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I've cried my millionth tear,
And heard my millionth lie,
I've asked my millionth question,
and said my millionth why,
I've lost my millionth battle,
But won my millionth fight,
I've had my millionth sleepless one,
and cried throughout the night,
my heart has skipped its millionth beat
my feet have touched there millionth street,
My body took its millionth breath,
my soul has died its millionth death,
I cried my millionth tear today!
Melody Jan 2011
I feel like I should just start hypervenalating right there.
I don't know how to respond.
Should I let the tight tears just run down my cheeks unstoppingly.
I'm in the middle of confusion.
My stupid teenage years.
Of every memory I've had...
Never like this has happened.
Never this confused.
But as a teenager you're all like actually caring about what you look like, who likes who, the latest couples and all this other crap.
Well looks like my worrying of caring about that stuff is over for  the rest of my life, because my life will be full of confusion and nothing else.

While all confusion lays on my hands.
I walk into the dimming light.
the killing, murderous light of love.
It's so strong.
Am I walking the right path?
Did I take the right turn?
Did I turn into the wrong corridor?
There were millions.
For a Melody like me.
I took the right path.
The right map.
The right direction.
The right corridor.
There is no doubt.
Though I'm not perfect.
So something has to be an obstacle then.
And so I have my too tall of a hurdle to try to jump over.
My millions of corridors I could've taken I took the right one.
And ended up with the millionth corridor of confusion.
But I took the right path.
I know it.
And so I'm sitting here writing this.
If I hadn't of taken my millionth path.
I would have never been sitting here writing my feelings out.
All of my millionth path of confusion too you.
My millionth path was my right path.
What is your millionth path?
Does life ever get you thinking,
that you're not you but you're someone else?
Exactly. I'm not Melanie. I'm Melody.
And you can't be me.
Because I'm one of a kind.
And so are you.
So take your millionth path.
And make it different.
All true feelings. All true story.What a long explanation to go along with it. Take your millionth path to happiness.

"Happiness is not what we're given or give out,but what we have to find our millionth path."- From Unreplacable.
Joliver Aug 2018
If there was one word
One word, isolated by itself
That I cannot stand above all others
It would have to be "Okay"
I despise "Okay"
"Okay"
Is how your millionth day at work went
"Okay"
Is off-brand raisin bran
"Okay"
Is how you say life is going
When you don't want to admit you spend
Every second of it
Wanting to die

"Okay"
Is packed to the brim with
Hidden implications
Like a treasure chest
Filled with bottles
With little subliminal hatreds
Written on tiny slips of paper
Passively aggressively pushed inside
To discover later
As I pull out a treasure map
And try to decipher
Where I went wrong

"Okay"
Is a one word dismissal
That feels like an essay a thousand pages long
"Okay"
Is a poison dripping with disinterest
When I dared to share with you
Something I thought might make you smile
"Okay"
Is like trying to talk to a wall
While watching the paint on it dry
"Okay"
Takes two seconds to write
Yet I waited days
For that dreaded word
To grace my notifications
"Okay"
Should be used sparingly
As if each time you send it
You **** the receiver just a little bit
"Okay"
Should not be said so often that
I know what you're about to say
Like I saw it in a crystal ball
"Okay"
Is not looking up from your phone
When I tell you about my day
"Okay"
Is not the proper response
To "I love you"

They say that the opposite of love isn't hatred
It's indifference
And I can't think of a response
More indifferent to pouring out
My heart into your hands
Than "Okay"
At least the last thing you said to me
Before we parted ways
Showed that you cared
At least a little bit
"I hate you"
Stung less
Than the thousands of times
Over our countless conversations
You responded
"Okay"
Okay?
Bouazizi’s heavy eyelids parted as the Muezzin recited the final call for the first Adhan of the day.

“As-salatu Khayrun Minan-nawm”
Prayer is better than sleep

Rising from the torment of another restless night, Bouazizi wiped the sleep from his droopy eyes as his feet touched the cold stone floor.

Throughout the frigid night, the devilish jinn did their work, eagerly jabbing away at Bouazizi with pointed sticks, tormenting his troubled conscience with the worry of his nagging indebtedness. All night the face of the man Bouazizi owed money to haunted him. Bouazizi could see the man’s greasy lips and brown teeth jawing away, inches from his face. He imagined chubby caffeine stained fingers reaching toward him to grab some dinars from Bouazizi’s money box.

