(added) Prologue: "we'll get the baron, i swear. the ratings will go through the roof..." nick spoke nervously into the phone he held in his good hand. the other rested at his side, burned beyond use. one of the commandos whispered in his ear. "sir, we have his location.... yes... yes sir..." he hung up the phone and turned to the commando, "scramble the troops, we're going hunting..."


"N-no... not this again..."  Baronyx muttered in his sleep. "I wont... i wont do it..." it was the same nightmare that had plagued him for years. he was what the Two-legs called an Exotic, one of the few hundred dragons left in the world, and a showpeice for the high paying two-legs.
Baronyx had been captured once and forced into slavery as a circus act and performer for many years before he escaped and burned an entire city with his fiery wrath, killing some ten thousand two-legs in his path and sending a message, "don't cage a dragon..." ever since he had been plagued with nightmares of his experiences while enslaved. "stop... No!" he ****** awake and roared in fear. the full moon's light shone on his sapphire scales and temporarily blinded him until his green slit-eyes adjusted. his mate, a green scaled dragoness named Lyra licked his cheek and put a comforting claw around on his shoulder, "its the dreams again, isnt it ***?" Baronyx nodded and stared outside of their cave den.
He glanced over his shoulder at his daughter, Tali, her young yellow scales getting a tinge of green. Baronyx sighed and said, "she's growing so fast... she'll have your scales..."
Lyra looked as well, "and she'll have your eyes, baron." they watched their child sleep a moment longer before Baronyx stood and stepped outside the den. "i'll be right back." lyra nodded and lay back down with her eyes closed. he spread his wings and with a powerful downstroke took flight. Baronyx closed his eyes and glided into the wind currents and to the cliffside where he went to clear his mind and sort out his thoughts. his claws clicked across the hard rock as he landed and tapped rhythmically as he walked to the edge of the cliff and hung his claws off the side. a wild wolf howled in the distance somewhere behind him. something in the air was different tonight and Baronyx felt uneasy. he lay his head down and snoozed for a while, oblivious of what was happening at his den.
- - -
Tali screamed as
Two-legs with metal-spitters swarmed the den and threw heavy nets over her and her mother. "ma! ma! whats going on?!"
"tali! just stay calm.. just stay calm." Lyra roared in protest as the two legs brought lightning-sticks and began prodding at them. "don't you dare touch my daughter you *******!" she shouted even though she knew they wouldnt understand her. to her surprise though, one two leg stepped forward and said, "we won't touch you or your daughter if you tell us where the Baron is."
"i'll never tell you, monster."
the white man chuckled, "from my point of view, you're the monster. and you'll be a wonderful addition to the show..."
- - -
Baronyx heard tali's scream echo In the dark forest surrounding the cliffside. "No!" his roar resonated farther than tali's scream.
at the den a few moments before, the two-legs had caged Tali and Lyra and had set about stabbing at lyra with the shock-prods hoping to draw Baronyx back to the cave. Lyra kept her cries quiet and had refused to satisfy their wishes. the two-leg in charge snarled. "Enough... last chance, dragon. Tell me where he is!"
lyra growled at him, "i'll tell you nothing, worm."
"fine, suit yourself." the man turned his back to her. "lets see if you're daughter has the same resolve, shall we?"
"no! don't touch her!"
"i'm afraid its quite too late for that, dragon."
"tali i'm sorry!"
he turned to Tali and jabbed her in the side with a shock ****. tali groaned and gritted her teeth but did not scream for the man.
she growled at him said, "that tickled." tali grinned at the man with her sharp fangs fully exposed.
the man glared for a moment and then smiled cruelly.
"temporary pain doesnt have an effect on you... maybe something more... permenant will bring him to me. bring the iron!"
two-legs carried a white hot brand in the shape of a greek Omega. the man pointed to tali and said, "on her throat. make it burn."
more two-legs had muzzled lyra to keep her from screaming. the iron cut into tali's scales and burned into the flesh underneath, forcing tali to scream as loud as she could, even after the iron had been taken away. she collapsed on the ground and the tears spilled over her eyes as she continued to scream.
they heard a roar passing over them all as Baronyx rushed back to the den.
"well done, everyone. the prize is near. get your guns ready but DO NOT FIRE!"
* *
baronyx flew faster than he ever had before. he growled  as he swooped down toward his den and saw the two-legs. he screeched in protest as cables wrapped around his wings and limbs. forcing him hard into the ground. "Nick you *******!"
the white man grinned, "so we finally meet
Again, baron. and you have a nice little family i can use to my advantage now."
baronyx looked at tali and Lyra and loosed a mournful moan deep in his throat. "what do you want, nick?"
the man stepped forward and replied, "i want you, back in my show, just like old times. or i'll torture your mate AND this lovely little child of yours. sound like a deal?"
baronyx shut his eyes and nodded as a tear trailed down his cheek. "just know... when i get out, everything will burn... just like old times..."
(add on 1)
The white man and the other two-legs shackled Baronyx and his family with heavy chains and electric collars that would shock them randomly. they were put on a train car headed east and the collars were taken off. Baronyx immediately examined Tali's neck, the brand already scarring over in a whitish pink Omega. tali's voice was hoarse and tears came to her eyes. she buried her head into her father's chest. "i'm so sorry tali, lyra... this is my fault.." the family embraced as they knew there would likely be very little contact with each other after the train stopped.
the train traveled a little while longer and the family shakily said  their goodbyes as the air brakes hissed violently. the doors shrieked open and they were met by Nick. immediately. baronyx pounced on top of him and roared. they stared eye to eye for a moment before they heard the clicking of the two-legs metal spitters. baronyx kept his eyes on Nick and said quietly, "touch her again... touch EITHER of them... and
I swear, no amount of metal spitters or electricity will stop me from hunting you down and tearing off your head."
as baronyx stepped back, nick stood up and replied, "i won't harm either of them, hell, i'll give them whatever they want, as long as you do as you are told, Baronyx."
baronyx thought this over and after a few moments said, "i have one more condition, i want full access to them. whenever i choose."
nick chuckled a bit, "we'll see... we'll see... it all depends on how you perform."
baronyx nodded. "then lets get this over with..." the white man beckoned some two-legs to lead Tali and Lyra to the cages inside the massive pavilion that stood before them. two of the men brought the brand again and put the Omega on Baronyx's throat much like they had done with tali. he gritted his teeth and let the tears come but did not cry out or roar. when the pain had subsided, he asked nick, "when do i start?"
nick looked up at him with a sinister twinkle in his eyes, "right now."
*
Nick and a handful of two-legs escorted baronyx back onto the train, but not the same traincar. this one was blue and had ornate gold lettering on each side. once baronyx was inside, a string of lights came on and he saw his old armor plates each polished and the dents pounded out. he took his helm and stared into his reflection.  "i swore i'd never touch this stuff again..."
an intercom system beeped above him and nick's voice filled the car. "Baron, you have five minutes to suit up. the game starts as soon as we arrive."
baronyx sighed and donned the cold armor one peice at a time. he looked into the mirror on the wall and turned away in disgust.
"for tali and lyra..." there were a few peices left, the ones he never wanted to see again, they were sharp talons that fit over his claws. in the show, he had to use these to **** his opponent. nick's voice came over the intercom again, "arriving at the arena now, the press is fired up for your return, baron. DON'T disappoint them."
Baronyx growled and said a silent prayer for his family. the train screeched to a halt and the door opened. baronyx stepped out onto a black carpet and was assaulted by blinding camera flashes and the deafening roar of the crowding two-legs. over the crowd, an announcer shouted, "Its the Baron! he's back and looks better than ever!"
baronyx kept walking until nick stopped him for the game briefing. "you'll be going up against a group of wyverns, so you should have no problem killing them." the wyverns far outnumbered the dragons, wyverns being the dragons' slightly smaller, less intelligent cousins.
nick began walking away when baronyx asked, "what do they get if i win?"
nick turned, "they?"
baronyx bared his fangs. "my family. what do they get in return for my win?"
nick thought this over for a moment before replying, "they will eat, sleep, and live in their own hovel. and depending on your performance i'll let you stay with them."
baronyx growled, "then lets get this over with."
*
Baronyx was led to the arena doors and he waited patiently for his introduction and call to the game. he looked around at the all too familiar sights, the fight screens, the scoreboard, and the dim light that would signal his entry into the arena. it would be a few minutes before the match and in the meantime, he thought of all his old strategies and gameplans. "i wonder if tali and lyra will be watching..."
nick came out of the shadows and said, "remember, their future depends on what happens next."
the light turned green and the doors opened, spilling light into the room. when baronyx's eyes adjusted, he saw the all too familiar sight of the ****** arena, mangled corpses being dragged away from the last battle. "the baron! he'll be going up against seven wyverns from the northwest territories." baronyx roared as loud as he could as he stormed into the arena. the wyverns on the other side cowered for a moment before charging him. the first one lunged at him and was caught in his
Claws. baronyx looked into the wyverns eyes and saw the fear, the terror of a beast facing his own demise. "for them..." baronyx tore the wyvern's throat out with his claws and threw the body at the next assailant, bowling him over.
the next wyvern was impaled by baronyx's tail and tossed aside to bleed out on the ground while he set about killing the others in various other ways. when the bodies stopped twitching, baronyx's armor was coated in blood. the crowd was silent and he became worried. he looked to the trainer's balcony and spotted nick, who gave a subtle nod of approval. baronyx looked at the timer: one minute seventeen seconds. it was a new record, the shortest match in history. the crowd roared and applauded long after he was led out of the arena. "an amazing, record setting performance by the returning champion, the Baron!"
baronyx was met by the press' cameras outside the arena. Nick's two-legs stripped the ****** armor and allowed him some room to move around.
The camera flashes continued to blind baronyx but his mind was elsewhere. nick finally showed up to answer the press's questions, while baronyx glared at the group of reporters. after an hour of questions and his agitation reached its breaking point, baronyx growled at the reporters, silencing them. when they didn't move, he bared his fangs and roared, forcing them to make hasty retreats and fleeing the conference. once they were gone, nick turned to baronyx and sighed, "thanks. i thought they'd never leave..."
baronyx stared down at him. "we had a deal."
"so we did. and for that breathtaking performance, you will stay with your family in their hovel."
baronyx started walking towards the train, "then i have to go."
*

A thousand peaks: no more birds in flight.
Ten thousand paths: all trace of people gone.

