting for his own fate?

They are neck and neck down the stretch
Casino Lisbon has a nose in front of Silver Sea

Pop. Pop.

Pop. Pop.
Michael Adubato Dec 2020
I woke early
this morning in Lisbon
before the birds chirped
the traffic shattered
the silent room in the
Sao Bento Guesthouse
and the old tram
struggled, groaned up
the steep hill

She stirred beside me
even and measured breaths
I turned on the white light
and read Pessoa
and Florbella Espanca
poets of the past
of the hilled city
split poetic personalities
the one
she, the other,
a killer of
her self

"Abre os elhos e encara a vida!"
advice not taken

today we'll walk those hills
ride those trams
and eat seafood along the Tagus
as we ignore
the passing
of our lives

open your eyes and face your life
Duzy Jul 2019
The sun has long disappeared behind the stage
I'm inspired and sweaty and feeling my age

The amplifiers still ringing in my ears

The smell of the Tagus draws in and I take my tired frame up winding streets
The cafés are open. Piano music. Shoes on cobbles providing the beat

Sat silently listening to the late urban shuffle, people appear from narrow openings between tired, tiled buildings
Are the up late, are they up early?

It's been a long day. A day of fleeting smiles.
I think of you, and there's one more.

This one lasts.
Jean Rojas May 2015
The winds grow like wild flowers
in the Avenue of Liberty
sunlight kissing park benches
and statues of means
I have mingled with its people
The village fools,
The beggars,
The old men...
Retired to their places
in my river of memories

A swarm of street cars pass by
and I hear the soothing sounds
of the Portuguese tongue
But I missed the sight
of the purpose of my flight
even though the joys of her beauty
has become Lisbon's lullaby...
I have had my share of tears
In the Avenue of Liberty

I tried to drain the
sorrow of my pain
through bottles of
foreign liquor
in drunken passion
I laid myself
into a wishful slumber
yet nothing can erase
the shadows that tormented me

In the deep of the night
with pictures of your face
in my dreams
then all was dead silence
at the stroke of dawn
But the Avenue of Liberty
gave me no moment of peace
and the river of my memories
ran like arrow
eager to pierce its mark

A piece of my heart
will always remain
Down in the Avenue of Liberty
where you and I were so apart
yet, somehow, in spirit
we merged through the wires
In conversation and distance
we loved as we danced
The dance of fate
that pulled our strings
in a masquerade of feelings
into a labyrinth of consequences

Body and soul
I still long
for the hours I've spent
though alone,
though weeping,
in that haunting park
at the back of my French hotel
There in the liberty of Avenues
The Avenue of Liberty....
For: Jose Manuel Raposo Nunes da Silva
(07 November, 1998)
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.and there are plenty of reasons why western Europe commemorates the end of the first world war, and while eastern Europe commemorates the end of the second world war... sure, they were Jews, but they were ****** citizens... and whatever ****-show the first world war was... it was a war within a family... wasn't Wilhelm II the grandchild of Queen Victoria? so... George V and Nicholas II... so basically a ****** fest manifest of inter-familial ties... the second world war i can understand, given the catalysts, like the treat of Versailles... Weimar Republicanism... whatever... but the first world war? no wonder Western Europe commemorates the first world war more, than than the second world war... the first world war was.... not the war to ends all wars... it was just the most pointless, ******-infested war of our time... oh... look... no Helen on the horizon! now let's shoot up some ground down poppy seeds... or bake us a poppy-seed cake... because this... i'm not into tattoos... my psyche is already tattooed with vague dates... 1914 or 1918 11:11:11 isn't one of them.

it always feels like a guilty pleasure,
being raised in England...
how the **** i learned the language
i will never know...
  thrown into the deep end of the pool...
i remember Ms. Jarvis
at St. Augustine's primary school
(halfway between Gants Hill
and Barkingside)
   giving me a folder with pictures
of objects and their names...
PAJAMAS...
      i remember that distinctly...
learned the language by myself,
learned to swim by myself...
being mute for most of the time
at the primary,
i used to spend lunch hours in toilet
cubicles, ashamed at being unable
to speak, or in the classroom book
section reading...
then one day: and there was light...
bilingualism is not much,
i'm not a polyglot...
but i know more than merely speaking
several languages...
i know how to think about them...
for example:
why does English, not apply diacritical
markers...
thinking it's the descendent
of Troy, and subsequently Rome?
- and why do the modern Greeks
overuse diacritical indicators?
the first English word i properly learned
was back in Poland...
i was told to write C L O W N
and then draw a picture of a clown...
then came the ambition...
to speak the native tongue than
the natives...
                          to become covert...
chameleon...
                    so... why cat?!
   and not... chatterer? or, rather:
care-taker?
       the linguistic diversity of
this tongue is unbecoming,
  it's exhausting,
paradoxically a universal language
in the form of the lingua franca...
but then the ******* Amazon of
biodiversity of unchallenged particulars...
and English is littered with
its set of particular...
                  how the English think
that English is a difficult language
is beyond me...
   the fact that it is a lawless language,
without any diacritical markers
indicating a clarity of syllable cuts
intra-verbum is one thing...
   and then... people just run along
with whatever is the new vogue...
                                                 CUL8ER...
a moral disintegration i can handle...
all the hedonism, i can handle that...
but when it comes to the orthodoxy
of language?
                        this, "neo cyber punk"
*******?
                            i don't want to get it...
it's the same ******* crap of
slang being the language of exclusivity...
sure... when you're trying to guard
yourself against rogue actors...
like pedophiles online...
             but i didn't learn this *******
language to respect its degeneracy into...
quasi-hieroglyphics...
     oh right, the original point...
it's so ******* weird writing about my
history, having been subjected
to the English historical perspective...
like...
            Rome never made it...
the northern crusades...
                      Mongols...
        weeee'ird;
 ­         like... should this be even mentioned
using this tongue?
or should it be spoken in
the native?
                       and like the new
continent of H'america...
back in Europe... there's no concept
of Hispanic...
                   there is just the: Spaniards,
and their Barcelona,
  and their Madrid...
and their Lisbon...
and their own unique pride,
Hispanic sounds like...
what, a bunch of mongrels?
i'm a psyche mongrel...
                    basically **** up when
listening to the H'americans.
Winter in Lisbon
Up rua Garret I walked and it is steep in baixa, the old heart of
this grand city, past shops that sell lottery ticket, besides a shop that sells
religious artefacts, and a shop that sells Cartier watches.
If you win there is money enough to decorate your mother's  grave
and to buy a posh watch.
At the top of the street of the street a café Brasilia, it used to be
Fernando Pessoa's drinking den, now it is upmarket, suit and short
hair place who drinks tea and eat pastry; their forefathers used to
look down their noses at Fernando, now they are proud of him.
Irreverent poets can go somewhere else to drink.
The master poet is a statue outside his café in the rain, and tourists
take picture of him, one wonders what he thinks of it all.
There is also a statue of Antonio Ribero Chiado, a poet who lived
in the sixteen hundred, the largo is called after him, he was bald
and dressed like a monk.
I could see the river Tagus where tug-boats ply their in grey waters,
and remembered when I used to be a ******.
The church across the street “Incarnacao”, where Antonio used to pray
is beautifully restored, but his God had left by the back door
the front door was too heavy but saw a woman weeping in front
of a statue of Christos, “***** for the masses? Why not?
It is getting dark the Portuguese suits are swallowed by the metro,
and men with cardboard boxes look for a doorway to sleep in.
Over this scene hovers Amalia Rodrigues the great Fado singer,
born in poverty, she hums a song for the wretched.
Johnny Noiπ Jan 2019
At the end of my book,                                                      write a letter
at the end and end of my book
so that it can be kept in a book of ministers.
Men want to meet people who have friends, |
prostitutes and many enemies |
who work like a wet finger, for they are ready,
their stories in the hospital. Steps of the black
arm, genetic signs, red and red water, legs ||
with a dead syndrome and dead spider.
Organic transport: Tattoos from the United States,
the United States, the United States, Children,
Children, Children, Children, Children, Children,
Children and Children who can not concentrate
on maintaining the place and the intolerance
of the animals. The envoy was responsible for Franklin,
Longerman and his daughter are easily at risk.
However, in India, he asks the child to sleep,
take prostitutes and scream. By the light of day the Thieves were signed.
In the 1990s we witnessed a series of demographic growths
and commodity behavior. In fact, self-confidence
is growing and David is still young,
seeing the value of the first element, rap music is amazing.
He died in the heart of Tito, Orléans,          Toklas is in Lisbon, Lisbon!
The Hassan Spirits 1000, ||
which is known as Bdenuwauwa
in the Glory of the Youth, in English,
and in all the international festivals
on water, memory and bright blue,
the memorial in black and white,  five stars
and the last part of colors. Legend says that
many of us love the law of Tigren (5, 5)
At the end of my book, write a letter at the end
and end of the booklet so that you can sit
in the Book's book. Men like their friends,
prostitutes and people who want to work as gloves,
because they're ready, their stories in a hospital.
Black arm, genetic signs, red, and red water,
deadly pains and dead spiders. Organic transportation:
Tattoos cannot focus on the disintegration
of tattoos from the United States, the United States,
America, children, children, children, children,
children, children, children and children.
The envoy to Franklin, Guyana
and their daughter is in danger. In India, however,
the baby was sleeping, calling out to prostitutes
and screaming. Daylight and thieves signed.
We have seen a series of demographic developments
and commodities in the 1990s.
Even as David grew up in self-esteem
and early David was young, Recipo is
incredible. In Lisbon; Lisbon, Tito, OleT,
and Thomas died.           The 1000 spirits of anthems,
known in English and Buddhist,
are all reminiscent of international festivals,
remembrance and bright blue, black and white,
five stars and the last part of the color scheme.
Tradition says that most of us have created the law of Tigrai;
(5, 5) At the end of my book,
write a letter at the end of the booklet
and at the end so that you can sit in the 'book' book.
Men like their friends, prostitutes
and people who want to work as gloves,
because they are ready, their stories in a hospital.
Black arm, genetic sign, red and red water,
deadly pain and dead spiders. Organic transport:
tattoos can not focus on the disintegration
of tattoo of the United States, America, children,
children, children, children, children and children.
The messengers of Franklin, Guyana
and his daughter are in danger. In India, however,
the child was sleeping, calling prostitutes
and screaming. Day sign and thief In the 1990s
   we saw a series of demographic and commodity developments.
Although David grew up in self esteem
and David was young, the recipe is incredible.
In Lisbon, Lisbon, Tito, Olt and Thomas died.
1000 souls of Bhajan, known in English and Buddhist,
are reminded of all the international festivals,
memory and bright blue,       white and black,
five stars and the last part of the color scheme.
Tradition says that many of us have made the law of Tigrai (5, 5)|
Aaron LaLux Dec 2018
Backpack strapped back to my back packed up ready for the next destination,
got a train then caught a plane from Lisbon to Budapest but got no rest,
now it's time to go again & I’m all out of answers but I do have a question,
if I’ve been awake in this American Dream for so long then when do I rest?