In a lone boat, rain cloak and hat of reeds.
An old man’s fishing the cold river snow.

I am alone in this mountain fastness, on a steep downward path in the deepest shadow. I play with the twelve characters of Lui Tsung-yaun’s poem. How few poems tell of the desolation of winter. The coming of Spring, the passing of Autumn? Yes. But the onset of Winter? Even my sharp memory only recalls a meagre handful of poems to this season: the time of the first snows. Against all good sense I set out from Stone Village too late in the year: now I search for comforting word images to accompany me on this journey. Just below the snowline I pass through a stunted forest of ancient walnut trees almost leafless; the unrelenting wind has dispatched them crinkled brown into the valley below. I see there a winding river. I see its distant lake. I think of this poem known since my teenage years, puzzled over that one could see in one sweep of the horizon a thousand peaks. Here are that thousand and more if the ranks of limestone pillars in these mountains can be counted as peaks. I count them as peaks. And those thousand paths? At every turn there is some fresh way falling into the valley, or a faint trail rising to the heights. But this path I tread asserts itself on the traveller. Its stones are worn and the excrement of passing pack animals sticks to my boots.

Last night a cave, tonight I will reach the village of Psnumako. My former guide provided its name with a disdain he could not hide. When questioned he warned me not to enter without a stout staff against the mastiffs that guard each house, supposedly ******* during the day but apt to break their bonds at the smell of a stranger.

The steep and ever steeper descent brings pain to my knees. At this hour of the day my body would prefer to climb to the heights, but descend I must. The cold, the damp cold begins to stiffen weary limbs. I am tired from a day’s travel, tired from three hard climbs, two descents and this, my third, to complete before nightfall. I enter a narrow gorge loud with clamour of running water, cascade upon cascade flowing from the heights, falling fast to the river soon to interrupt my path. I shall have to force a crossing. What passed for a bridge were two fallen pines lashed together.  Now they lie akimbo a little distant, thrown apart like sticks by the spring flood as the deep snows melt. I must divest myself of boots and lower garments and wade across, stumbling on stones up to my waist in swift waters, terrified under the weight of my pack that I will fall and be swept under and along. To travel alone at such moments is foolhardy, but on this cold afternoon I have no choice.

I am so intent on preparing for this crossing it is only when I reach the end of the path that I notice snow is falling, its flakes sharp and white against the dark-water flow. The whirl and turn of the water mesmerises. Fatigue, fatigue embraces me, a day’s fatigue holds me fast on the river’s stony side. I close my eyes and hear the water rush and place myself into the protection of a mountain charm learnt from a passing traveller. Dwarfed by the size of his burden I see him negotiate a narrow path high above a chasm; he walked trance-like to the intoning of this charm.

It is soon done, the cold crossing, and with a lighter step I walk the remaining leagues to the lake-side and sight of the village. There are the faintest sparks of light amongst the silhouettes of houses. Animals are being brought in from the home fields against the night. A sudden shout, the barking of dogs, and now the snow falls thick and fast.

The guttural dialect here is barely discernable as speech. We are from different worlds this shepherd and I who meet at the stupa guarding the village entrance. This is not a Buddhist shrine but an acknowledgement of some mountain giant of terrifying aspect. The shepherd sees my official insignia and nods, knowing I will require shelter. He utters what may be a welcome, but could be a warning, and leads me forth. The mastiffs leap and bay as I pass between the primitive two-storey houses, animals below, humankind above. He disappears. I stop and wait. He returns with a woman who beckons me to climb the ladder to what may be her home. A widow perhaps? She is alone unless the rank darkness hides a man or child. But there is none. I hear animals move and grunt under the floor, a mat of dirt and straw. There is a sleeping loft, a cooking corner. I can see little else. But I am out of the snow, the biting wind, the cold. She pulls at my cloak, wet and caked with ice. There is a bowl placed in my hands; a rough tea. I speak a greeting, but there is no reply just a rustle of straw as she moves across the room.

The stupor of a journey’s pause is upon me. After three days on the trail to the heights I am numb with fatigue. I need food and sleep. I need rest before a final trek into the wilderness. Beyond Psnumako Lake known paths end. Except for the tracks used by shepherds to move their flocks to different seasonal pastures, there is wilderness. I hope for guidance, for the whereabouts of the sages who, in the winter months I am told, leave their reed huts on the heights for caves in the lower valleys. I shall be patient, remain here a little while. I am now immune to the discomfort and dirt of travel. That is how it is. That is how is must be. I miss only the mental absorption of writing, the caress of the brush on a scroll. In my home in Louyang I keep brush and paper close to hand; wherever I may be I can write, even in, especially in, the privy. If a line comes to me I can write it down. Here there is only the comfort of memory.

To think that in the past I wrote of this mountain wilderness out of my imagination and the descriptions of others. I once thought of these remote places as havens of spiritual liberation.

In the hills there is the sound of zither.
White clouds stay over shaded peaks,
Red flowers shine in the sunlit woods
Rocks are washed in the stream like jade;

How very different is the reality of it all; in this emerging winter world of mist, where the sun rarely visits and most living things have departed, where wind colours silence and one’s footfall becomes consolation. The sound of stone rubbing stone on the path is the eternal present. There have been days when only a distant crow moves in the landscape. Lammergeyers are known in these parts, but I have yet to see one. If there are wild beasts, they shun me.

As this bowl of tea cools in my hands but warms my frozen fingers I form pictures of the past day on its dark surface. Before dawn from the mouth of a river cave I sensed changes in the qualities of darkness that have hidden the heights above me. Then a perceptible line appeared and divided the mountain from the sky. That line became variegated; there were trees bristling on the highest rocks. It appears that at this hour the prevalent mist settles in the valleys leaving the sky clear.

The woman comes to me. She kneels to untie my boots. She looks with a curious innocence at my strangeness, the distortion of my face, the cleft palette, the deformed upper lip, the squint of my left eye. She is kindly as I give her my best smile though my face seems frozen still. There is a whisper, a prayer of welcome possibly. Then she bows her head, unravels a long scarf to reveal a mane of oiled hair, and sets about removing my boots. I see only the top of her head, a severe parting, hair held tightly in wooden combs. I close my eyes to bring to mind the image of Xaoli, so slight in comparison, her butterfly hands flittering into and around my sleeves, her seeing touch mapping out the extent of me, each piece of clothing, only later my face.

My reverie is broken by the entrance of two men. They squat behind the woman and, after taking in my ugliness and my hairpins of office, patiently wait for her to finish and retire. We stand and bow, then sit again amongst the straw.

‘Honoured Lord, I am Yun. You have travelled from Stone Village? And beyond?’

I pass him the Emperor’s seal he cannot read, but remain silent.

‘You are seeking those who live in the heights? The village only sees their servants, young boys sent for a goat or flasks of barley spirit. They bring herbs our women favour. Some have seen their huts when seeking lost animals. Now it is said they are gathered in the caves like animals waiting for the spring moon.’

‘When was the village last visited by their kind?’

‘ Hanlu, my Lord, the time of cold dew, two boys appeared with a pony. There was trading. They brought Chrysanthemum flowers and herbs for two geese and wine. They left scrolls for passage to Stone Village. Now the snows fall we may not see them until the Spring’

‘How far are your summer pastures? Have you any who would guide me there ?’

‘We do not seek these places after the first snows. The sages haunt the region beyond Chang Mountain. Before the 11th moon you might pass into the valley of Lidong where it is believed their caves lie, but to return before the Spring will not be possible.’

‘How many days there?’

‘Allow four. A difficult way, unmarked, rarely trodden, much climbing. There is one here who we could send with you – part of the way, and at a price, My Lord. Dahan travelled two seasons since as groom to a party of six with ponies, but then in late Spring.’

‘I will stay three days.’

‘Just so My Lord. Xiu Li will see to your wishes.’

And they depart, Yun’s companion has remained silent throughout, though searched my face continually. By the door he places his hand against the stout bag that carries my lute. ‘Guqin’, he says tenderly.

This instrument is my pass to the community of the reclusive. I am renown for my songs and their singing. My third-best guqin has not left its bag since Stone Village and I fear damage despite all my care on the path.