See,
people on the outside say my life is great & they say it with a hint of envy,
they say that I’m who they want to be or at least that’s what they say to me,
& honestly I'm too tired to thank them nor have the patience to engage them,
because I'm racin' to the next destination on a spaceship with a window seat,

daydreaming awake & gazin' out the window wow this view is amazin',
see it's more about what you leave in than it is about what you came in,

but honestly,
I’m depressed,
& honestly,
now that I've got everything else I'd like to finally get some rest,

I'm upset,
still having a good time though I must admit,
because I'm blessed with the rest of the best of the Jet Set clique yes,
but must confess I'd like to find a nice nest where I can get some night rest,

because I’m tired of going whichever direction I'm pulled,
tired of going wherever the wind blows,
& I know it's an honor to receive all these invitations,
to all these events all over the world,

but it's as exhausting as it is awesome,
so I'm searching,
for redemption & as God's son,
through my sins I am praying,

God,
please take me home,
if life Itself is a prayer,
& we bless everywhere that we roam,
then it shouldn't matter that I never made it to church,
it should only matter that I'm a Believer that believes in redeeming his soul,

oh no here we go,
I wanted to take the time to marinate & elaborate,
but I'm writing this at a fast pace with haste because I’ve got a flight to catch,
& if I stay here any longer to take the time to elaborate I’ll be very late,

& once again I put down the pen in order to make my next date,

so I’m back packing,
I’m backpacking as backpacker not a back tracker,
so I'm moving forward because I've got a feeling that I can’t ignore anymore,
which is that there's more in store to explore & everything's still exciting,

& I want to share all of these experiences with you,

but I can't take you with me so instead of inviting you I’m writing cues,
to help you find the clues in all these experiences I'm going through,
as I live it up to the limit of the sky no gimmicks I'll admit to you why,
it's because I’m only living this life & visiting these towns for you,

so come spend some time with me,
so we can be together before we both go away,
because we all know what They all say,
baby tomorrow isn’t promised today,

tomorrow isn't promised today,

& that’s why I’m back packing,
getting ready for the next destination & always ready for action,

backpack strapped back to my back packed up ready for the next destination,
got a train then caught a plane from Lisbon to Budapest but got no rest,
now it's time to go again & I’m all out of answers but I do have a question,
if I’ve been awake in this American Dream for so long then when do I rest?

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

New Book FREE:
www.scribd.com/document/388173677/The-Holy-Trilogy-Volume-2-Mandalas

Bio HERE:
www.amazon.com/Aaron-La-Lux/e/B00ODPJAOK
Azalea Banks Jun 2013
Shuffle
Skip
Repeat

He played his usual game of pretending to consider the palatable array of music which graced his iPod before settling for an Arctic Monkeys song, as always, just in time for the 7AM school bus that revved up the road with a satisfying crunch of gravel. The morning had a deliciously crisp quality to it, with swirls of fog swathing the trees in mild ambiguity while the sun danced a waltz in a rose and custard sky, the colour of cakes sold in Pastéis de Belém, the best patisserie in Lisbon.

He realised he hadn't eaten breakfast just as he boarded the bus.
Ah, well. **** it.

The sun skipped between the spaces in the leaves, playing hopscotch with his imagination as he dazedly looked out the window, lost in his music. Although the people on his bus were nice, he didn't exactly like them. The boys wore low pants and branded caps, the girls caked on makeup and tittered vapidly at everything the boys said. A few others quietly occupied the back seats like him, engrossed in their own world. He felt a stronger connection with these people, although he'd barely spoken to them before.

He lapsed back into his reverie while looking out the bus window, lazily tracing patterns in the cracks of the broken walls of the empty restaurants and hotels that passed by. The economic crisis had rendered hollows of places previously choked with people, now haunted with the after image of busy commerce and make-believe vignettes of scenes occurred in these skeleton remains. They were darkly beautiful, modern bones of the city that held a history too close to his own.

He forcefully snapped out of his running internal monologue just as the bus pulled up the driveway outside school. The distance of a block stood between him and school, a block fraught with danger, for he'd been robbed on a previous occasion (not that his school bag had much else besides lunch money and books). At least they hadn't nicked his iPod. He'd be helpless without it.

Music was his poison. He drank it in like the alcoholics of the night drank scotch. Every drum beat was a ricochet echo of his own heart, every guitar string picked was a twanging of his veins.

And music got him through the day. The last bell had already rung and school was over. The kids rushing out the hall blurred into an exquisite pointillism of neon clothes and benevolent cusses at each other. He picked up his bag and walked to the bus, lost in the sleep deprived haze of his thoughts.

On the ride home, he wondered where he'd be in a few years. He wondered if he'd find a place in the cascading chaos of a society ruled by the anarchy of physics, and the fear of inevitable oblivion. He wondered if he would be remembered, if his footsteps would have an echo.

But for now, he thought, his microcosmic life in Lisbon would do. There were dark alleyways to explore and museums to visit and pastries to eat. Somewhere, a waiter put a tablecloth on a dinner table with a flourish, where two lovers would later dine. Somewhere, a boy ran down some abandoned train tracks with his dog, laughing at the summer sun. Somewhere, a girl with auburn hair picked seashells from a glimmering beach as the waves crashed around her fragile legs.

Somewhere, in his heart, a flicker of nostalgia coursed through his blood.

The next song on his iPod came up.

Shuffle.
Skip.
Repeat.
Bri Dec 2014
when you suddenly realise your in love with your best friend.
the one that was there when you were in yr 8 and were going through your "I’m ‘creative’ with my fashion" phase
the one who was there when you liked all those guys and embarrassed yourself in front of them
the one who was there when you developed that eating disorder and hated everything about yourself
the one who was there when you became the very ***** you never thought you’d become
the one who was still there after all the **** you went through with your dad
the one who helped pick you up from the ground when life kicked the living **** out of you
the one who you never thought you’d ever find attractive.
the one who made you laugh until you cried
the one who creeped up on you without you really noticing
the one who swept you off your feet even when he didn’t want to
the one who you know you’ll find very hard to stop loving.
its not really a poem...
Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.
hiperverb and imaginery poetry, based upon the eternal endless realistic living and non  logic  retoric literature.
copyrigth JOSE LUIS CT  2018
Aaron LaLux Oct 2016
Could have wrote a whole book about you,
but instead all you get is this one poem,
and as lovely as you are you have all the signs of crazy,
so no this is not exactly a love poem,

it’s a lesson in the form of prose,
about abuse and about healing,
about hurting and learning,
and how we emotionally evolve,

post trauma no drama all problems solved,
no commas till Nirvana I am The Man Who Sold The World,

a young **** unplugged I’ve been through it all,
so I when she said she’d smack my mug I just  shrugged it off,

when I say She I mean You and that’s the truth I mean come on,

we were at the most beautiful view in Lisbon,
sitting together in the grass,
and I know I shouldn’t have mentioned Russia and Crimea,
but I’d swear I thought you asked,

alas,

could have wrote a whole book about you,
but instead all you get is this one poem,
and as lovely as you are you have all the signs of crazy,
so no this is not exactly a love poem,

it’s more of a heated horror story,
a heartwarming tale of cold shoulders,
written by the waning light of the summer moon,
the pen is the sword that hews the stone until the tablet is hewn,

I’m a poet I know this so I wrote this to you I just hope it’s not too soon,

could have wrote a whole book about you,
but instead all you get is this one poem,
and as lovely as you are you have all the signs of crazy,
so no this is not exactly a love poem,

this is a poem,
about learning not to care,
about being able to look someone right in the eyes,
and pretending like you don’t even care,

worse than pretending,
really not caring,
please I wanted you to bring some inspiration,
but all you brought was doubt and fear,

so I set you down,
as quickly as I had picked you up,
I let you go,
as quickly as I had held you close,

so,

so what,
you taught me not to care,
when I was feeling the most vulnerable,
is exactly when you chose to strike,

why?

I mean,
what happened to yesterday’s yesterday,
when we met under that wise old tree,
at that festival in Portugal,
where we feel so infinitely free,

where I invited you to spend time with me,
so we could together experience this miraculous creation called life simultaneously,

you’d accepted my invitation at the Oriental Station in Lisbon on that restaurant balcony,

I had asked where you were going,
and you’d said Madrid then back to Cypress,
I asked you why you were going back,
and you said you didn’t know,

so I invited you to a magical place called Sintra,
where we could have space to explore,
magical gardens with magnificent plants from the four corners of the world,
secret white sand beaches with just us the black rocks and the white sand,
castles in the sky and initiation wells winding into the earth,
drink from from the eternal springs which spring from the fountain of youth,

this is all true,
everything I’ve written here,

but you sabotaged this passionate plot before it even got started,
it started too fast I wanted a time out instead we ate at the Time Out Market,

I feel sick to my stomach,
I brought you to an angelic place to watch the sun set,
and what could have been a beautiful healing experience turned into nothing,
I feel sick to my stomach,

why have we done this,

why have we become this,

what can we take from this,

what’s the lesson from all this,

if you know please tell me,
because I haven’t got a clue,
and I’m as alone now as I was before I met you,
and I’m sitting here in my sorrows writing this sonnet staring at the waning moon,

and I could have wrote a whole book about you,
but instead all you get is this one poem,
and as lovely as you are you have all the signs of crazy,
so no this is not exactly a love poem,

it’s a lesson in the form of prose,
about abuse and about healing,
about hurting and learning,
and how we emotionally evolve…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
A Bittersweet Love Letter
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
as a usual Saturday, a sniff of whiskey left
from the previous night -
that'll do - it's not much, but it steadies
the nerves and handshakes with ghosts
of dead writers and poets -
but then the paranoia kicks in -
this isn't the same utensil as a fork, or a typewriter -
this keyboard is attached to a matrix -
it extends far and wide,
i don't know... you can get paranoid
after writing at the height of your drinking
the previous day and wake up the next day
and consider it as nothing more
than diluted prose - which it is, a snapshot
of Joycean ergonomics - but you then
by accident hit the F5 button, yep, the one just
above the 5% button: are there poets
out there, still writing as if they are holding
quills and their fingers have ink stains
and they're airing their frustrations at a blank page?
seriously? i freaked out for a minute having
pressed the F5 button, panic! sheer panic!
panic is worse than fear, i thought for a splinter
second that the government was trying to
censor me... that i was somehow in deep ****,
writing propaganda for some obscure government
that allows 12 year old children perform public
executions by shooting culprits in the back of the head...
what does the F5 button do?
it freezes / blocks / denies the laptop mouse -
a rectangle mat and two buttons incorporated into
the actual laptop - for those few seconds
i felt monitored - standard paranoia of the 21st
poet / writer / whoever, but not quiet enough
for a spy novel... just bog standard feelings... which
are very much linked to printed book materials...
e.g. **** deus: a brief history of tomorrow by
yuval harari - about how we're getting dumber
because someone smarter programmed something
and we weren't given the manual...
funny... they started selling computers like they
were selling hammers... they said: easy, easiest
thing to operate... i'm well chuffed (i guess i use
that word to replace being surprised - local
ingredient - how they bang on about organic
locally grown potatoes and beef, same thing,
only with local vocab) - but they don't sell computers
with instruction manuals - so obviously
the smartest kids these days get on the app. rather than
the mortgage ladder - but **** me! you
could have at least included a little booklet that tells you
what F5 does... i never use it! i'm one of the few
lucky ones, i have some literacy in this department,
but i'm not a techno-philiac as such -
i'm one of those people that says: well, so much
for the building, but you have to put something
meaningful and human in it for the building
to be worth something... not what it is, but:
what it's about - i once learned to use Excel...
****! gone, not coming back. i once learned to
code and build a website... ****! gone, not coming
back, goldfish syndrome due to excess drinking...
but what bothers me is finding something
interesting in that book review... the invention of
humanism as a religion in the 17th century (
funny how Nietzsche criticised Christianity when
as an academic he would have known about
humanism, but dumbly persisted to criticise
what was already being replaced... unless...
he was anticipating American Evangelism,
which might be true) - so i'm trying to look for humanism,
and i come across Copernicus and Galileo -
because, apparently, (as already mentioned)
'Christianity was gradually dislodged by a belief
in the scared status of every individual's feelings
and judgement; we became the centre of the universe,
placing our trust in an unease alliance between
science and moral instinct.'
so there me thinking: so this goes back
to what we're experiencing now, heliocentric humanism
and geocentric humanism -
like i already mentioned, what's west for
nautical calculations past the moon and where's up
or north? it's still flat, the earth, if you're
trying to get from A (Lisbon) to Rio (B) -
so it's happening now, the great schism in humanism,
one side demeaning, angry, frustrated,
the other optimistic - heliocentric humanism
suggest that humans have all the great answers,
that we're all little Louis XIVs, about to dream big
about sorting hunger with spaghetti with a chance of
meatballs machines lodged in our head...
cure for cancer, etc. but then the geocentric humanism
movement is also strong: carbon footprints being
more important than carbon dating, global warming,
you know, typical ****.
still, the F5 paranoia was great,
writing this with an unlit roll-up cigarette was even
better, puckering that luxury before
the last word, and Houston: we have lift-off.
Aaron LaLux Aug 2016
(written backstage after Beyoncé final Formation Tour EU Show)