Later, as the village mastiffs gradually cease their baying as the quarter moon rises I take this instrument and place it across my lap. Its seven silk strings I wipe with a cloth and gently tune with its tasselled pegs. I then prepare myself through meditation to avoid the intrusion of distracting thoughts. With my eyes closed I allow my hands to seek out and name each part of guqin: from the Forehead of the Top Board, to the String Eyes, the Dew Collector, The Mountain, Shoulder and Phoenix Wings, past the Waist, the Hat Lines and the Dragon’s Beard, to the Dragon’s Gums and thence to the Inner Top Board. I can feel the Pillar of Heaven – the sound post – has moved a little in my recent travels. So too the Pillar of Earth – but with care I move both to their rightful positions. And so on naming the inner and outer parts of each of the two boards that make up the guqin. I begin to regulate my breathing and allow the fingers of my left hand to stroke and touch, to press and oscillate in the manner of vibrato. Zhoa Wenji describes twenty-three kinds of vibrato. I feel in turn each of the hui, the thirteen gold studs that mark the harmonic nodes and allow me to play the guqin by touch alone. In these moments of preparation I hear the words of my teacher: a good player makes sounds that are plentiful but not confused. As the moon reflecting on water, so the sounds are together but not combined. Like wind in the pines, they are combined but also spread out. Such sounds are valued for their lightness. Avoid the addition of inappropriate  "guest" sounds. This is the refined theory of the guqin. To be knowledgeable about music, one must seek this, then one can realize its beauty.

I have tuned to the Huangzhong mode. The song *Amidst Mountains Thinking of an Old Friend I have brought to mind. I recall the words of The Slender Hermit who says of this piece that its interest lies in holding cherished thoughts, but having no way to tell these to anyone. There are emotions about the present time, longings and laments for the past, but there is no way to express any of this. And so this piece.

In this poor reed hut the room is filled with mist and haze,
how far away are the things I love;
the old plum tree seems exhausted, its flowers about to die,
the mountains are lonely and I am nostalgic for past times.
The moon shines brightly on this lovely evening,
from this distance I think of my old friend and wonder where he is.
The green of the mountains never fades,
but before I know it my hair will turn white;
the moon is waning and flowers wither,
Old friend, I dream constantly of meeting you.
How hard it is to recall the joy of our last meeting!
With the many mountain ranges,
and its hidden tigers and coiled dragons,
I am unable return to you in Chang An.
The road is distant, the tall trees make the road dark,
and the world is vast.

I mourn Aquila and Lyra
separated by the Milky Way like the cowherd and weaving girl,
on the ground we are separated by 1,000 li
in the sky we are each in a separate place,
though our passions remain strong
There has been no warm correspondence,
there is restraint to the bright harmony,
and the flowing streams are swallowed by the setting sun.

The thought of this song of mid autumn touches me before its words have issued from my lips. I play the last two lines in harmonics and sing.

Nostradamus and sleeping prophet's One lost image of the singular Eye

Re(ad(d): No worry
To, Love Our Sun :).

Signs like Gemini is to air
Sagittarius is to fire a pair
in this crossing with Pisces
to water is Virgo for earth
too We are the mutable ones!!
Sunny is however we coin the calling spiraling too
EYE of the One generation transmutable souls of soil ARE
to earth; 'hues EYED like a butterfly, here to sample many flowers
connected within a Great Spirit invoked as in wilds if peopled or things'!!!
We do feel it within or without the actual considerations of the ultimate doings;
'letting go and taking the risk of trusting and depending on another'!!! One by one!!! :)
EYE of humus hued in spirit and love fused to the stone's twirling and of the ruse's tolling
So many of paths we traverse here as on earth the singular EYE knows out on the HORIZON
The great Eye is too glued on Sunny Sun's ever evolving viewing's as hued spirits cross          EYE'S
Our blinded one eye's longing to Lyra's lyre, great musician Orpheus winging, whose           W
music tamed wild beasts, caused rivers to stop flowing and enchanted even gates                    S
to the Lord of the Dead Hades, the softly lit fire singing inside linking heaven                            A              
to earth viewed from outsider's hues waxing and waning of sleep wakened                              I N
so ode to the moon in the darkness of night gives but who takes her softer                               F USED
delight when One day halves by sun setting all ebbs in flowing as tides                                       B I           
to Great oceans moved like hearts breathe air to presence's emoting                                              STAR'S  
from magic to tragic we long of ecliptic traces cryptically erasing                                                      W
the blindness of memory and sight' majestic beast's floundering                                                      ­      I
a forever crisscrossed from the One Eye here now to Knight's                                                         ­       N
dear lost forbidden inner retreats from the East to God's lost                                                             ­        'S
children cast out to the land from blood pooling in spoils                                                                        O
as easily uncovered as readily as new western lands had                                 ~/ E \~                               N  
claim maddened ravaged savagely eagerly discovered                                 ~(:YES :)~                          G
fear still rocks this boat with hope still sailing onward                                (:FORGIVEN:).                       'S

About a month ago I was waiting inside the lobby of a bank until the bus came. I was just standing there, innocently blaring Regina Spektor in my headphones to drown out my mind as I usually am, when this tall, *****-blonde, pretty handsome boy walked in.

“Hi.” He said, standing directly in front of me, looking straight into my eyes.

“Um… Hi.” I replied, and pulled out my headphones because I didn’t want to seem rude.

“You have really nice eyes. You’re really cute. How old are you?”

“….Twenty One. Why?” I couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh.

“Because you look so young! Can I see your ID?” He asked.

I laughed and laughed and laughed and didn’t know what to do other than laugh.

“You’re joking, right?” I said.

“No, let me see it. Please.”

I should have told him to ******* right then and there but instead I kept laughing and fumbled for my wallet, took out my ID and handed it to him.

“See. I’m not lying.” I said.

“Oh. That’s weird. You look so young. Like at most sixteen.”

“Okay.” I looked out the window and stared at the traffic. The bus should be here any minute. Get here. Get here. Get here. Somebody save me.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked, standing closer to me.

“Um… Nothing.” **** why did I say that why didn’t I just lie **** why won’t he just leave me alone this is so weird ugh why is he getting closer to me.

“Come for coffee with me.”

“HAHAHA! Why?” I laugh.

“Because. Just do it. Say you’ll do it.”

“Um… okay… Are you high or drunk or something?” I ask him.

“Nope. Just really tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay well this is just really weird. Like, you’re so confident and so sure of yourself. It’s weird. Not many people just walk up to someone and do this to a stranger.”

“Well I was just passing by and noticed your eyes and had to come talk to you.” He said.

Finally the bus came, we both got on, and he kept asking me questions.

I was trying to ignore how uncomfortable he was making me feel, how insane he was acting, how he was handsome but most definitely not even close to a gentleman, in fact he was the farthest thing from gentle I have ever encountered. He made me feel like an object, like an empty shell stranded on the shore that was waiting for someone, anyone to pick it up and call it beautiful. This was not okay.

But all I could do was laugh, because that’s what I do when I don’t know what to do.

“I know what kind of music you listen to just by looking at you.” He said.

“Oh, really? Guess.” I said and rolled my eyes. No he most certainly does not. Who EXACTLY does this guy think he is?

“Fleet Foxes, Joanna Newsom… You look like a hippy. A small, young, hipster.” He said.

“Well you’re wrong. Joanna Newsom is okay, but no.” I laughed some more and listed about 30 artists he’s only dreamed of listening to.

“Oh. That’s a lot of music. I’ve never heard of them.” He said.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He inched closer and closer to me until both of our shoulders were suddenly touching.

“Do you want to know who my favourite band is?” He asked.

“Who?” I said, not wanting to know at all but I was getting off the bus soon and didn’t want to end our conversation leaving the impression that I was a *****.

He leaned in close, and whispered into my ear -

“The Strokes.”

I immediately pulled away from him and laughed,

“Why did you have to whisper that?!?!”

“Because I like your mouth.” He said, smiling.

By this time, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to be flattered or insulted, to slap him or kiss him. Basically I was torn between giving him what he wanted: someone to **** and chuck, or giving myself what I wanted: to get the **** away from him.

“This is my stop.” I said.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked.

“Uh… Nothing.” I said.

“Wrong! You’re going for coffee with me!” He said.

I laughed and got off the bus.

                                                               ­           ———-

About a month later, (which would be probably a week ago, presently speaking), I ran into him on the bus AGAIN and we made eye contact but I chose to ignore him. He did not choose to ignore me, although I wish he did. He came up to the front of the bus, sat beside me and said,

“What’s your name again?”

“….Lyra.” I said.

“Hi, yeah, I thought it would be awkward if I didn’t come say hi.”

“Hi.” I said, and continued looking out the window.

“Hi.” He said.

There was a long pause of silence that satisfied me because I had turned into a porcupine the moment he sat beside me and I was hoping he could feel the sting of my quills lodging themselves into his face.

“I can go… If you want….” He said.

“Well then why don’t you?” I asked.

“You just seem interesting, I don’t know.”

“Well you don’t know me and I don’t know what you want from me but I have nothing to say or give you. So yeah, you should go.” I said.

He gave me an insulted look and went back to the back of the bus where he belonged.

We got off at the same stop which ******, but I didn’t look at or speak to him at all, even as we walked side by side to cross the street.  

I felt relieved, elated, guilty, surprised, empowered, safe, in control.

I felt like a ***** and I liked it.

And I learned a lot from that one small encounter. I learned that being a ***** takes me out of my comfort zone, because I care so much about what other people think of me, I am always trying to come across as “the cute little blonde girl who laughs a lot and is very sweet”. Because that’s easier than being “the self assured woman who doesn’t take anyones **** and sometimes comes across as a ***** who doesn’t give a **** because she only returns the respect she is shown.”

I learned that it doesn’t always have to be one or the other, it is also okay to be both of those girls simultaneously.

I learned that I like attention, but I also like respect. And he made me feel extremely disrespected. I learned that some boys only want a girl for their own personal pleasure. I learned that some boys will literally do and say anything to get pleasure. I learned that it’s okay to stand up for yourself, it’s okay to turn into a porcupine when you feel uncomfortable to get the other person to leave you alone, it is okay to USE YOUR QUILLS.

I thought of all the girls I know, including myself, who have let men use them to get what they want, just to feel beautiful for a fleeting moment. I thought of all the girls I know, including myself, who have been in or stayed in a toxic, abusive relationship just to avoid being lonely. I thought of how sad it is that so many of us hate ourselves that much to let ourselves be used just so we can feel something other than pain for one ******* minute. I thought of how easy it is for so many of us to abandon ourselves like that and how no matter how many times we tell ourselves it’s okay, IT IS NOT OKAY.

I felt sad, but I felt hopeful too.

Because we don’t need someone to tell us we’re cute or beautiful or interesting or **** or funny or talented or special to feel like a ******* human who is all of those things already. We are and always have been, all of those things, regardless of who we are kissing or ******* or loving or talking to at any given moment. It’s nice to be reminded sometimes, but it’s not nice to depend on someone to make us feel like that. We do not need to settle for anything less than someone who ******* respects us and treats us how we ******* ought to be treated.

Most of all, I felt proud of myself.

And I feel like the Spice Girls or P!nk or Alanis Morisette would have been proud of me, too.

Was it luck as I was awe-struck?
It is said that these gleaming falling stars are UFOs
It is also said that at times when UFOs land they then become IFOs... They come to fetch a king as the king dies
Sending him home to distant skies

OR was it merely a sign that the Pleiadians have landed?
Or other races beyond, from Lyra to Procyon
not to mention the bellicose Orions
we wouldn't see this of course
as all that would be would be what isn't and what isn't would be what it truly is
Living in Alice and her wonderland
We see politics and earthly government
but the point is to hide exo-politics, Councils and Houses

We would be asleep when the unseen god is an emperor of just one constellation
We would be asleep as the centre of the Universe serenades Gaia
We wouldn't see as Nihahua engages Sol
We wouldn't see as Tiamat rises to the fourth dimension for we would think we are asleep

We would think of raptures holy as they are protocol to transport souls to other planets
Yes advanced some are as they are 4D others even 5D
and a means of exchange not being money
so that makes our planet a child you see
These things you wouldn't know as they are cleared by the MIB's
These things you wouldn't know when mediums or channelers form religions
These things you wouldn't as hybrids and starseeds form religions
These things would seem ridiculous for you are programmed
You wouldn't know what to believe for restricted are tools to examine
You wouldn't know what to concoct when access to information is limited
It said some serve the upliftment of humanity
I'm talking about the Andromeda Council and Christos Council

From Babylon to Rome
Or was it from Atlantis to Mu then Ur? Before the Annunaki went to Sumer
From Rome to the whole world
Was it Nibiru which heaven was?
Are we really living in Star Wars?
Are we ruled by Star Lords?

Are we humans trying not to be aliens?
Or are we aliens trying to be human?
The strongest angel ever created, the weakest
a sad day in heaven
the angel of light then brought darkness
Not a mystery why light is sought after and its essence

I saw a falling star
Some are abducted, sexually indulged and barred
They are ridiculed in society as they are told that's how insanity starts
There are people who go missing in caverns, not knowing that they would be genetically manipulated and brainwashed
There are communicators of divine knowledge
They are called lunatics who feed ludicrous knowledge
We wouldn't know the difference for we are trapped in matter
We wouldn't care for the physical is all that would matter
From the Els to the Yahweh consciousness
From the Serpent gods to Sorcerer kings and Priest kings
Do we know where it all started?

Religion would be coded astronomy
The movement of stars, astrology
if we knew the galactic anthropology
We wouldn't think we are alone
Science fiction would present technology
Linear time would be no more
Wormholes the doors
The Ark of The Covenant a device used as a good weapon
We would know all and more of this if we saw more falling stars
We would know more of this if we weren't kept busy by the masters
We would know more of this if we stopped thinking we are free
Then we'd know who we are and where we are going
to that place of all knowing.

mild, so mild in the night
to travel with the earth
amongst an early starlit bloom,
muddy fields fill the air
with pubescent June.

goslings waddle, fuzzy scurries.
mother, father,
enlarge and hiss
protecting their long months work,
now free from pipping shells.

so cool is the night while
laying hidden in uncut fields.
chilling winds dance atop feral growth.
sanctuary for outward gazing,
through to unknown worlds.

there is no envy from a distance.
breath feeds wonder, spilling over
into this vessel, so soon to be forgotten.
spoiled from within, the unborn,
rotten. a shell too hard to crack.

there is no nest for that sacred sibling.
forgotten by mother and father.
their failed incubation, rotting.
lost amongst the stars
but within the field of all.

Apollo sings to Pollux and Castor
stroking somber tones from Lyra.
"Greet the voiceless into forever;
attach to them their rightful wings",
"chirp, chirp, chirp"

You unscrew the jar; Orion’s climactic sigh spills—  
A cello’s low A hums—our triad, C and E—the night skies.  
Your thumb caresses pulse down my throat, andante, it drills  
through myth—not his hunt, but the damp heat between our thighs.  

We’ve plucked Lyra’s rusted chords, restrung her spine  
to thrum with your breath, not some dead muse’s cords.  
Stars crack like old records; we skip, we refine—  
our bed, a cradle for light, shed our sheer white peignoirs.  

You fear the jars dim? Let me mouth the black core  
of Cassiopeia—choke her brittle groan,  
then laugh as you arch—my crescendo, your score—  
each note a plum’s burst where her language had flown.  

Your teeth score my shoulder. The dark soars, unconfined—
We swallow the arias. Let the void choke on mine.

i studied your body like i would the sky,
tracing constellations into your skin as you hummed
what sounded like the clouds would when they move.

andromeda on your throat, aquarius along your collarbones,
canis major covered your chest, gemini on your right shoulder.
i didn't want to leave when you told me that you loved me.

leo graced your left shoulder, just slightly down your back,
your stomach wore lyra, lopsided, like your smile.
sometimes i couldn't breathe at the thought of losing you.

orion on one hip, pisces on the other, my lips on both,
scorpius, dangerous, starting on your inner thigh.
but it was that loving you that scared me more than losing you.

taurus, ursa major, both on your calves,
body trembling as i traced virgo onto your ankles.
i couldn't hold on, i couldn't breathe, i couldn't understand.

i always saved libra for last, a balance scale,
over the entirety of your back, my safe haven.
breaking the scale when i leaned over, lips against your ear,
*we can't exist together.

tonight a girl stands on a bridge.
the midsummer breeze dances around her curves.
it begs her to come play.
her heart beats steady.
her gaze is motionless.
the changing air steals a whisper.
"we are moving into the house of Aquarius"
under the bridge a man sleeps.
in a few weeks he'll turn fifty-eight,
but he doesn't know that.
he hasn't had a birthday celebration in years.
he hasn't had anything to celebrate in years.
the bridge is home now.
above  him,
a girl is rediscovering herself.
a girl is rediscovering her fear of heights.
she looks 25 light years above her, at Vega.
in a way, she thinks, she is like this star.
she is about midway through her life expectancy,
but her light died a quarter century ago.
the man sleeps soundly.
a smile is spread across his face.
he is dreaming of his dinner,
a footlong sub.
extra olives, just the way he likes it.
it was his first meal in several days
but tonight, his stomach is full.
he has come to like the grease on his face.
it shows he has survived many challenges.
the hardships have only made him wiser.
the girl, she minored in astrology.
she was fifth in her graduating class.
debt lurked deep in her mind.
it polluted her every thought with
reminders that she was not in control.
now, she tries to justify her current position.
on the bridge.
looking out at Lyra, partially hidden by clouds
"nothing I do will matter."
she reconsiders.
she recalls an anecdote she overheard
on the subway, or somewhere:
"when you're dead, you're dead for a looooong time"
she smiles. kids say the darnedest things.
tonight she curses her 'lucky stars'.
nothing the girl does will matter.
tonight she will become a woman.
tonight she will give  herself to the wind.
the man will find her in the morning.
the man will chuckle to himself.
"they always make it down here,
one way or another"

Certainly our city with its byres of poverty down to
The river's edge, its cathedral, its engines, its dogs;
Here is the cosmopolitan cooking
And the light alloys and the glass.

Built by the conscience-stricken, the weapon-making,
By us. Wild rumours woo and terrify the crowd,
Woo us. Betrayers thunder at, blackmail
Us. But where now are They.

Who without reproaches showed us what our vanity
has chosen,
Who pursued understanding with patience like a ***,
had unlearnt
Our hatred and towards the really better
World had turned their face?