Gold Bottles

Flew into Barcelona,
en route to Portugal,
after two weeks in Budapest,
and one week in Milan,

Milan was for a lover,
Budapest was to relax,
Portugal is business,
and Barcelona was for fate,

had no idea Beyonce was performing,
her last show of the Formation tour,
so I went to her show after the Picasso museum,
walked right in no need for a pass,

went on stage,
watched the show,
got off the stage,
and said hi to Jay,

Jay Z was popping’ gold bottles,
yeah you know Ace of Spades,
and yeah I know,
that might sound a little cliche,

but hey,

it is what it is,
and I am what I am,
Jay had his classic Yankee Blue colors on,
I was wearing my tattoos,

the music had been so loud,
everything seemed so loud,
inside    and    out,
please pass me the champagne,

grasp,
the glass,
and,
sip…

Life’s such a trip,
I’m not even sure it’s real,
it’s like I went to sleep when I was a teenager,
and I woke up in my dreams,

I swear,
I could wake up tomorrow,
this could all be gone,
and I wouldn’t even be surprised,

in fact,
one day I will wake up tomorrow,
and this will all be gone,
and I will not at be at all surprised,

for now though,
I’m wide awake in this American dream,
and I can feel everything except for myself,
I eat but I’m not hungry I drink but I’m not thirsty,

sure I’ll drink that champagne,
Ace of Spades what a name,
maybe then I’ll be able to feel something,
maybe then I’ll be able to feel like this is real,

right,
now,
I,
slip…

Away from myself,
away from Jay Z,
away from all the eyes and attention,
away    from    this….

This silence,
seems so loud,
it screams so loud,
I’m tearing at the seams I bow,

trying to bow out gracefully,
exit stage left exit stage left,
where is my family where are my friends,
why is this silence all I have left,

left,
on a flight,
from Budapest,
to Barcelona,

Budapest was thermal paths,
and Eastern European women,

Barcelona was Beyonce,
Jay Z and gold bottles,
I’ve gotta to get to sleep soon,
got a flight to Portugal tomorrow,

got,
to,
get,
some sleep,

some time,
I don’t know who I am,
I just know I am not mine,

will touch down in Lisbon,
and be picked up right there,
taken on another tour,
no one said life was quite fair,

no fairy tale endings in the dragon’s lair,

where,
were we,
it seems we’ve gotten off track,
where,
was I,
somewhere with full bags and no place to unpack,

where do you go,
when you’ve gone everywhere else,
where do you find your silence,
how do you fill that void inside yourself,

somebody help,

I’m on a constant worldwide tour,
and everyone thinks it’s great,
people want to take my time and my attention,
but I don’t have the patience and I really hate to wait,

so before I’m even really here,
I’m already gone again,
and all that’s left are these words,
in the form of poems that I send,

like a message in a bottle,
I send from this island across the seas to you,
platinum plaques and gold bottles,
First Class seat I don’t deserve this it’s unbelievable,

flew into Barcelona,
en route to Portugal,
after two weeks in Budapest,
and one week in Milan,

Milan was for a lover,
Budapest was to relax,
Portugal is business,
and Barcelona was for fate…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
The Poetry Trilogy

author of The Poetry Trilogy
author of The Hollywood Trilogy
author of The Holy Trilogy



and here's some totally free music as well:
https://soundcloud.com/americandreamin/aaron-lux-truth-live-sky-tower

#beyonce #jayz #formation #poetryforever #thepowerofwords
#barcelona #formationtour #worldtour #hiphoppoetry #thelife ∆
Manu M Jun 2015
“Julio is sweet
Julio is smart
Julio is a sweetheart”
Julio is Julia’s love
Julio and Julia both are Portuguese
Former for namesake, latter at heart

Julio’s America born
Writer he is but no ordinary
Languages French, Portuguese, German, Spanish
All flow through his soul
Virtuoso is the word they use to describe his artistry
And it was for one of his poems that he won Julia’s heart

Poem was 'Meu Coração'
Recited it was in Lisbon, Portugal
Near a beautiful eye catching lagoon
On a sunny busy day; Julia vividly remembered

Today was the day they stole each others' hearts
That is what led to this decision
Of trying a poem for her beloved
But the catch was she was trying to write in English
Her English was even worse than their old Spanish janitor

But she was not one to shy off from challenges
So she tried one more time-
“Julio is sweet
Julio is smart
Julio is a sweetheart
Julio makes me smile
Julio makes me laugh
Julio makes me blush
Julio makes me warm
Julio is my love
Julio is my heart
Julio is my heart”
The poem to her seemed terribly plain but effective
And no matter how hard she tried
It felt as if the words were stapled in her brain

And then she jumped like a kangaroo
As the doorbell rang
Put on her slippers and hurried towards the door
Opened it and leaned forward to kiss him gently
She always knew when Julio was at the door

He was her Julio, her desire, her dream
Smiling at her, his eyes home to the bluest sea
They kissed again and this time more slowly
Letting the magic settle in the air more properly

Julia went to the kitchen and brewed some coffee
While Julio went to shower and as he removed his shirt
He saw a paper on the bed, bent he to hold it in his hand
And the lines on his face smoothened and turned into a nostalgic smile

Julia was busy making espresso Julio’s favorite
When Julio entered , the somehow, roulette shaped kitchen
With a paper in his hand on which stretched Julia’s curvy handwriting
“Oh! Wrote that poem for you I titled it ‘My Heart’
Not very flamboyant, simple like you
Hope you’d appreciate my hard work”
Said she, as if the words were sewn in her heart
Then all of a sudden both erupted into laughter
Laughter filled with a sweet secret each beheld
Lucky enough I was to have known their little secret
Years ago, similar words had crusaded Julia's heart
Near a beautiful eye catching lagoon;
On a sunny busy day in Lisbon, Portugal.

~Manu M.
Dig deep and you'll understand the poem better
Tom Alan Quest Mar 2018
I walk my life, a subway station
Where dirt consorts
The air around.
It pounds my nape,
It flames my mind
With sights and fates
And sounds.

Above, a tram goes up the alley
Tinged with canary hue.
Below, my wit:
What void, what valley:
It sank, in Tagus mused.

I take a seat, doors screech behind.
O, what wondrous whiffs?
Of metal beams
Attriting loudly
Against metal wheels?

To a halt it cuts my chain of thought,
Rivals my dream, they brawl.
'Tis from the gallery
Of broken hope
The beggar man crawls.

Intemperate horns his entry announce,
Dysphoric scenes aground.
He comes detuned
Near clears his throat,
Lethargic voice resounds:

I beat my cane
In wrongful rhythm,
'Cause wrongful
Was my life.
My voice hurts from
All this singing:
'Twas morphed into
A sigh.
I longed, I longed
For all my sinning
Was ought to be repaid.
Deserved so much,
God took my
Will, my sight,
My love, my
Name.

So tell me, vagrant,
What did He take?
-Said I-
Who has loved you?
What is your will,
What name did you go by?

I used to be a man of soul
Whose heart beat strong and dign,
I used to write
And then I died
On the 10th before July.

He took my coins for all my service
At wars:
At land
At sea
-The waves still have her,
Laying there still,
Waiting away from me!-
Said he-
I will my love,
My fire, passion
-My young Natercia!-
Most darling of all nymphaea!

So God is just after all,
Replacing sin with grief.
No need for me
To pay the man:
God has done the deed.

The deadbeat coins of his cup
Turmoil ever so slightly.
I leave my dream,
Doors shrill again:
'Tis time to end my journey.
An ode to Portugal's best.
An ode to Europe's brightest and warmest city.
A view on psychological historism with sarcasm
Marie-Lyne Mar 2017
the most beautiful germs are hidden in unknown places
the most beautiful stories are not told
how love sometimes is an obstacle
how jealousy is the real death
how we find peace when knowing that someone share our feelings
how we’re able to identify with a character
how fatal is love
how his flames burn us
somehow to bring us closer to life
how unfair some lives are
the way they are constructed
if only love was that strong
like a ******* disease
like a bullet that could **** you

Some stories are hidden
but how beautiful is it to discover truths about strangers
like somehow they open up our life
our whole life
we change the way we think
we live more
we start to breath again

Let us discover untold stories
let us find what is hidden
let me change my world, my life
to have more knowledge about an unknown writer
how some people’s lives are meant to inspire us to leave everything behind us
leave maps that we constructed
follow unknown roads
I just want to feel
to fall in love with others
to accept myself as a boring human being
Boston Sydney Oslo London Berlin Montreal Ibiza Stockholm Lisbon Dublin....where are you?..Chicago Madrid Turin Liverpool....I need you home!....Tokyo India Rio Helsinki Milan Botswana....please come home....Gibraltar Alice Springs Zurich Tel Aviv St Helier Jerusalem....I really miss you x
I Alphonso live and learn,
Seeing nature go astern.
Things deteriorate in kind,
Lemons run to leaves and rind,
Meagre crop of figs and limes,
Shorter days and harder times.
Flowering April cools and dies
In the insufficient skies;
Imps at high Midsummer blot
Half the sun's disk with a spot;
'Twill not now avail to tan
Orange cheek, or skin of man:
Roses bleach, the goats are dry,
Lisbon quakes, the people cry.
Yon pale scrawny fisher fools,
Gaunt as bitterns in the pools,
Are no brothers of my blood,—
They discredit Adamhood.

Eyes of gods! ye must have seen,
O'er your ramparts as ye lean,
The general debility,
Of genius the sterility,
Mighty projects countermanded,
Rash ambition broken-handed,
Puny man and scentless rose
Tormenting Pan to double the dose.
Rebuild or ruin: either fill
Of vital force the wasted rill,
Or, tumble all again in heap
To weltering chaos, and to sleep.

Say, Seigneurs, are the old Niles dry,
Which fed the veins of earth and sky,
That mortals miss the loyal heats
Which drove them erst to social feats,
Now to a savage selfness grown,
Think nature barely serves for one;
With. science poorly mask their hurt,
And vex the gods with question pert,
Immensely curious whether you
Still are rulers, or Mildew.
Masters, I'm in pain with you;
Masters, I'll be plain with you.
In my palace of Castile,
I, a king, for kings can feel;
There my thoughts the matter roll,
And solve and oft resolve the whole,
And, for I'm styled Alphonse the Wise,
Ye shall not fail for sound advice,
Before ye want a drop of rain,
Hear the sentiment of Spain.