Who knows? The peaked and violent faces are exalted,
The feverish prejudiced lives do not care, and lost
Their voice in the flutter of bunting, the glittering
Brass of our great retreat,

And the malice of death. For the wicked card is dealt and
The sinister tall-hatted botanist stoops at the spring
With his insignificant phial and looses
The plague on the ignorant town.

Under their shadows the pitiful subalterns are sleeping;
The moon is usual; the necessary lovers touch;
The river is alone and the trampled flower;
And through years of absolute cold

The planets rush towards Lyra in a lion's charge. Can
Hate so securely bind? Are they dead here? Yes.
And the wish to wound has the power. And tomorrow
Comes. It's a world. It's a way.

We angled ourselves to face Lyra-
I turned repeatedly to him.
Hid in a blanket-cocoon we
beat a rhythm of fingertip-dreams.

We angled ourselves to face Lyra-
I turned repeatedly to him.
He rained prayers and promises;
a sky-full of stars fell down unseen.

We angled ourselves to face Lyra-
I turned one last time to him.
Pinned dead-butterfly colours
to his mouth, his tongue, his skin.

Surrealistic lover meet me at the danger zone
In space ships where we simulate
As you shape shift, I stay fascinated
A reptilian, an arcturian, pleiadian
The vega, a lyra, light years away

Supersonic lover kiss me at the signal house
In cellular automaton advance my grid of DNA
As we diffuse in megastructures, callibrate my power
A sirian, grays, draconian,anunnaki
The human, indigo, crystal, the rainbow

Take me to the fantasy, at the star line of illusion
Where my body glows and your DNA burrows
Take me and show me the laser in the magic cosmic
Open my heart, inject your poison,kiss my toes as you do
Disconnect my body and spirit to another dimension

Distort the optic nerve so that the reality seems normal
Transverse the solar bodies and celestial systems
Fight the hypotonic regression to recall the delusions
Climb the mountain as the peaceful dwellers wear googles
Awaiting for a UFO float and disappear from the bare land

I am the guy outside the window
Wondering what it must be like to touch,
to feel...
I am the guy who appreciates a few seconds of kindness
Wondering what it means to live in a perfect world

I am the guy who finds success in defeat
Digesting just how strong I must be
Often finding failure in victory, if victory means I sell my soul...

The hours are long and there is so much to do in a second
it boils down to a single act
right down to thought and the moments in between
and the way you perceive the world as you stop thinking
without falling asleep
Reason takes sharper frame
there are so many questions and evident half truths
So outside the window you analyze the grey

and see the curves and spirals
and everything physical becomes an illusion
people and things become props
and life becomes a play
soon enough you reach a point of high epiphany
becoming clairvoyant, pictures and sounds transmitted along the web
the web that connects us all
and temples you see, many sailing in boats
Slaves and Masters, Kings and Councils
and Earth becomes a mirror of everything the verses unison

You deviate from prose and read the poem
a song starts to play and your mind begins to sail
thinking at high wavelengths
what is chaos here, is a planned order up there
and you transcend from dimension to dimension
picking up thoughts, incarnating as a walk in on other realms
taking part in Strategy plans of the Universe
you have a chair in the Federation
all races meet talking about their human and hybrid children

You learn that out there is not too different to in here
there are Spaceships and exhibitions
Aerial restaurants
Cosmic *** in a theatrical sense
the end point being the creation of worlds in voids - worlds absent
And you learn that there are Watchers, they are watching us
Learning about us, taking notes and samples
Sometimes they send telepathic messages
Sometimes they video-mix our dreams
Other times they take you travelling
From Egypt to Mars, From Mars to Konder, Konder to Lyra and back
at this point chaos down here, is a planned order up there
perfection becomes ridiculous as you see evil conducted
Mountains and vortex points, tiny dots on the screens of planet-ships

You wake up and you don't feel quite the same
You can sense vibes of having been through wormholes
Time linear starts all over again
you have to constantly remind yourself of where you are
One thing remains: the memory and They, that They are here and They are watching.

the sun oozed under my eyelids until I couldn’t keep them shut any longer

I laid there and heard the silence of my house in the morning

there were birds and they sung songs that made me feel heartsick

I didn’t have a hangover

Sam told me, in the most nonchalant way, that he spoke about me to someone I deeply admire and they like my music

first time I watched Tangled and I wanted to punch the mother in the face but I couldn’t because she is a cartoon

Lyra and I both had tender tummies and painted our nails like a rainbow

baths are beginning to feed into my sick games of numbing myself

blatant malnourishment

brash abandon of my self-worth  

my mind wobbled over to the fact that someone I deeply admire likes my music and that I must be more noticeable than I think I am

maybe that’s not true though

I swear my dog died about ten times today

I am a plant and this couch is my ***

Am I noticeable?

when I eat too much and feel bloated, I just pretend that I’m pregnant and sometimes even talk to my stomach as if there was a fetus inside of it

I don't think many people do those kinds of things when they're alone

a french accent is beginning to fit me better than an english one, like finding an old dress in a closet and surprising yourself in the mirror

I talked to myself all day because - loneliness

i slowly cave in on myself
and the sky smells of falling stars—
i can taste it, leaking in through
the cracks. i ascend, like a hot
air balloon, my body filled
with moonlight, the dust
falling off the trail of a comet.
the night is dripping paint,
navy blue and black, the ravens
are cutting holes in the air and
neptune shines through, a minty
frost, ice and starlight. my feet
are far above the clouds—an
icarus floating in the dark,
dark sky, and i reach for cygnus
—no more light pollution here.
lyra plucks its golden strings
and the moon sings a lullaby,
sweet and slow like drops
of mercury. and there, as
stardust glows through my skin,
replaces sore organs with light
and swallows each aching bit,
i sleep.

In the quiet of night, I walk wild and free
To find something that will bring you back to me
There is a roughness in the silent breeze
The soil wet and soft beneath my feet

I keep walking, leaving behind a trail of blood and dirt
while my head hums and my heart is full of hurt
As I see the blinding light right in front of me
the stars glisten bright above the sea

I look up as I lay half asleep on the shoreline
the bluish white constellation of Lyra twinkles in the sky
and I laugh because even after all that we’ve been through
Everything still comes back to you.

Kecacatan yang sempurna
Kekurangan yang ideal
Keheningan yang menggelegarkan hati
Kesetiaan yang abadi
Keimanan yang menyilaukan
Kecantikan yang menenangkan

Untuk-Mu, Lyra-Ku

Unorthodox avant-garde
Off key to thy sphere
Steep in lofty elevation
Crucial they are,
To anothers needs
When one dies
One tends to bleed,
His organs for a soupish trade
Magnates
Losers of this world
Kings and queens of
Lyra
Vega
M57
Celestial appendage
Pumpkin glow orb
We shalt explore
It's craters
And be sedated by the earth's view
For doth  they knoweth?
Their world shall soon end
As me and her
Will be bent
In ourn arms and legs as latches!!!!
We're just watchers
The ones who see all to cometh
Old time knowledge
For the earthlings who are far from becoming as one...

When I am dead-and my body turned to dust,
my atoms will conjoin with her I loved and lost,
and we'll be two in one again-that is if God is just.
Together we will quit this old Earth's crust, and fly-
above the mountains of The Moon, to view the constellations in the heavens, and negociate the crowded realms above-to ride on Pegasus
and sup with Cassiopea, conversing on equal terms, with Lyra Vegus and Aquilla-who will direct us and be our guide
to where all space and time is quite forgot,
and there we will find Heaven waiting- with open gates,
and the smiles of all the friends we knew, to regognise our maker, and be  made welcome.

Time passes. It is never ending, but it stops and it goes. Everyone is waiting for something; but not so much waiting as looking. Everyone is looking for something. I have been looking for many things, countless things. Innumerable things:
Bee, who doesn't know it yet. She is on his way to me, but she cannot comprehend it, no, not yet. She is not yet here. She is in another place, waiting to be born. She does not exist. But he sees me, and I see him. He is here, with me, eternally.
Truth, which evades me at every possible chance. He comes to visit me at times, in little bubbles, which only last a few seconds, then are gone faster than they came. She does not visit others, not so much; not anymore.
Life, which many would say that I've found, that I am living, that I am life, that life is me. But. No. I am not life and life is not me. I have not lived, not fully, not the way they want me to. And what with this I am happy as can be.
Home, what is nowhere, what doesn't exist anymore. My home has been long dead. My home is gone, forever. Home was somewhere very, very, very far away. Much farther than most can imagine right now. My home was Lyra, Arcturus. Arcturus was my home, and now it is gone. My home is gone. But, hark!: my home still exists, it has all-ways. And so, my home is with him.
As many cannot see, we are all here, and we never can't be.

Close your eyes, free your mind
Let it wander, back in time
You had a vision of how things might be
You lost your soul sight, and couldn't see

Lets take a walk, relax, unwind
A stellar journey, we must take
Orpheus tells of a wonderful place
Through his pain and love and loss
He left Lyra his harp for Jupiter to toss

When traveling outbound
Toward this constellation and
The measure of light increases
From brilliant to blazing
With no variation
Vega is the destination

It’s out at the far corner of Vega
These are the lands where they are found
Where your lost hope is eternally bound
Your hope is in boxes
Made of incandescent ore
That dangle from glass flowers
Of eighty-five feet or more

In order to reach them
You must hitch a ride
On the wings of the
Cyclopean dragonfly

When your hope boxes
Have been recognized
Dive straight to them without hesitation
Rip them open with firm designation
Pour all the contents back into your heart
Let it course through your blood and every cell
Your soul no longer an empty shell

In Memoriam,

Where is the face that launched a thousand ships?
Girls of the age of the waves are named after her
Helen, whose Sparta is now a mundane village
No one breathes in her mythical sillage
No one grabs her golden belt above the hips.