You have tried famine: no more try it;
Ply us now with a full diet;
Teach your pupils now with plenty,
For one sun supply us twenty:
I have thought it thoroughly over,
State of hermit, state of lover;
We must have society,
We cannot spare variety.
Hear you, then, celestial fellows!
Fits not to be over zealous;
Steads not to work on the clean jump,
Nor wine nor brains perpetual pump;

Men and gods are too extense,—
Could you slacken and condense?
Your rank overgrowths reduce,
Till your kinds abound with juice;
Earth crowded cries, "Too many men,"—
My counsel is, **** nine in ten,
And bestow the shares of all
On the remnant decimal.
Add their nine lives to this cat;
Stuff their nine brains in his hat;
Make his frame and forces square
With the labors he must dare;
Thatch his flesh, and even his years
With the marble which he rears;
There growing slowly old at ease,
No faster than his planted trees,
He may, by warrant of his age,
In schemes of broader scope engage:
So shall ye have a man of the sphere,
Fit to grace the solar year.
Chapter XVI
Vernarth Third Finale Fragment, Apud tertium final


Vernarth, runs ripped from himself, after himself, to try to stay in this Parapsychological Regression. His bewilderment was imminent. He was seen in this regression on Nevski Avenue, Saint Petersburg, and in the province of Yekaterinburg, looking for vestiges of the Tungus tribe.
Peter I Alekséievich or Pedro I of Russia, nicknamed Peter the Great Moscow, May 30 / June 9, 1672- Saint Petersburg, January 28 / February 8, 1725.) 1 son of Tsar Alexius I and his second wife Natalia Narýshkina and successor of her half brother Teodoro III (Fiódor Alekséievich), was one of the most outstanding rulers in the history of Russia, belonging to the Románov Dynasty.
He ruled Russia from May 7 (April 27 C.J.), 1682, until his death, and before 1696 he did so along with his weak and sickly brother, Ivan V of Russia. It carried out a process of modernization through westernization and expansion that transformed Moscow Russia into one of the main European powers. He married Eudoxi Lopujiná, with whom he had a son and, in second nuptials, with his servant, who would take the title of Catherine I when he succeeded Pedro after his death occurred in Saint Petersburg on February 8, 1725 as a result of an infection in the bladder.


"... It was reading Vernarth in a tourist magazine when I was on a visit to the region, previously I was in Moscow and its surroundings ..." The parapsychological regression trip, followed and resumed another course with Destination to the Iberian Peninsula, on the Jacobean Route Through Santiago de Compostela and Vigo, in the latter, place passes to see the remains of the crypt of a friend killed in a Crusade. Here the remains rest in the Pereira mausoleum .Continuing his tour in Portugal, Lisbon. In Lisbon, old and melodic Afro Fado, on the sheets hanging from the illustrious houses, saw his escapades continue, rummaging bookstores and offices to get to the rooms of Amalia Rodrígues and the bohemian Lisbonense, who asked for more of his presence than the bartender himself placing port wine on the tables that cover their cork oak tables.


Does your regressive session continue, and was the doctor in charge asking if it was within your will to wake up and end the session? .Vernarth ...; He says with a gesture of his right hand, clutching his left wrist, that he wanted to continue and did not know if he would come back from himself. Which caused the doctor a strange and worried sensation, so he asked for a break before this unusual and abrupt situation. The windows of the room vibrated remarkably low, as if the thick strings of a cello intended to leave everyone diminished, to feel nothing more than himself, the very experience of a simultaneous True Warrior in mere compartments of a life that has currently disturbed him live without being part of any!


The session continues:
"... On a ridge in the middle of combat, Vernarth crosses for more below the positions of the Persians, on him and some like Mardiath, leader of his squad in Tire. Accompanying him, they could feel the thousands of sound frequencies crossing each other. Metals whistling with bowed, high and mid-frequency waves crisscrossing with spears as they skidded off the muffled wheels with their burnt axles.  The herds of fortified elephants, huge towers of ivories slicing bellies and cutting the flag,cloths next to their embalmed suns. Mardiath protects him from the rear, to evict him from the hundreds of boisterous spears, which were intended to target their commander. The Xifos sheared the chins of the almost annihilated Persians. Some of the Greek mercenaries shone with great pride the totemic animals of war to tune the Hellenic ones who cut off everything that was put before them. ”
They continue chasing the peal of spears that no longer spaced more than the shadow of their companions. The ringing of the voices that cut the metal rattle winds continues, diverting the coral trotting of the Macedonians with those of the cavalry, which faster than the others echoed the soon to take of causing always close wounds, where nothing was already with their defense weapons.

Vernarth says: With me there will be nothing ... anything more than how much will be counted, nothing more than being eternally brandishing our Xiphs. Medea ... full sorceress, tell me that I have to bet more than multiply my forces, without being able to unite with your potions of my right breastplate yet?

Medea replies: It must be applied with the woodcutter's hatchet ax. She hardens the edges of the banner, flaming, and the feather that moves the plumes that will be reserved in the squares of your energetic blasphemies. It has already welded your breastplate more than a feeling of longing. She was watered by the sacred steam of the Bumodos and its waters. I am here in full dispute; you can now anoint your throne with squares for more centuries by commenting to the right of the regular rules.

Brisehal in Advance

“They were all in full swing of the latest outbursts of onslaught from both sides. Vernarth gallops across the right side over the spearmen and archers, when suddenly everyone is paralyzed at the sight of a giant shadow of an oversized dog appearing to them from the rear. Some dropped their weapons; others restrained themselves and did not know what to do ... it was even notable that they did not hear the voices of their Persian commanders.


In the immensity of their over proportions, the fusion of reality appears in that of an almost unreal animal that stood between them to intercede and protect Vernarth. Was "Brisehal", which was suspended with its quadruple legs over an area of more than two square kilometers?

It came from Dasht-e-Lut. After Brisehal bellowed and the troops of their self-contemplation were depopulated, they were emerging from the empty Wagnerian Gaugamela. Brisehal with her Anubis-headed mountain, began to move it and shake the space between earth and sky, like the hope of some parishioners to enter the garden-kingdom of Heaven. Before the day trembled with the movement of her trembling footsteps, Brisehal shuddered on both sides and stepped in front of Vernarth to preserve her. When her entire body shuddered, she eliminated the remains of parasites that fell on the insistent achemenids, on their smallest heaps that were seen to be liquidated with the greatest effect of their rotating forces.

They were immense thunderclaps that even scrubbed up to the spheroid clouds reddened by their rising. He turned from left to right as if wanting to exile them to the Desert of Lut, as if to tube his pro generation by the bundles of optical rope or high-density fiber, which could cohabit with Vernarth in his odyssey of the Horcondising (Vernarth lineage paradise to Gaugamela).

From Horcondising; Sudpichi, on the streams channeled like proliferated mirrors, illuminated the sky of his region like haloes of light showing each outcome of the Intervention of this enormous Dasht-e-Lut dog on a huge colorful screen by the celestial air of the nearby clouds.

A guard says: Our Lord Vernarth, is under the protection of Brisehal, just as we with his memory are his succession, we owe him great respect for his bravery and repercussion of his ancestry. I continue from here of the Tower seeing his operations of greater spirit, for the protection of his great heroic sign!

Brisehal, is introduced on the cavalries of thousands of horsemen of the Persians, on hundreds of groups of mounts that flew over their heads the cataphractic armor, also elephants that did not give truce but, the most devastated were the failed cars, which were totally annulled by the bellowing and fierce contortions that Brisehal gave angrily without stopping. From this moment on, Vernarth, who already had contracted wounds, was amazed by this mass of fright in the eyes of the Falangists and the movement of strategies already aimed at deserved success, ******* the huge hordes remained, prey to their fear and undeniable defeat. early.

Alejandro Magnus says: “This Victory has no concordance with others that I have overcome. I must imagine myself supported by the support of my land and my collaborators. Undoubtedly, the tendency of those who have left their sparse sweat on this plain tend to exaggerate, it gives room to further commend the victory of my commander Vernarth and his supporters. The only thing that we can affirm for sure is that our adversaries grasped at the expense of their resources, is that even though they are tremendously superior in quantity to those of the Macedonian army, they were disintegrated at this moment by our overwhelming powers.

Ellipsis Darius III in Arbela

“… In July 331 BC, the army of Alexander the Great would cross the Euphrates River, entering fully into Mesopotamia. At that time, instead of marching south on the river to reach Babylon, where Darius III was supposed to have fled, he chose to head north, crossing the entire Mesopotamian territory until he reached the Tigris River in the second half of September. At the same time, Darius III had marched north to Arbela, just over 100 kilometers from the vast Gaugamela plain. Unlike what happened in the battle of Gránico and the battle of Issos, there he could deploy the full potential of his troops to envelop Alexander's and annihilate him… ”.

Darius III says: Being in Arbela, I should never have disobeyed The Astros. When they moved and I couldn't look at them because of their immigration, I never believed that the nebulae that would cross in front of my eyes would be the chivalry commanded by Alexander Magnus, and the infantry by Vernarth joined Etréstles. Now I see him with his glasses in his hands drinking Nepente in the twilight with his comrades surrounded by Zeus. I meanwhile ..., I still think that I should never have abstracted myself from the last portion of Betelgeuse's movement when he circulated around the border of the emblem of his seduction to the adorned orion belt.

At the time of knowing the movements and tactics of the battle of Gaugamela we find the same problem as always, the veracity of the sources of knowledge, whose account is very similar to that of the battle of Issos. According to this account, Alexander and the cavalry galloped diagonally and to the right, to avoid the caltrops and the failed cars and avoid being flanked by the Persians. Consequently, the Persian cavalry on the left wing moved in pursuit, aiming to overtake the Macedonians and envelop them. However, the Achaemenid horsemen did not realize that in doing so they had separated from the center, where a hole had been opened that allowed them to reach Darius III.

Vernarth says: in the hour that I ate of the black roses and their petals, I must savor the conversation that I had to have with the nature of our military training. Our strategy has oppressed the erratic tactics of the adversaries; the pressure of our Macedonian lancers disrupts the formation of the troops of the satrap Bessos, who end up losing the initiative and fleeing. In the center, the phalanx Me, Mardiath and Etréstles, together with the hipaspistas we will advance slowly but surely, gradually pushing back the Persian units. Brisehal has stood out above the outstanding lightness of the harassed Commander Satrap Maceo, annihilating all attempts to completely discredit him, of which his figure of high countenance was thus tainted. With the sweaty blizzard of the afternoon back then the fully grained shadow of Brisehal migrated to his Dasht-e-Lut desert from where he was confined by command of his allegiance to Vernarth forever and ever where both will always be seen at dawn play and jump.

At one point, after long resisting the burden of the Macedonian sovereign, Darius III makes his worst mistake. As happened in Issos, he gives up the battle when he was not yet decided for either side and flees, progressively dragging with him the rest of the nearby troops. In the face of this movement, Alexander immediately pursued him, and for a moment it seemed that the life of the King of Kings was coming to an end. However, the desperate call of Parmenion, who can no longer resist the fight against the Persian horsemen, makes Alexander desist from his persecution and allows Darius III to escape. When they were abandoned by their king, the Persian army became demoralized and ended up fleeing or surrendering, thus confirming the disintegration of the Persian Empire and the coronation of Alexander the Great as lord of Asia.

The end begins in a new beginning, Vernarth limps along the external bank of the Bumodos with his pectoral reopened and his back with purple colored diaphragms bellowing his resistance. He was accompanied by Kanti and, Etrestles and Mardiath who helped him endure it. They take their steps and approach the store where Valekiria was waiting for them; his consort to apply the sedative ****** essence with waters of the Bumodos to calm his pain, and later return from this great epic of his "Parapsychological Regression" that was soon to culminate.
THIRD  ENDING FRAGMENT
LJ May 2016
In Lisbon, we blended
ended the day with spectacular culinary
Shopped and hopped side to side

In Dublin, we vented
as the whisky and Guinness was **** good
Shipped the hire car to Galway

In Italy, we invented
dropped coins in fountains of love we already held
From Florence, to Milan, to Rome, to Bologna

In Paris, I rented
alone in protests and hippies at Place De La Republique
Dreamt of you as they skated

In Romania, I persisted
up on the icy Tranfagarasan highway traps
I saw a bear and it had your eyes

In Stockholm, we insisted
As the Vasa sunk on tables of *****
Pecked on the trains and shied away.

In London, we protested
It was an ordinary day and the flowers didn't bloom
The Thames was gloomy and stale

In Oslo, we transmitted
The reindeer meal and cranberry was a disaster
The gloom followed us to southern skies

In Copenhagen, you were sorted
Smiled and amused by the Tivoli gardens
The night became day and the wind withered

In Amsterdam, we did what we did
Stored the memories on the reclaimed lands
Free-spirited in love and in eternity
Rebecca Gismondi Jan 2016
coffee tastes better in Spain

a simple hello is groundbreaking

comfort can be a warm bed or a “like” of a picture

the cold is different in the UK (you can feel it in your bones)

they will always give you a knife and fork to eat a hamburger

sometimes you need to eat at a Hard Rock in Lisbon to be reminded of home

if you eat the bread, they will charge you 1€

crying alone in a hotel room or at a Chinese restaurant in Italy is perfectly normal

never doubt the power of distance

now you can never say you didn’t try

just because you don’t speak the same language, doesn’t mean “*******” isn’t universal

sometimes sleeping next to someone who peeled your outermost layer off is the most intimate you need to be

“I’ll never see these people ever again”

have pride

ask me now what it is that I want

I have come to loathe all brown bags and black suitcases

vulnerability does not necessarily equal intimacy

remember that you pulled yourself out of the sea

your feet tread castles and cathedrals where thousands walked

art galleries are best enjoyed alone

now you understand when mom and dad don’t answer how agonizing it is

write it down if you want to forget it

acknowledge buried truths

eat paella and shnitzel and pizza and fish and chips and don’t think

go to movies at the tallest cinema

slip a little on the cobblestones

lay for hours on the beach

then

go home
be humble
remember
reminisce
teach
embrace

Glasgow – 1/8/15
alexa Sep 2018
i am from innocence.
i am from rainy days and lonely nights,
words smeared across pages because
i can’t get them out fast enough.
i am from stanzas upon stanzas and ink-stained fingers
as i dream of new ways to say what’s already been said.
i am from words of love, words of anger,
struggling to find the words
to describe his eyes, i can’t.
but that’s okay, because to me, he is poetry
and
poetry has been the one consistency in my life.

i am from travelling the world.
i am from plane rides-
from the mountains of Italy
to the city of Lisbon
it’s safe to say
i have lived.

i am from 4am small talk with my best friend,
questioning our life decisions
between cheesy rom-coms,
thanking Fate and the Universe
for introducing the two of us.,
i love her
for accepting me
when i couldn’t accept myself.

i am from my dad’s famous waffles,
from Tollhouse chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven
and cold glasses of milk coming home from school.
i am from my grandmom tucking me in,
my mom hugging me goodnight,
my sister and i staying up way past when the lights were supposed to be turned out.

i am from New Year’s Eve countdowns,
pots and pans banging on my front porch
as a new set of resolutions
hangs in my room,
waiting to be broken.

i am from a school full of jerks… that i fell for anyway,
empty words and velvet lies, luring me in
just so i can break my own heart
at the end of it.
but i am from believing in soulmates,
because two live in my very house with me,
23 years later and the flame hasn’t diminished-
i know
i will find my Prince Charming,
somehow, one day.

I am from creased brows and mild confusion
when the teacher asks for strong boys
to carry the desks;
i am from being resigned to the edge of the classroom,
implications that
i am weak.
i am from “sit like a lady”
and
“young women don’t speak like that.”
but actually,
i am a young woman
and i’m
“speaking like that.”
i am from being the only one in my karate class
with my toenails painted pink;
they have accepted me now,
i am just another black belt,
my long hair swishing behind me in a ponytail
as i kick harder than half the boys next to me.

i am from beautiful chaos,
like entropy
in a sundress. i think
my madness is magnificent--
like the prettiest mess you’ve ever seen., it’s true-
i am from a lifetime of figuring things out
and though i’m not there yet,
i’m a hell of a lot closer
than i’ve ever been.
-a.c.b
my "where i'm from" poem i had to write for my poetry class :)
Aaron LaLux Aug 2018
Honestly not sure,
if anybody can have total freedom,
while in the body we are currently caught in,
can't go back to past acts & reverse bad facts can only go forth on fast tracks,

but as much freedom as one can have that's how much I have,
buy all my plane tickets one way living life today because we all go some day,
not to boast it's just I don’t know what coast I’ll be on next week,
making a living by writing the blessings I guess in a sense I wrote a way,

so now I spend my time & spend my days,
constantly adding to this which is our Collective Emotional Anthology,

instability is a small price to pay for liberation,
total freedom is a small price to pay for some lonely feelings,
somewhat unsustainable on the rainy road riding to the next destination,
just one question what’s today’s destination going to be?

Never mind please don't say because some things are better left a mystery.

Burning fossil fuels,
can’t really call myself an Environmentalist,
because actions speak louder than words,
& though I’ve written a lot about saving the world I haven’t done a thing,

I mean,
I've given to various charities,
but the conundrum is the more I give,
the more I see how much more needs to be done,

& in comparison to the Big Picture & I haven't done a thing,
at least not to help the environment or the humans that dwell in it,

a hypocritical hippy ,
like Hippocrates under The Tree of Science,
but instead of a Plain Tree on an island in Greece,
I’m on a plane the sun is the tree & poetry is my science,

so I'm more a funky Aristotle clutching an absinthe bottle,
philosophizing with the aristocrats at The Platonic Academy in 343 BC,
than I am a shy Hippocrates,
spending his days as disturbed hermit whittling away under a tree,

no alliance,
solo & so high at the same time conflicted except without violence,
here have some thoughts from my mind to yours,
you can have mine because I don’t need my mind anymore,

I don’t mind,
so I pay no mind but still pay it forward,
forward upward onward we’re on one,
I ride proud with my vibe out I'm too loud to be ignored quick,

make my statements then I'm gone,

on a whim out on a limb with other Explorers,
going overboard disobeying orders by mortal men to serve a higher purpose,
which is okay anyways because we know the way of these wavy waters,
plus we swim good like Frank Ocean or an important porpoise,

vibe so pure you,
could bottle it & import it,
cut it a few times put it in a few lines,
& most folks still will snort it,

told you before it's,
intuitive music mixed with just the right melody,
see the irony is we make the pain feel good,
like a Shakespearean play or a Comedic Greek Tragedy,

so much love we even find a way to help the Haters not feel so lonely,

because usually Haters are just hating,
because they’re trapped in the Matrix pacing while inside panicking,
& once we slow down to show them a bit of freedom,
they usually start calming down stop hating & start congratulating,

anyways where were we at & what was the point I was supposedly making?

Oh yeah I remember now,
Honestly not sure,
if anybody can have total freedom,
while in the body we are currently caught in,
can't go back to past acts & reverse bad facts can only go forth on fast tracks,

but as much freedom as one can have that's how much I have,
buy all my plane tickets one way living life today because we all go some day,
not to boast it's just I don’t know what coast I’ll be on next week,
making a living by writing the blessings I guess in a sense I wrote a way,

so now I spend my time & spend my days,
constantly adding to this which is our Collective Emotional Anthology,

instability is a small price to pay for liberation,
total freedom is a small price to pay for some lonely feelings,
somewhat unsustainable on the rainy road riding to the next destination,
just one question what’s today’s destination going to be?

Next stop Lisbon,
earlier today Barcelona Olympic Stadium,
on stage with Beyonce & Jay Z,
last week in Budapest in a thermal bath with a beautiful babe,

no rest for the wicked let’s kick it if you're with it,
if you’ve got the time I’ll get the tickets,

wicked,
in the best possible way,
not good not bad,
not mediocre not okay,

always on all the way all day,

it's all as simple or complicated as you make it,
it's all simply absolute brilliant magnificence,
not maleficent as the plane descends I'm about to touch down in Lisbon,
there’s a guy that wants to see me there,
there’s girls that want to see me there,
both for very different reasons the common link being love,

in this metallic dove,
descending upon this most western Western European city,
to see what’s to be seen here where mostly they’ll be seeing me,
see I am the epitome of the embodiment of what one would call free,

even though honestly not sure,
if anybody can have total freedom,
while in the body we are currently caught in,
can't go back to past acts & reverse bad facts can only go forth on fast tracks,

but as much freedom as one can have that's how much I have,
buy all my plane tickets one way living life today because we all go some day,
not to boast it's just I don’t know what coast I’ll be on next week,
making a living by writing the blessings I guess in a sense I wrote a way,

so now I spend my time & spend my days,
constantly adding to this which is our Collective Emotional Anthology,

instability is a small price to pay for liberation,
total freedom is a small price to pay for some lonely feelings,
somewhat unsustainable on the rainy road riding to the next destination,
just one question what’s today’s destination going to be?

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Volume 2: Mandalas
available worldwide now here: www.amazon.com/dp/1721134158
             Stones from Heaven              ---pourles enfants de Haiti            "Whatcrime what sin had those young hearts conceived              That lie bleeding torn on a mother’sbreast...             The human race demands a word from God."--Voltaire, " Poem on the Lisbon                                  Earthquake"  (1775) the flesh of the city blends its blood with the dust ofearth's gravethe devil quake broke the bones of their beds with itsterrorist bombthey could see the day light of death in the beaten air feel it in their prayerful souls as the some time glad daysun fell into forever's darkness and all the all reeked with theashes of fearwhere is the loving God of married hallelujahs? all the poor man's houses falling falling "amid thedeepening gloom"into a tomb for sons of promise and green daughterstheir pleasure and pain drowned in a ghost of tears lost like raindrops on the grey face of the bottomless oceanvanished like the passing shadows of stories in theimagination of  cloudswhy oh darkened God of stones God of the Word God of Heaven? in the once bright light of a schoolyard's promise silencenow bleedswhere young eyes yesterday shouted from their books a beliefin tomorrows now the living dead carry their bodies with loving worms on the gallows of their bent backs wander the veins of thebeaten streets chanting horror's verbs black angels mourning the flesh of222,217 in mass graveswhere is the open hands of God the prodigal Father? they lie down forever in the weather of their sorrow withthe innocent deadweep for the seed of their breathless children in the bloodlit city of gospel sorrow no glad to be home families no wined friends with hope'sholiday songs no loving child's prayers or whispered shut eye no sweetgood nights no these good soldiers of Jesus' hosannas are the inspiredblind no moreto the womb of endless night no to the forsaken God of theirbrambled *****  
Vernarth was ready at the threshold of the validity of the constellation of Orion, barely a hundred millionths as indicated by the Duoverse in his Cosmogonic amphiboly, and sensitive to physical space with the Kli vessels that he carried on his back that were in the proximity of the Loop of Bernard as the Omission nebula as the exponential hemicycle in the center of Aurion's oculus waiting for Vernarth and redistribute its molecules at 518 light-years or 440 Parsec, with the diameter that will be reflected in Patmos of more than 300 light-years condensed with the element of Hydor or water from high space over Aurion. Vernarth, united by the fragrant hand of the Mashiach, could carry it when he moved away from the Opistodomos and the remains of incandescent lagoons of supernova materials that surrounded them to accelerate the mass of the Iridescent Nimbus that Vernarth would carry, and the Mashiach as a sentinel of his Purgation. already defined whenever the simultaneous explosion of the Super Nova with Patmos becomes effective, and the Terrestrial World in impulsiveness that admonished him under the right shoulder blade in the skinny hollow of the arm that was getting rid of the oscillometer right at the original entrance of Betelgeuse, and when Vernarth remained alone in the frontal altitude chamber to take off towards the cosmogonies of Eridanus to tune into the Ptolemaic astral. The Sybilla who acted as stellar consort would be Herophile with overtones of expansion and her brilliant metric mass that would take her through Betelgeuse Orionis allied to a multifunctional instrument such as the entrance Aulos, expelling hydrogen-like an Ace in 240 harmonic scales, and sounds of light that they boomed towards the Pleiades and the Milky Way where it would be the supposed first state of paradox where Vernarth would utter: "Give me a little Gála and I will be more than Zeus". This is where he will experience the diarthrosis of his synovial joints in the process of Hyaline cartilage, allying himself with the two bones and synovium to hunt down the Trapper Aurion in advance to wake up from the feared defenseless world that he feared since everything he abandoned despite having his Purg discharged, he kept sensing that if nothing would work for a lost world. Here Vernarth would hold Alexander the Great's first childhood vision as an infant at Péla using his scapula with the force of rubbing discs at the Olympiad making the sky his Odyssey-encrusted Constellation of whips, and sullen Hellenistic being by May in the amber trunk trapezoid and in each hand a Xiphos and Dorus.