Where is the lithe Hermes and his winged sandals?
Women of today wear him daily on their necklaced throne
Around the neck and the perfume, a scarf is thrown
Do you know of this French house creating scandals?

Does Apollo know he has been sent into space
In an intricate horse of iron called eleven
Here’s hoping he saws the strings of Lyra
He, bringing poetry and Letters to grace.

What about the boastful Paris and his pride?
Cursed by Aphrodite and Helen’s eloper
What would he know of the City of Lights
Paris, paradise of lovers to reach new heights…


And what to say of fair Spartan Hermione
The incarnated actor making much more money
From Hermione to Emma but none of the myth
Both had to fortunately grit their teeth…

Ajax the Lesser who forced himself on Cassandra
Still tears your household and floor asunder
Warrior whose name now scrubs the dust
Off nowadays lame palaces, bound to rust…

Homer, father of the epic poem of Greece
You should hide under your sheep’s fleece
What would you say to the yellowish Cyclops
Benighted idiot, pondering on donuts!


Lyon, March 2- March 4, 2017

from the sun-dappled emerald green plains
to the mountainous tides of the deep blue,
i will search for a dream settled in the history of our time.

my dream clouds will sit atop the north
like pillows placed on a bed
too materialistic to sleep on and too minimalistic to dream about.

caged?

Vadym Komarov, June 20th, 2019 - ******

hold me down.
i can see the story fluttering in the light,
but they do not let me out.

they keep me caged like a siberian tigress
bound to the melting frosted forests
our planeted body had provided for her.

they keep me caged.

whirlpool

a step in the sandy dunes of the Sahara has me dry.
the only thing i inhale is silence and sand.
the grainy ridges seen in the distance slowly weather,
until they are nothing but quicksand whirlpools.
as i fall into one, i can only think, “let me out of here”.

it holds me down.

Obed Nangbatna, May 25th, 2019 - Crossfire

spotlight

Lyra Mckee, April 18th, 2019 - Crossfire

in which the moon dances with the sun in a waltz.
even dancing with the moon,
the sun sprays its spotlight on the earth.

what is that?

it shoots its rays on a portion of our world.
look, there it is,
dancing amongst the skyscrapers,
galloping among the spray of bodies.
i wonder if i should follow it.

Ahmed Hussein-Suale Divela, January 16th, 2019

i follow the spotlight.

birthed

troy gave me my name.
the civilizations of Ilium,
the villages of Rhodope Mountains,
the flat plained city of Thessaloniki.

i want to run from them.
i can’t, so i run to them.

i find something.

crossfire

point blank guns are zeroed in on me
earthquakes rumble under my feet
as i stumble ahead.

refugees,
immigrants,

Leonardo Gabriel Hernández, March 17th, 2019 - ******

i guess we’re all the same.

Mojamed Ben Khalifa, January 19th, 2019 - Crossfire

monarchs,
Norma Sarabia Garduza, June 11th, 2019 - ******
tyrants,
Francisco Romero Díaz, May 16th, 2019 - ******
presidents,

different shades of governing bodies which diverge from our own political awareness

saints and sinners alike,
it doesn’t matter how much your soul is tainted.
we are all sainted souls that have sinned.

it just depends on whose part you play in the crossfire.

Amjad Hassan Balkir, June 18th, 2019 - Crossfire

tear

we live in ignorant bubbles,
cages of sort.
they are never ending
chasms of expectations and anxieties
our minds have conjured because of our complexities.
they prevent us from catching our stories, attaining our dreams.

i’ve fallen into whirlpools, followed my spotlight, retraced my birth, and plunged into a crossfire trying to escape my bubble.

i’ve followed my dream,
Jamal Kashoggi, October 2, 2018 - Dismembered
now will you follow yours?

housekeeping

i will make my bed,
fluff the pillows that were once
filled with my aspirations.
the pillows, now flat, vacant enough
to let new dreams puff them back up.

i make sure to leave the comforter untucked,
so the next dreamer can slide in easily,
slide into a place that once  sustained my adventures and stories.
i leave it untucked, leave the lights dim, and leave the door ajar.

i do not ever enter again.
A star-lit ballad plays for the dreamers who pursued their dream to the very end.

Walls of a Slave-Built World

Endless walls — a fortress strong,
Trap the slaves who serve so long,
To the demon-world of ancient law,
Where genocide was truth and claw.

The slave must never know his chain:
Blindfolds of lies are fixed to the brain.
With every lesson, he’s made more weak,
And silence installs the brakes he seeks.

Brakes on the body, brakes on thought,
“Science” of rote — the poison they brought.
Dulling the mind with a brutal hand,
It crushes the soul so it cannot stand.

It justifies walls, justifies war,
Every disgrace they’re eager to pour.
One plague enough — a sheep-virus creed,
To sink the world with its cowardly seed.

The stupefied herd gets a beastly life,
No room for reason, just endless strife.
For half-awake *****, their dream on display:
A culture of darkness to lead them astray.

Mass-culture’s delirium, shrill and loud,
Finishes minds already cowed.
Training and drilling, their perfect crime,
Root of disasters for all of time.

A primitive circus they call “the state,”
Where every clown is dressed by fate
From the same trough, the same foul plate —
Building their walls of greed and hate.

Behind each clown — a bag of gold,
Where human lives are bought and sold.
Crisis and hunger are sharpened spears,
Piercing the slaves through endless years.

Poverty chains the world in disguise,
Yet Earth, left free, is rich with supplies.
But theft and fraud keep the people in yoke,
A starving lie that the masters evoke.

Behind the gold bag lurks the mason’s face,
Priest and king of this vile race.
Bag and clown sing one refrain,
Different masks, but the same domain.

Behind the masons — the inhuman breed,
Hybrid spawn of demonic seed.
They serve the demons, fulfill their plan:
To make mere slaves of every man.

At last, the demons will bring down hell,
Turning the slaves to cattle as well.
And now it’s reached the witless stage,
Where poison is offered by brother’s hand.

There is but one way to shatter this night:
Call down the Sun with morning light,
Draw its fire into your chest,
Burn the demons, and save the rest.

For Spirit it harms not, but devils it kills,
And ends their empire of venomous wills.
The tale concludes with a single word:
If no way out — the gate’s destroyed.

---

Break the Slave-Walls

Walls of lies — they cage the blind,
Chains on body, chains on mind.
Sheep are poisoned, taught to bow,
Demons rule — but not for long now.

Gold-bags, clowns, and masons decay,
Selling mankind as beastly prey.
But one Sun-flame will scorch their fraud,
Burn the devils — restore the God.

If no escape, then blast the gate:
The fire within decides their fate.
Better a world in flames than chains —
Spirit survives, while demon reigns.

---

1
Burn the walls,
Blast the gate —
Spirit lives, demons late.

2
No escape? Then tear apart:
The Sun will strike, the fire will start.

3
Better fire than the chain —
Spirit rises, demons slain.

---

1
Burn the slave-world — let Spirit reign.

2
Chains will crumble; Sun will strike.

3
Demons fall, and the fire survives.

4
No gate can hold the morning flame.



---------------------



Broth

Filthy inhuman shuffles
A deck of lesser men.
She never balks or fumbles,
And many devils serve her pen.

Always a mob of riff-raff —
A shame for every clan.
Not every ugly half
Is fit to serve the throne’s plan.

Secret services hunt the ****
From their earliest days.
Here the layers are subtle —
Not every schemer earns such praise.

For by their command,
Casting doubt aside,
They nurture such a plague,
And strive to feed its pride.

To climb as high as possible
In the henhouse we call the world.
They crap on all from rooftops,
By night, by day — unfurled.

And crapping is a calling;
Not every hand is deft.
It takes knowledge of ruling
Like a dull drake at theft.

Into which man has turned
By years of genocide’s hand.
Long ago he grew his feathers,
And joins the flocks on command,

Herded to the slaughterhouses
Under the guise of their fight.
Only a madman now would wage
Hot wars in the night.

When even this can destroy
All these birds at once
With lies they breed
To plump up dull plumage.

Once you’ve grown your feathers,
You’re ready for the broth.
You’ve become the dish
To feed the hounds’ froth —

The Cerberus of this hellish world,
Which has risen here.
And Lyra has already died —
The last bad news unclear.

If Lyra cannot
Express this whole hell,
And only multiplies songs,
Then all this is but a zoo-shell —

Chickens with pitiful sounds
That know nothing of the soup,
Or a *****’s howling
To the tune of hunting horns.

---

Broth

Filthy inhuman shuffles her deck,
Plagues the world with the **** she picks.
From rooftops, they crap, from night till day,
Feathered fools in the slaughterhouse sway.

Man turned drake, by years of lie,
Nurtures the plague, lets falsehood fly.
Only a madman now stirs the fight,
While lies fatten dull wings in the night.

Feathered and ready — the broth awaits,
Served to the Cerberus at hellish gates.
Lyra is gone, no song can tell
This zoo of despair, this human hell.