The pathologies were at the forefront with dexterous inclinations of his Kopis to the west when he throws it and the whistle of return makes him see that the meteorites reached as far as his gaze could observe the latitudes of the Tyrrhenian. He takes his bronze-brass cudgel with the corrosive breath, filing the odysseys on the concupiscent ******* of Eos, Goddess of the dawn, opening the heavens of the eager natives of Gála, by sipping raw milk from the right edge of the corner of her upper lips before the first dawns of the world, when Eos would be in grains or grasses that brandished from the bronze club that Vernarth waited for before leaving Gaia, or rather the fertile land of Patmos that officiated at him. Mega hectares appeared that threatened Enopion's revenge, disturbing his eyes that shone in Hesiod's striae by advocating for him in the Duoverse where all deities would be annulled but his psychic ramifications as stellar humans would be covered by the action of Helium gas. In this way Vernarth was already bidding farewell to Saint John the Apostle with his rounded eye set on the shine of both pupils between Mintaka, Alnitak, and the third shine of his pupils united in communion with Vernarth when arriving sideways at the pale shine of Alnilam (The Three Mariah) fourth star to follow in Orion as the brightest of the three on Vernarth's neck like a necklace of precious pearls. In this way, he climbed the steps to measure the slow brilliance of the immensity of the celestial solstice that raised him with the expedient Sun that also led him towards the twelfth lunation of the celestial vault attached to Pléyone in his bolometric oceanic matrix, which will arise between the stellar limitrophe between the Canes Mayores and Menores, and a priori in the measurement of the eye of Aurion always harassing the Pleiades. The intrigue will be reborn for the second time from the Duoverse's momentum that Vernarth will have to leave in the biosphere oscillation wasteland of Prometheus already freeing himself from life in community, and from an extreme sensitivity of major psychic connections that will flow throughout the immensity of inaccessible time. , on the atmosphere of the earth like bronzes that twist in the necks of the oxen that urinate on the endowments of the Barnard Loop, and its polyphonic magnetic exciter, on it the ***** of Orion falling on the poles as flagrant Amphibology. The Kanti Steed and the Aorion nebula to the beat of a waltz will ionize chemical portents of ions free of electrons, on the neutral molecules of Betelgeuse to propagate in the nerves of the shoulders of the bronze club ad limit of harmonious praxis, and net compromise by supplying steps to the nebula and art of the Duoverse that shows the primeval daily days as in his alchemical armband, germinating astral Lynothorax and axillary armpit that held him in his maximum club, cutting down roots of Olivo Bernar after Barnard's Loops in between of fugitive stars that go regimented in their ionized bleeding esplanade, like Stellae Novae that transfers astronomical cults in the formation and pretext of going through the darkness to sleep near his parents Poseidon and Euryale, acclaiming him near the gramineous fields to paste him with explosive clay on the portfolio of such a smiling face drunk with Ionian wine, in precedence of the disemi nar by the new and expandable Duoverso, Vernarth was already on the last steps of the stairs similar to that of Florence in the Medicea Laurenziana as well said to feel alive when going to paradise next to the Messiah who came to pick him up. But at times electrifying residues would vanish over his field of vision in small beams or flashes, which would prevent him from moving forward to the last stirrups without looking back where all the Birthright was watching him for one last time.

Sitting on the edge of Andromeda, Zefian was waiting for him to meet him in his dark chamber, since the most intimate and primordial causality of his metaphysics emerged from the bases of the reason for all things that should exist, before everything was created and that it has never had pre-eminence as it is in this case of the parasitic chamber of Zefian in the company of the Auriga, which also came to wait for him in the calash running wild as prescribed by the Duoverse in the structures of luminosity in the midst of this colossal inter-planetary chamber, between molecular agitated points that will venture through the axon of infinity longitudinally unpredictable for light-years even though it is so. The thermal outcomes of superheated remnants over the entire luminosity will speak of the catastrophe, and of the inherent emptiness in the eyes of the eternal hothouse very close to the supernovae that can only strengthen the fusion of the space disks of the Universe-Duoverse long before the explosion between Orion and Andromeda. The axes of time will be dislocated between both astral components in this dissonant chaos that will contract with Vernarth's levitation whenever he has stepped on the last step before entering the Hydor chamber in every dark portion of the Universe, making both constellations the ferrule or ring that will yield to the underbelly of Betelgeuse, dispossessing the boasts of the appropriate Commander Hetairoi of his Lynothorax to resist the ravages and turbulence of the Apokálypsis, which brought the immense loads of matter that discharged all its constant energy through the circulating nuclear power plants, and tangents that caused galaxy changes pierced by Hetairoi Aorion clods satirizing expenses for retracting the galaxies below Soldier's precept and super homeostatic mass attracted from their distance on astronomical scales of 2.5 million light-years.

The galactogenic galaxy made use of great prominences that would cover the greater proportional that is outlined in Andromeda of the strands of the Universe adjacent to the spiral that rolls on the underbelly, deferring to telescope sections, and the gravitational field to execute its nocturnal translation like the Hyperdisis Galaxy that collects the bubbling of the belt in conjunctions of minor stars making star mechanics by exaltation, and magnetic disorders creating other leading atmospheres in those detached from the cord of Andromeda, the Milky Way, and Orion. Vernarth was still holding on to the transparent hand of the Messiah while he was climbing the ascension steps to Hydor that would transport him to travel with him through the globular clusters, they will form the perfect delay in transfusing the lineage and not another, in this way the Lynothorax or bleeding pectoral de Vernarth continued to flow from this polynomial tractatum between all area subjugation guidelines, and refinement of the sagittal profile of Hyperdisis in the inter-galactic reversible staked Duoverse.

Lenticular to irregular above the nails of the trapezoid, it spread towards Aurion's right armband, sequentially making the centric radiogram hiccup, despite taking advantage of interstellar matter to self-generate its own transmission light, this made it refrain from emanating the hybridity that came out of its body by vibrating above everything that expelled from its center towards the right rectitude of Orion, thus making the multiplied speed of containing itself of both parts of the null hemisphere of its free will when verifying that it never existed, that it was only an illusion of doubtful matter that would soon Go away like gasified water on the galactic repulsions that would settle on Patmos as devotions of Skalá, and Astro-omegas that would be adhered to the Xiphos and Kopis, who were still united to their being rather in the contour of the perimeter of his soul two meters floating like invisible quantum universes. The totality of everything was inciting the fields of omega-stars that would begin to advance after becoming visible from the spur of the sword that became denser with the viscosity of the Hebrew Adom, which trickled from Orion to Hellenic lands as an Omega age for Vernarth which is conceived early when it carries Hecate's Kleidia or keys to the Omega world towards the proto-galaxies that provide ultramarine loaves, knowing that the Milky Way and Andromeda come so close in their stellar mass that they can collide in a few million light-years. The Duoverse of Hyperdisis was predicted in the visual reality of a fusion of change to interact with each other as it dismembered but re-transformed into the new theoretical core of the Duoverse as a large Black Hole embedded in the center of Patmos. In such a way all the inhabitants began to worry when phenomenal masses of warm air that began to take on the appearance of the Universe plagiarized each other generating incoming earthquakes, not affecting the Opistodomos or the Primogeniture, nor the crowd that was waiting. of all the monstrosity of monks who were grouped kneeling on the top of the Profitis, floating the shattered shaggy skein parts of the Himation. As it was dyed in the albi-color of Calígine, demonstrating the darkness of the intrinsic terror of whoever plows later to free all the succumbed who fell throughout Greece and Judah, exposing all the origins of appearance from the internal now in the converted Universe that was reimplanting itself in the helical of polarity, and bifurcating by pretexting all the reincarnations and polishing the stagnant cessation of darkness towards a luminance that could warn them and observe where their feet could move, sheltered from the monumental litter of calorimetry, and chromatics that was linked in romances trivial with the residuals of the angel shark galaxies where Aurion's progenies will deliver in candelas per square meter: LV waking is the luminance, measured in Nits or candelas per square meter (cd/m²).

• F is the luminous flux, in lumens for the Andromeda triad, the Milky Way, and Hyperdisis in conjunction with Orion. From here Vernarth will supply all of them as the one who will dwell in it in the preface of his Fables of Calígine with the following: "Ex Calígine Chaos: ex Chao et Calígine, Nox, Dies, Erebus, Aether", which transliterated means "Of Darkness: Chaos. From Chaos and Darkness: Night, Day, Erebus, and Ether", Decreeing the (Burning Darkness) before Chaos as flow F, is he also the only one who divinized this abstraction, conferring a proper meaning to the word. And then make of the normality of dwelling in the darkness that is the irrevocable opulence of the desire to maintain the radiance of all the forces that devour eternity. From the remote aces came dark families of flying Lepidoptera Ditrisios, lined up with countless other species that carried dimensional eyes that will be devoured by ocelli or giant eyes that come from the chaos of Vernarth's Caligine to appease the effects of ultraviolet rays, which started from the Nimbus Iridescent creating a layer of protection between the new dimension of the twilight of flight that was already beginning to ignite from the Aurion's scaly fingers.

• dS is the surface element considered the triad Kímolos, Rodas and Patmos. While Vernarth is distracted, he manages to dissipate the twilight of the inverted Erebus between Eleos and Ezis, personifying Clemency and Sadness, where they border the worlds that are not yet riddled with chaos or Calígine, who exalted himself over Erebos with the redemption of Eleos, who was getting ready to swallow the sadness of Ezis. Therefore Kimolos, Rhodes, and Patmos will consolidate their hegemony of unalterable lands where Eleos' piece of clemency will bring the support that makes Ezis's faceless portent, close to the hybridity of the Itheoi gods, in the Transversal Valleys of the Horcondising, with the Norns and generosity of Apollo who had given them after long stays in Hyperborea as female spirits once again as advocacy and imperishable protection of the legacy of Smintheus's travels by providing the company of Dísir, Uror, Verdandi, and Skuld as a female entity, of the past, current and future that should occur by order of Skuld. This will allow the three to unite with the Ds to merge the three as a complement of three female entities that will safeguard all climate change on future disasters in the Dodecanese.

• dΩ is the solid angle element, from Vernarth Omega and the origin of the Duoverse. From this premise, the worst of Vernarth's fears was to let go of the Messiah's hand and fall into the anger that blushes even Hetairoi Hero from Deimos, when the night reverts to the rest of the demons and the night adopts those who go perceiving in Vernarth that perhaps he was holding hands with Ares for the battle alongside his brother Etrestles, under the orders of the savagery of the metaphysical engines of panic. From this vision, Vernarth manages to open his eyes with the desire to show those who were watching him and to be able to show that he was aware of being a prisoner of his emotions and escaping from himself in the illustrious suffering of thousands of arrows, which ran around him like fleeting meteorites to the flat field of Tisiphone's revenge. The luminances became and became colors that were molecularly twinned with disparate tones that were capable of differentiating them, and at the same time nullifying the power of obscuring Vernarth's countenance to take his right hand and take the arrow to break the darkness that was lunged at him.

• θ is the angle between the diameter from Andromeda and the Milky Way (2.5 million light-years), Nemesis or Ramnusia as the retributive coercion of disobedience, being aware Vernarth became more and more of a being adopted by balance Nemesis for balance to command him to his senses before entering the field of limpidity of his soul in transit to liberate himself from all the chained who used to be happy, but sad that no one acclaimed them except Aionius Itheoi of Vernarth who translated the messages that from now on will move diametrically from Andromeda to the Milky Way, without any of these two portions being invaded only under the order of Nemesis, and Vernarth abiding by the retributive justice of The luminance that can be defined from the radiometric magnitude of the radiance without more than weighting each length of the wave by the sensitivity curve of the eye. Thus, if LV is the luminance, Lλ represents the spectral radiance and V (λ) symbolizes the sensitivity curve of Vernarth's eye in the underbelly of Betelgeuse, spilling plasma and magnetic bruises on the galaxies and Eyes of Orion.
Meanwhile, it manifested itself as a personal universe, not excluded from time and space for a metaphysical causality that will not be able to compose the mentality that is measurable in the joint senses of a Zig Zag birth from this same calígine emerging from another creature of self-observation and see the physiognomy of the anti-material and mass Universal Horcondising. From which we pre-exist to waste of science that models the system of energy and matter in causes of ancestors with which his life and ours that were propelled furtively. Gravity made great paternity in Vernarth's active Biomass, being in the Dodecanese and cosmos in the verification of curvature that makes us with the moon of its romantic astrophysical swings and exaggerated geometry of a Zigzag.

We are versatile multi-dynamic mass that expands simultaneously in the void that pauses in the Nothofagus Obliqua of Vernarth's Horcondising, and also of time2-space2 that have not been attributed to the origin of the stars that move irregularly in Zig Zag, for their immature componential that is clearly of Aramaic blue light from the Pealim of the Abba, circulating with bullets movements skimming the air of the grasses attracting the attention of the entire order of the hypnotized universe, making appear before them the duplication of the universe itself; in Duoverse, which is the recently shaken Universe and of gratitude in the distribution of nearby galaxies that are keys to the paleo kosmous already arranged in macro waves, which are percentages of the spaces of the Tri-solated energy fields, which interact with the phylogeny of the Mashiach in Gethsemane, lying now in a stagnant decomposed future, in a frozen present specific to the peri Kosmous. Its final station is to wager the Zig Zag Universe on the temporal middle Ages chrestomathies re-expanding in qualities of gregarious Sub-mythology, already settling here in Archangels to activate. The implosion of gravity has procreated worlds of visibility of magnanimous astronomical longings, in some fractions of time in Zig Zag by millions of fractioned light-years, as an irregularity that resembles the measure of everything quantifiable, being omniscience or not acquiring the hexagonal of the primogeniture of the fragment since Jerusalem goes to Bethlehem, where the Davidian prism whose Original is attributed fractal in form.

The personification of longevity was trapped by Geras, always escaping from the obfuscated universe or temperament that could be represented in humanity that relied on the antigens that served as support for the reversibility of every hero like Vernarth, who tried to glorify himself in the fullness of life in Heraklion or in the sand that was dyed red-azure when the soul of Alexander the Great would rise together with Vernarth with the Mashiach. The fractal beating line of the Mediterranean towards a vein resembling the rhinestones of King David to the Ziziphus of the Messiah simulating to be irregular symmetrical formats, to build gems in thorns of landscapes that basically subdivide into similar conical funnels, to then be randomly displaced towards its central point shared with King David's five o'clock Incorruptible crown, recursively reiterating it in each square until the eminence of the desired detail was reached in the curve that joins the landscape to Bethlehem and then to the Baptistery of the Shepherds in its hexagonal base, figuring to be the sleet in the final Crown of Rejoicing falling on the top of the roofs "Doroteo or theological gifts" in which the Mashiach's stable of Kafersuseh burst and agonized in the abstraction of the One-Dimensional Beams with foreign eyes, and own tissue eroding to mortal frowns that can be seen with their divine eyes in our own likeness, and of the planet n failed to increase the size so unknown and analytical in this peripeteia of the implosive ideology of the bubbling of the Verthian Duoverse.
The nature of the snowflakes in Bethlehem are natural fractals detailed in their nature, and in the natural infinity that here was envisioned from the new privileged world for self-similarity in speculative functions of Vertnarth, by intervals in each space of shadowy fences, bringing accelerated courier bulbs from Gethsemane in intermediates of olive trees transformed towards other humans.“Their correlation is infinite with reversible observable time, and paternal belonging to mobile gagged echoes of a space that is obstructed by Vernarth, in such a monograph and integers among the fractional integers "Finite is the curvature between the path that walks through the thickness of the Duo-Universe as an alternative of Zigzag and Duoverse energy, which is unleashed to our subconscious observable orb, and what a great beacon reflecting eye that ignores and prescribes extreme distant and focal parts of the One Dimensional Beams of Kafersuseh in Ein Karem. The Duoverse is the rehearsal Universe that the Mashiach had before coming to the Holy Land, provided by his form of Hyperdisis escorting him from Betelgeuse Orion, changes of arduous colors in gradient and Avant-Garde, for limits of perspectives and verbally of amendments of physical fields framed by an external gravitational means. The macro waves are exposed to matters not contained in the abrupt changes of the Mashiach optical selection with the One-Dimensional Beams, attracting selection crystals to atomize them in reaction disturbances, and recreation of multiform plasma saviors of Christian astronautics, examining the double of the macro waves and equation of them on the axis of the universe converted into Duoverse, already in millions of light-years, they will continue in the Duoverse, to reconvert from ectoplasm with large margins of assertiveness. Cartography is the error correction of the current universe, getting lost in the second thousandths of figures that separate us from the Universe, but all being more than time…!, remaining at the expense of the wick of the Cirio with all its electro-matter” Having already established the sub-mythology, Hestia appears after having slept a great dream, when she appeared before Vernarth in Tsambika she was seen changing size, when she was six meters away she looked tiny and when she was already two meters away from him It looked monumentally enormous, but with a versatile physiognomy, therefore it was already appreciated in the last steps with its domestic figure of a goddess that emanated light-years disserted by chimneys and its rooms. The critique of immanence that would happen, would pre-exist the perfectible plan for the Zig Zag Universe and Hyperdisis as Hyper-Hestia, bringing torn words for those who were approaching the main altar of the Vas Auric, which consisted of the great ratio of the proscenium in the Teodora vicinity of Tsambika, between Clairvoyance/Judgment for Wisdom/Meditating constant mechanisms according to the cosmological constant, leading perhaps to the beginning of a decade and third universe called the Triverse. The oscillation of all these fantasies was observed by Vernarth, but he knew that he would have to collide with this finally, already precipitated by temperatures that acted on the average of the normal range, therefore it was imminent to mutate him into the proselytizing provisional Duoverse, which moves backward between the lights vertiginous of creation. Immediately afterward, the Universe has torn apart and lost among those around him, establishing units of millions of years of compressed light from the piccolo Aulós, which Hestia carried in one of his pale hands, his prytaneion was lighting up with the flames of the heart of fire and passion of consanguineous love, "Prytaneum", paving the light in the clarity of the faith of the owners of farmhouses that were founded when they arrived in Tsambika in search of the Vas Auric, acclaiming with the omphalos stone that marked the navel of the world with defiance wandering to the island of Delos in the daily warmth of a spring afternoon in Rhodes. She is a woman with veils over her face always walking to and from her home unscathed in the house of foolish or vestal virgins, there is no Hestia, only perhaps there are some similar ones who were staying in the cold fire of her climacteric losing fertility after his father swallowed them, and then they were expelled from himself regurgitated in flaming matches from a blessed house full of indemnity, giving the Duoverse another category calculated with angles never contained vibratingly sliding between distances that discount minutes of Hestian space for such a corollary of approaching to its finitude and inaugurate the sub-finite,  which will never be a source of terminus in a disconcerting end of time not finished flush with the physical equation. “This consolidates the Duoverse in Duouniverse, expressed in figures that moderate the length of a physical state before it is consummated and restarted in a process that does not end (sub-infinite).

Vernarth was a few meters from entering the Nimbus, when suddenly his soul darkened and his panic flared..., suddenly he felt a scream from above and below he saw how everything was made of rubble. Courage blinded him, not wanting to observe what the evident end of the world and rubble intended to consume him if he said goodbye to his most beloved beings, until the lines of infinity approached those of the earthly world, intending to eliminate all traces of his family lineage. In this way, he begins to run through his hands the reflected Hydor of colors that pierced the skylight of austere words. He manages to see Calígine del Apokálypsis farther from the mist, detached from all gravitational force, only being able to see his mother among the smoke, who was coming up by a ray of light, Vernarth tries to free her from that moment of expiration but does not reach the synchrony of catastrophe in what pretended to be from the hand of Eris as the disagreement that did not allow him to put his survival weapons in order, believing that this instance would not allow him to ****** her from the goddess Eris, if he could believe that it was inevitable that his mother Luccica became a granite coat of arms, after the dark night that threatened to unravel her from her flimsy solid state, and then crumble to the ground turned into the ground that was crushed from roots that postponed it to be consumed by the gift of the light of life, and end of a light that is visible in all the roots of the earth when consumed by the infinite that vanishes in the existence of all being.