---

1
Feathered fools for the broth —
Hell feeds the Cerberus.

2
The flock is cooked, the lies fly,
Lyra is dead, the zoo survives.

3
Man turned drake — the plague is fed,
Only fire can stop this spread.

4
Feathers, lies, and hounds await —
No song can save this fate.

---

1
Feathered fools for the broth — Hell feeds the Cerberus.

2
The flock is cooked, the lies fly — Lyra is dead, the zoo survives.

3
Man turned drake — the plague is fed; only fire can stop this spread.

4
Feathers, lies, and hounds await — no song can save this fate.

---

Broth

Filth shuffles filth,
**** breeds ****.
Rooftops rain crap,
Night to sun.

Man is drake,
Lies are fed.
Madmen stir,
Fools are led.

Feathers grown,
Broth awaits.
Hounds devour,
Hell gates.

Lyra dead,
Songs fail.
Zoo of humans,
Souls frail.

---

1
Filth breeds filth — Hell devours.

2
Man is drake, the broth awaits.

3
The flock is cooked, the lies fly.

4
Lyra dead — the zoo survives.

5
Fools and lies, fire breaks all.



---------------------



Creativity

Only creativity is the ground
On which life itself can rise.
But filthy inhuman shuffles around
Endless trials for talent’s demise.

Lies pressed from earliest days,
Which fools will later call “education,”
Serve as the main tool to dull the gaze,
And efficiently **** imagination.

Next, the world must be arranged
So mediocrity itself destroys the bright.
The talentless will triple their strength,
And wield it better than any fight.

Poverty here lends a helping hand,
Leaving barely enough to survive.
And shackling all minds with anxious bands —
A perfect method to keep gifts deprived.

Survival-driven worry
Is the trump card here —
The foundation of idiotic order,
A key ingredient in this hellish smear.

This mixture is oddly called “life,”
Though life itself is nowhere found.
And talent pays a bitter price —
No genius survives in such a ground.

If talents sell themselves,
Become clowns of mass pseudo-culture,
These jokes will end in death —
A spiritual death of the sold-out nature.

Yet somehow, the panels teem with crowds,
Hype and bustle everywhere.
These brazen worms have grown so proud
They expand their markets of despair.

And those who serve false science,
Feeding fascist hounds,
These filthy fiends —
A bone in the throat of us all —

Fulfill any order, justify any lie,
And endlessly replenish
The ranks of ****-ups for a pittance.

They justify even fake viruses
Leading the world to slaughter.
It’s a full-scale brain wipe —
Even false science bows before it.

Everything has become for sale in this global hell,
And the depths of degradation are untold.
No need to flounder in this filth,
The inhuman must be destroyed.

Only the inhuman is to blame —
They orchestrated centuries of genocide,
Where man became like cattle,
Already marked for liquidation.

---

Creativity

Only creativity can build the ground,
But filthy inhuman hammers it down.
Lies from childhood, sharpened to ****,
Trip every gift, bend every skill.

Mediocrity multiplies its might,
Poverty and worry ***** the light.
False science, clowns, and bought-out throngs
Feed the world with endless wrongs.

Talents sold to mass pseudo-culture,
Die in jokes of spiritual rupture.
Panels teem with brazen worms,
Expanding markets where the darkness swarms.

Only the inhuman bears the blame,
A centuries-long genocide of the same.
Man turned cattle, marked for the knife —
No gift survives this world of strife.

---

1
Creativity dies — lies hammer down.
Genius crushed, mediocrity wears the crown.

2
Talents sold, clowns multiply,
Panels teem, the darkness flies.

3
Poverty binds, worry chains,
False science feeds, the mind drains.

4
Only the inhuman survives,
Man turned cattle, gift deprived.

---

1
Creativity dies — lies hammer down.
Mediocrity rules, genius wears the crown.

2
Talents sold, clowns multiply.
Only the inhuman survives.

3
Man turned cattle, world aflame.
No gift remains, only shame.

---

Creativity

Creativity dies — lies hammer down.
Mediocrity rules, genius wears the crown.

Talents sold, clowns multiply.
Only the inhuman survives.

Man turned cattle, world aflame.
No gift remains, only shame.

---

Lies crush genius, mediocrity reigns, only the inhuman survives.

---

1
Lies crush genius, mediocrity reigns.

2
Poverty binds, worry chains the mind.

3
False science feeds, clowns multiply.

4
Only the inhuman survives.

5
Man turned cattle, world aflame.

6
No gift remains, only shame.



---------------------



Checkmate

I haven’t watched the box for long —
Its echoes rumble everywhere:
Here lies Hell in all its form,
No trace remains of any land.

No rulers exist. The CREATURES
Long govern through the media’s hand.
In Hell, these fiends are roasting us,
And fuelled by LIES — believe it, ****.

Soullessness is their task:
To bend submission as their way.
Their luck depends on what you grasp,
When you believe the nonsense they convey.

Don’t trust, don’t bow, don’t obey —
Save your Soul in this Inferno.
Try to grasp it all yourself —
The world’s a furnace of hot woe.

All programs are made for madness,
School, the universities, all in line.
Plus the media — half-wits and louts
Three quarters. A lout is also a coward.

Madness overflows the world —
In the asylum long we “live.”
Yet there are gaps in all this chaos —
Where only Reason might forgive.

Seek out those gaps. The ****
Trample them down in muck and slime.
Spiritual Bonds remain alive,
Yet the mind alone cannot divine.

Engage your intuition boldly,
Fear not — you’re already dead.
Struggle is your final option —
All others gone; Reason wiped instead.

So few of these clearings remain,
Yet the chaos grows ever more.
Media bombards like endless rain —
The Soul aches deeper than before.

Endure, resist, don’t give in —
Not much longer must you wait:
They’ll burn this Hell, but strive to live
Amid the Fire before it’s too late.

You’ll leave the body. A fork appears —
To other worlds, a new Inferno.
The little world is set with choice,
And then comes check, check, and mate.

---

Checkmate

The box is silent, yet echoes roar,
Hell spreads wide, no land anymore.
Soulless CREATURES rule through lies,
Fuelled by deceit, where freedom dies.

Don’t trust, don’t bow, don’t obey —
Save your Soul in this infernal fray.
Madness floods schools, universities, media throngs,
Louts and fools, cowards, and wrongs.

Seek the gaps in the chaos around,
Reason survives where madness is found.
Engage intuition — fear no end,
Struggle’s your last, your only friend.

Fire will burn this Hell someday,
But try to survive the blaze today.
Leave the body, a fork in the way,
To other worlds — check, check, checkmate.

---

1
Hell echoes wide, no land remains.
Soulless creatures rule with chains.

2
Madness floods the schools and screens,
Lies and louts destroy all dreams.

3
Seek gaps in chaos, intuition your guide,
Struggle through the fire, let your Soul survive.

4
Leave the body, a fork appears,
Check, check, checkmate — beyond all fears.

---

1
Soulless creatures rule through lies — check, check, checkmate.

2
Madness floods all — intuition saves the Soul.

3
Fire will burn Hell — survive the blaze, leave the body.

---

Checkmate

Hell echoes, no land,
Creatures rule, lies expand.

Schools, media, madness feeds,
Fools and louts sow misdeeds.

Seek the gaps, trust your mind,
Struggle through, leave fear behind.

Fire will burn, body departs,
Other worlds await — checkmate starts.

---

Soulless creatures rule through lies — intuition fights, checkmate comes.

---

1
Hell spreads wide, no land remains.

2
Soulless creatures rule with chains.

3
Madness floods schools and screens.

4
Seek the gaps — intuition your guide.

5
Fire burns Hell — survive, leave the body.

6
Check, check, checkmate — new worlds await.


Soulless creatures rule through lies — intuition fights, checkmate comes.



---------------------



Among the Bewildered

“Security” — a vain pretense:
“Protection” — like a tomb.
Yet in the mind comes CLARITY,
And you’ll see how blind was youth’s gloom.

The years you were young — a legacy of LIES.
Only lies all fools revere.
In this world, obey, serve, comply,
And feed the spirit’s fear.

Here stands a single “truth,”
A single “law” is writ:
Vile slavery reigns,
Falsehood drives the soul from it.

Security dwells in soullessness,
A total death, no less.
“Protection” lives in nonsense,
Only the fool gnaws this mess.

Be bold — cast to hell
All the total LIES around.
If you are keen and stubborn,
Salvation can be found.

Multiply your intuition —
It leads to AWARENESS’ gate.
Awareness is the “Veda”;
Believe the Darkness — you’re a fool, too late.

Idiots have no place
Among the Pure Worlds bright.
For Hell they’re just the dough,
No shelter there in sight.

We are in Hell — come finally
To understanding’s dawn.
Or else the doom of AWARENESS
Befalls the bewildered throng.

If in Hell — all effort counts
To blow the ENTIRE inferno wide.
Excuses for weakness fail —
EXPLODE! Let nothing hide!

---

“Security” — a hollow lie,
“Protection” — a tomb where spirits die.
Yet in the mind shines CLARITY,
Revealing youth’s blind absurdity.

Years of childhood, a legacy of lies,
Fools revere the false, the wise despise.
Obey, comply, the world commands,
But slavery rules these cursed lands.

Soullessness is the law of “safe,”
Only fools consume its waste.
Be bold — cast all LIES to hell,
Stubborn hearts alone break the spell.