Vernarth, when a moment of clarity allows him to see his mother, tries to rescue her, realizing that his father Bernardolipo was with her, between them they would try to redeem them from the spread of Nix and Calígine, who behaved with great pain by mocking the edges of the Ether that they received Crono, they could not be victorious in arriving in time to rescue them, if from the harmony of a troubadour of the Mashiaj he observed him see if he would return with him to enter. They became visible in their parents as they contended before an avoidable awareness of this indivisible event with the aggressor words of hindrances and generations of millennials who anticipated the omega of everything in the lower part, under the feet of their parents appearing insignificant one (w) that precedes and succeeds the beginning of a beginning based on the end of a beginning a thousand times more than a threshold based on hundreds, appropriate to the metric unit of the numeral Myríaz = ten thousand, three times more than the Falangists, one thousand less than the Peltasts and three thousand fewer than the horsemen, total thirty-seven thousand fewer than the fighting forces in Gaugamela out of a total of forty-seven thousand, under the myriads of the Myriaz of Phalangists undermined by their Xiphos in the area of the right calcaneus of each faithful man under his command before facing the Achaemenides. During this period, Vernarth took extreme steps to rescue them and stop the numbing effect of all organic matter, not being able to rescue them, only granting them in the image of each one when they began to turn stone from feet to head until the fragile solidification of their eyes. when for the last time, they looked at each other only making it clear that it was a belated rescue gesture. The omega was ineffable even beyond the omicron, being Omega and Micron in the warfare primer of initiation of its cause within the prophetic in all the necropolis of lowercase omega (ω), towards an Omega that reaffirmed the raised hand in Saint John the Apostle to rewrite the Apocalypse twice, having to be the same but with the voice of Vernarth commanding the ten thousand Phalangists that made up the intergenerational gaps, more than mimicked alien ancestors. In such an effect, as is known, the Duoverse opened the skylights with its sheathed pillars and with the strings of tetrachloride of chlorine in solid angles of Ω in what was Virgo institutionum/Aurion, an entity that interfered by projections and leaks that converged in the strut of the omphalos of his heavenly father dealing in frequency and bloodless of immortality, consisting of an auxiliary being towards the planes of subconscious reprogramming and perspective. With its arms raised in each claw, a sword raised to pierce the vanishing point between the spaces that were ascribed, under the solid projection from an observer that inhibits and limits the biomass in all the aqueous filter pastes and lumens, towards the throne of the angelic guardian of Avant-guard by stereotype and sclerosis of Zeus of dissociated physicality, still being an amorphous entity with magnitudes pulverized between numerosities of Pi and Aureos, fading without area or volume.

Saint Jerome of Estridón: “Vernarth, I come from Bethlehem to help your life because I have detected the subsuming of the chains where your parents made the alliance from where your life has been erected from Sudpichi, Transversal Valleys in the temple that bears my pseudonym. The only rune that will determine that your parents can remain united, is through the action and direction that has been consecrated to me. No dead language will unsay what a dead soul cannot interpret. Our Mashiaj has entrusted me to free the languages that have conspired at night, and low luminance where Calígine has been uncomfortable seeing me knowing that it is my favorite environment, the memory of the chains want to incarnate in the stones that surround your parents, but  they are typical of a response that I will get to conclude by urging your mother and father to recognize that here they made the alliances, ordering, and reconciliation of your world that concerns us all in endless dictates to be agreed, I know very well that the point has not of allowing your atonement to have been prevented by this cosmological affront, here are the transverse Valleys in the favorite place of the Spirits lie the treaties that will move my greatest interest to re-marry your parents from the true chains of the complacent scholar, thus all the vastness that afflicts you will belong to your servant Jerome”

Vernarth replies: “At your service, his majesty, here I have been since dawn arriving at the town to meet them when they contracted their marriage. I know I shouldn't be here, rather I know that decades of inquiry had planned it that way. Of such conviction that their chains were anointed from the heights of the Kanthillana whose partiality emits the partials close to your direction? As is known, my very extensive walk through these dusty paths must recognize that the personality and nobility of its burial mounds will strengthen my presence so that everything that is incomprehensible if it is brief by making it neighbor to my reason”

Saint Jerome of Estridón: “everything has been planned like this, and as time drags on I know that your wounds burn in my epistolary like Latin and Greek voices that reluctantly direct me to your aid. Everything is beautifully comparable, and first to what should not be said..., but to do to the genre that above all it practices, the second to one of the ways with the above all that it practices "
By the reverse of the expletive to the insurmountable destiny, Vernarth takes his hands and Saint Jerome withdraws them telling him that it was not time for greater vain for the equivalence of minor desires to please him if he had not appeared before him. It shows him to celebrate him and to want to make of him the permutation of his golden polysemy or interpretation of the world's Apokálypsis by not changing his axis of change, by redirecting them to stated comfort interests. Namely; the leaders of the world in their world of annulled freedom of will to practice following as they please when interpreting the Apokálypsis only as a revelation, and not as a destiny that exalts the senses and compensation that will reconquer the consistency of the nature of the Apokálypsis that adheres to humanity as golden that will consolidate humanity fearful of its own ******* and excess of greed, just as it was just a few steps before entering the Temple of San Jerónimo in Alhué hand in hand with Vernarth already fully healed of his Lynothorax pectoral. They go to the ambo and Saint Jerome essentially takes out of his pockets chaff that was from the escape of the mass of stone that had not yet finally hardened, allowing them to generate a mystical sermon so that their parents return to the nave of the temple in person to surpass farther from the spring of awakening of the Kantillana requesting the unification of the ashes of his father Bernardolipo and Vernarth, to rescue his mother from a poor abundance, and is transposed by the metaphor of the life-giving spirit. Immediately afterward, Saint Jerome pours the chaff of his parents all over the surface, a great noise is produced, the doors and windows of the temple are suddenly closed, and his parents can be seen walking along the central row of the nave, where fiction could testify that everything was a fantasy, rather a great testament that would exhibit the union of two juxtaposed flanks prior to an invaluable crossing of smiles and flowers that fell from the upper altar on their crowns, they came holding their arms like open borders with the procedure before the harsh reality of a metaphor made real in the future of two beloved shepherds who crossed the limbo of their fingers, with the ferrule or the act of engendering rings of family procreation. The crosses of Lisbon and Saint Jerome resembled the monograph in beats of her wealthy feet that were consistent with the nubile gesture of her lips and then released with all frenzy towards the meeting of her beloved Vernarth, the three of them dancing together on the central pinnacle of the obese light that sheltered them, meaning from the testamentary Hebrew the Aleph on the way to Sudpichi after the Raphaca “Healing” ceremony until the diastole that adheres between the middle of the gap that was produced when the three confronted each other and the word “Heth” again He was bent over to take them like gigantic camels to meet his relatives and ghosts that surrounded him when observing the heights of Kanthillana at the assent of all this.

Because of all this similarity, the tribulation from Patmos was raging with very strong resistance, leaving totally clear of the conditionals of the flint or flint, which enveloped the parents, began to fade from their bodies while it was recomposed of seven elemental forms in relation to the transcription and identification of the three as a family trunk enormously of its exegetical possibilities. Tangent to the transcription, and if it is the case identification of the names that we stick to reunion and redemption of their parents, like all anthropology that was chained to the figures and characters that cordoned off the top of the temple when the three met they hugged and held hands as a sign of illustrative demonstrations of never surpassing oneself. Beginning with the compensations in the fullness of the tables, and completion of all the facts that showed that nothing of language escapes what an eye can observe; that is to say, as long as there is a speaking light, it will always be necessary to listen and then observe in the presentation of the mechanics by the lines that expressed the figures, which were increasing the number of letters that were possible to decipher; called stichometry or measurement of the lines in the texts that Saint Jerome that they were ordering to order a vade mecum or memorandum of this unbridled situation, which in any case had to simplify it whenever it is indicated for the reading of three beings that would meet in what literal of four spirits articulated in the continuum, in such a way that Vernarth added his bilocation to this symmetrical experience to meet again with the Mashiach who awaits him on the third step before entering the Iridescent Nimbus.

His parents will be the co-princes gathered on the Supichi road bound for the Horcondising, where Vernarth all Austral Winter Solstices will come to ask his parents for an audience in the Kanthillana Heights where they will summarize the exact day, that everything happened from a Thursday to a Sunday in the first hour of the most certain Saturday in which the twelve unnatural candles will be incorporated into the Duoverse from the branch of the Raedus Codex, specifically from the Antiphon that accompanies them to the compromised one, and sinuous height that was misted by the mist of snow, and vehemence that was perceived in the greatest regulars of Spílaiaus, having a ring of lights as if such were a gesture of Jerome and everything that was named in the concordance that could be confusion that slipped from the metaphysics of new space by beginning. From such a root emerges the Eta or value number and Vernarth symbolized as  N times from "8" to the entire value of the figure of 800 "w" or Omega, which will be the values of figures and numbers to predispose the alternation of the visits that will take place. to have with his precursors each Solstice, after alternating with the Elves of Archimedes, and to cross with them the manifestations that made him lighter than air, as could be expected before the imposition of everything that he imagined to sleep to the badly gestated world that had been altered, even with a remote Faith that symbolized the decisions of Saint John the Apostle by disposing of the salvages of the vestiges that had been destroyed in the physiognomy of a cause that proved more eloquent than a mere revelation that was never believed which would awaken from its very Semitic superlative. In this case, the allegory surpassed the prototype of all curly visual language that emanated from Vernarth's decision for the humanity that needed him, on the one hand, Saint Jerome already resolved, and Saint John the Apostle in the division of two events of the same story that It was melting into the complexity that would be unspeakable for two Saints in the middle of Vernarth, demonstrating that he had taken them with all the power of the force that is capable of pulling and manipulating until arriving at the darkness of the senses where all understanding and reasoning fall asleep. only allowing the silence to take them in the ellipsis recently emanated by the Nothofagus that were walking on the flaccid snow, the three went with graces of faith and satisfaction, Saint Jerome escorted them with everything healthy that made the incomparable awakening of two latitudes explode who managed to revive in invisibility, after resisting the latent verbigrace of the Apokálypsis that showed that the incomparable topic denoted the ma Greater resistance to everything destructive and Omega with the only subjection that only the verb "Love" does. They reached the icy and stinking gases similar to what Santa Rita de Casia emanated, which at the same time would be dividing breakers like those declared by the Corinthians about the Israelites when they were blinded by the radiance of Moses. The same would happen in the veil of little snow that was left behind his last steps when everything was white as a growing incident that would be attached at once to Patmos and Sudpichi, as well as Kanthillana and Olympo. He says goodbye to his parents and they carry their impulsive agreements to meet on the next Solstice together with Saint Jerome and Spilaiaus on the plateau.
Genesí of  Apokalypsis
Aaron LaLux Aug 2016
Little. Broken. Promises.

I disregard the cigarettes remnants,
it contains another broken promise,
how come I can tell the truth to everyone,
except to my self I can’t seem to be so honest,

she messages me on Facebook,
with tears in her eyes,
she tells me she’s in love with a husband,
who already has a wife,

really though she loves me,
I’ve known that since we first met,
she sends my hearts and poetry,
and I know in her heart a place for me is kept,

her tears roll down her face,
and rest upon her breast,
I’m aroused being as I’m just a man,
so I tell her let’s have ***,

virtually anyways,
because we’re communicating on the internet,
she’s in LA I’m in Lisbon,
so we are on Skype having inter-***,

she plays the lead and I direct,
so I tell her rub on her ****,
I then take off my shirt,
and tell her next to rub on her ****,

she does and we do,
what so many today do too,
it’s a virtual world this is virtual reality,
so I guess it makes sense to have virtual *** too,

we both came but still it seemed,
she and I were far apart,
she might have well been on Venus,
and I of course on Mars,

where are those emotions of ours,
that we used to have back in the day,
why does it seem now that the only thing we show is scars,
as we lay restless in the bed that we’ve made,

we make,
promises to ourselves,
then we break them almost as soon as we make them,
just to try and remember how it felt,

remember when we could still feel,
when we’d make a promise and keep it,
remember when the world was ours,
and we believed if we tried we would make it,

now where are we,
chasing empty dreams,
and giving ourselves to anyone,
that will again make us believe,

I breathe,
in the smoke mixed with night,
as we make one more little promise,
to make all these wrong things right,

as I disregard the cigarettes remnants,
it contains another broken promise,
how come I can tell the truth to everyone,
except to my self I can’t seem to be so honest…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Virtual Insanity

— The End —