Multiply your intuition,
It leads to AWARENESS’ vision.
Believe in Darkness — you are lost,
Idiots cannot grasp the cost.

In Hell, all efforts aim
To blow the inferno’s frame.
Excuses for weakness fail,
EXPLODE! Let nothing prevail!

---

Security — a hollow tomb,
Blind youth grows in lying’s gloom.

Fools obey, the law is chains,
Soulless rule in endless pains.

Multiply your intuition’s light,
Awareness wakes within the night.

If in Hell, all effort counts,
Blow it wide — the inferno mounts!

---

Security’s a lie — wake your mind.
Multiply intuition — leave the blind behind!

Hell awaits — EXPLODE the lies,
Awareness rises as Darkness dies!

---

Security — a hollow tomb.
Blind youth — lies in bloom.

Fools obey, soulless reigns,
Chains and darkness, endless pains.

Multiply intuition, fight!
Awareness sparks, pierce the night!

Hell is now — EXPLODE!
Nothing left, all lies corrode.

---

Multiply intuition — EXPLODE Hell, leave the fools behind!

---

Security — a hollow lie.

Blind youth obeys, fools comply.

Soulless chains rule all.

Multiply intuition, pierce the thrall.

In Hell, all effort counts.

EXPLODE! Awareness surmounts.



---------------------



On the Way!

"No one would know, perhaps,
Whether Pushkin is honored or not,
Without their doctoral theses,
Shedding light on everything."
— Boris Pasternak, Wind, 1956

You wouldn’t know what truth is
Without the parties, the scoundrels of science,
With their forgeries, when falsehood
Becomes the fruit of their efforts.

You wouldn’t know how to live, if the teacher
Hadn’t crapped into our brains as children.
You’d be lost — seduced by the Tempter,
Drawn into that darkness, blind as night.

You’d vanish in the gloom, fool,
For intellect can’t grow by rote alone,
So claim all corpses,
Who tell you how to live.

Nothing but LIES, cadavers, and filth —
The living are scarce in this fascist world.
Only sensitivity and stubbornness —
Stubbornness to move light, to step free —

Will help you escape the Bedlam.
Go! Or you’ll perish within!
Don’t heed their nonsense, stacked in heaps;
Inside, only Truth awaits.

Activate your intuition boldly,
Multiply your critical sense —
Honor this tradition alone.
Crush the lies in you like lice.

These fiends have packed plenty of falsehood
Into you — don’t forget!
It will strike like a serpent’s fang —
So tear it out and boldly set forth!

Spiritual paths are very few —
Long fouled by lies.
But so the Soul does not perish,
LEARN TO DISCERN WHAT IS NOT ****.

---

You wouldn’t know truth without the scoundrels’ lies,
Without the parties and science in disguise.
Teachers crapped in our brains as children —
The Tempter waits where darkness is hidden.

Intellect alone grows not by rote,
Cadavers dictate, filth on every note.
Only sensitivity and stubbornness can save,
Step light, go forth, escape the grave.

Activate intuition, sharpen your mind,
Crush the lies these fiends have left behind.
Spiritual paths are few, long fouled by deceit —
Tear out the falsehood, boldly take your seat!

---

Truth is hidden by lies and deceit,
Teachers crammed nonsense in youth’s seat.

Sensitivity, stubbornness, intuition bright,
Will guide you through Bedlam, into light.

Crush the lies, tear them out,
Set forth boldly — leave no doubt.

---

Crush the lies, trust your mind,
Boldly step forth — leave fools behind!

---

Truth hidden, lies abound,
Teachers crammed, the Tempter’s around.

Stubbornness, intuition, step free,
Crush the lies — go boldly, see!

Spiritual paths are rare,
Tear the falsehood — soul beware!

---

Crush the lies, ignite your Soul — boldly step into the Way!

---

Truth is hidden, lies prevail.

Teachers crammed nonsense, children frail.

Stubbornness and intuition guide the way.

Crush all lies — set forth today!

Spiritual paths are few, long fouled.

Tear out falsehood — let the Soul be bold!



---------------------



Goblins and Vampires

A foolish goblin sharpens teeth
Against his neighbors, kin beneath.
He fears the vampires, prays in vain
To a stupid stump, his brain.

The stump — a “scholar,” rules below,
Where vampires make the underworld go.
Goblins won’t be fools for long,
They’ll be sent where filth is strong.

And trapped within that filthy den —
The goblin’s deemed a terrorist then.
Since childhood, like a target in the air,
Against the wall if thoughts aren’t clear.

A “pure mind” bows before the fiends,
Their propaganda feeds with snotty means.
It shields from harm, the wretched way,
Through endless woes that cloud the day.

Among the worst, the soul is lost,
In goblins’ hearts, darkness is the cost.
Honor this gloom as if your land,
The vampire sells the rot by hand.

Rot and lies, and endless fears —
The foundations of existence here.
In underground, infernal dust,
You survive only by chewing mistrust.

Chew it well, pass it down,
To your children, wear the crown.
Sing hosannas to the vile,
Then paradise is yours awhile.

Paradise for goblins promised,
If obedient, dull, and modest.
Those who resist, who dare to fight,
Are locked away, out of sight.

So lives — and rots — for ages long,
That underground infernal throng.
But a tsunami will rise, a flood of lies,
Sweeping the filth, breaking the skies.

The goblin sewers will overflow,
Bottom cracks into a NEW HELL below.
Meanwhile, the goblin keeps afloat,
Hails fascism, waves its goat.

---

Foolish goblins sharpen teeth,
Plot against kin and neighbors beneath.
Vampires loom, the stump commands,
In the underworld, foulness stands.

Goblins trapped in filth and den,
Labeled terrorists again and again.
Pure minds bow before the fiends,
Propaganda feeds, protects from misdeeds.

Rot and lies, endless fears,
Foundations built through countless years.
Chew the mistrust, pass it on,
Sing hosannas — paradise is won.

Obedient, dull, the goblins’ way,
Resist — locked in cells, night and day.
A tsunami of lies will rise and sweep,
Flooding sewers, hell’s secrets deep.

---

Foolish goblins, vampires near,
Pray to a stump, bow in fear.

Rot and lies, fear built the world,
Only obedience keeps it curled.

Tsunami of lies, sewers overflow,
New Hell opens, chaos grows.

Goblins cheer fascism, blind and proud,
Hail the flood, sing to the crowd.

---

Goblins rot, vampires reign,
Chew the lies, paradise for pain!

---

Goblins sharpen, vampires bite,
Stump commands, darkness smites.

Pure minds bow, rot spreads wide,
Chew the lies, Hell’s inside.

Tsunami floods, new Hell breaks,
Goblins cheer, the world shakes!

---

Chew the lies, goblins rot, Hell rises — vampires plot!

---

Foolish goblins, vampires near.

Stump commands, darkness clear.

Rot and lies, fear built strong.

Obedience holds the world along.

Tsunami of lies will flood and break,

Goblins cheer, Hell’s awake!



---------------------



Shock

Little by little — it won’t succeed:
Only a bold, decisive leap
Can tear out propaganda’s sting.
Few have dared such feat.

Heresy of Evil is worshiped here
By almost everyone.
Since childhood, lies are strewn like straw —
To keep you from being yourself.

This circle of mutual ruin —
Every pitiful fool
Destroys their own offspring.
A miracle is rare here. Slave cattle rule.

The majority among the people,
Few are wise, fewer still honor the Spirit.
Extermination of the Spirit
Is the goal of fascist servants.

Here fascism marches as one —
Labels may change,
But the media’s howl
Imposes it on every mind.

Little by little — it won’t succeed:
You must endure the shock,
Or your consciousness is lost —
Obedient, silent, locked.

The shock comes close if you are honest
With yourself alone.
Many harsh truths
Will strike you… Structure your mind.

After the shock, you emerge at first —
“Autonomous,” free of lies,
Or your Soul is lost
Among the submissive and the deceitful.

---

Little by little — you’ll fail to break,
Only a bold leap can make
Propaganda’s sting fall out,
Few dare what it’s all about.

Heresy of Evil, all adore,
Since childhood, lies strewn on the floor.
Every fool destroys their own,
Slave cattle rule, the Spirit gone.

Fascism marches, labels shift,
Media howls to tighten the grip.
Endure the shock, be honest, true,
Or your soul is lost among the few.

After the shock, you stand apart —
Autonomous, free in heart.
Or swallowed by the herd and lies,
Where the Spirit silently dies.

---

Little by little — it fails,
Only a bold leap breaks the scales.

Lies since childhood, fools abound,
Spirit crushed beneath the ground.

Shock will strike if honest you stand,
Or lost among the herd, your soul unmanned.

Rise after shock — autonomous, free,
Or vanish in submission’s sea.

---

Endure the shock — tear out the lies!
Be true to yourself, or your Spirit dies!

---

Little by little — nothing breaks,
Bold leap only, for freedom’s stakes.

Fools destroy, lies everywhere,
Shock the mind — Spirit beware!

Autonomous, stand, break the chain,
Or submission swallows, Spirit in vain!

---

Shock strikes — tear out the lies, or the Spirit dies!

---

Little by little — it won’t succeed.

Only a bold leap tears out the sting.

Lies crush the young, fools destroy,

Shock comes — stand or be destroyed.

Be honest with yourself, free your mind,

Rise autonomous, leave submission behind!