Bouazizi turned all night like he was sleeping on a board of spikes. His prayers for a restful night again went unanswered. The pall of a blue fatigue would shadow Bouazizi for most of the day.

Bouazizi’s weariness was compounded by a gnawing hunger. By force of habit, he grudgingly opened the food cupboard with the foreknowledge that it was almost bare. Bouazizi’s premonition proved correct as he surveyed a meager handful of chickpeas, some eggs and a few sparse loaves. It was just enough to feed his dependant family; younger brothers and sisters, cousins and a terminally disabled uncle. That left nothing for Bouazizi but a quick jab to his empty gut. He would start this day without breakfast.

Bouazizi made a living as a street vendor. He hustles to survive. Bouazizi’s father died in a construction accident in Libya when he was three. Since the age of 10, Bouazizi had pushed a cart through the streets of Sidi Bouzid; selling fruit at the public market just a few blocks from the home that he has lived in for almost his entire life.

At 27 years of age, Bouazizi has wrestled the beast of deprivation since his birth. To date, he has bravely fought it to a standstill; but day after day the multi-headed hydra of life has snapped at him. He has squarely met the eyes of the beast with fortitude and resolve; but the sharp fangs of a hardscrabble life has sunken deep into Bouazizi’s spleen. The unjust rules of society are powerful claws that slash away at his flesh, bleeding him dry: while the spiked tendrils of poverty wrap Bouazizi’s neck, seeking to strangle him.

Bouazizi is a workingman hero; a skilled warrior in the fight for daily bread. He is accustomed to living a life of scarcity. His daily deliverance is the grace of another day of labor and the blessed wages of subsistence.

Though Allah has blessed this man with fortitude the acuteness of terminal want and the constant struggle to survive has its limits for any man; even for strong champions like Bouazizi.

This morning as Bouazizi washed he peered into a mirror, closely examining new wrinkles on his stubble strewn face. He fingered his deep black curls dashed with growing streaks of gray. He studied them through the gaze of heavy bloodshot eyes. He looked upward as if to implore Allah to salve the bruises of daily life.

Bouazizi braced himself with the splash of a cold water slap to his face. He wiped his cheeks clean with the tail of his shirt. He dipped his toothbrush into a box of baking powder and scoured an aching back molar in need of a root canal. Bouazizi should see a dentist but it is a luxury he cannot afford so he packed an aspirin on top of the infected tooth. The dissolving aspirin invaded his mouth coating his tongue with a bitter effervescence.

Bouazizi liked the taste and was grateful for the expectation of a dulled pain. He smiled into the mirror to check his chipped front tooth while pinching a cigarette **** from an ashtray. The roach had one hit left in it. He lit it with a long hard drag that consumed a good part of the filter. Bouazizi’s first smoke of the day was more filter then tobacco but it shocked his lungs into the coughing flow of another day.

Bouazizi put on his jacket, slipped into his knockoff NB sneakers and reached for a green apple on a nearby table. He took a big bite and began to chew away the pain of his toothache.

Bouazizi stepped into the street to catch the sun rising over the rooftops. He believed that seeing the sunrise was a good omen that augured well for that day’s business. A sunbeam braking over a far distant wall bathed Bouazizi in a golden light and illumined the alley where he parked his cart holding his remaining stock of week old apples. He lifted the handles and backed his cart out into the street being extra mindful of the cracks in the cobblestone road. Bouazizi sprained his ankle a week ago and it was still tender. Bouazizi had to be careful not to aggravate it with a careless step. Having successfully navigated his cart into the road, Bouazizi made a skillful U Turn and headed up the street limping toward the market.

A winter chill gripped Bouazizi prompting him to zip his jacket up to his neck. The zipper pinched his Adam’s Apple and a few droplets of blood stained his green corduroy jacket. Though it was cold, Bouazizi sensed that spring would arrive early this year triggering a replay of a recurring daydream. Bouazizi imagined himself behind the wheel of a new van on his way to the market. Fresh air and sunshine pouring through the open windows with the cargo space overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruits.

It was a lifelong ambition of Bouazizi to own a van. He dreamed of buying a six cylinder Dodge Caravan. It would be painted red and he would call it The Red Flame. The Red Flame would be fast and powerful and sport chrome spinners. The Red Flame would be filled with music from a Blaupunkt sound system with kick *** speakers. Power windows, air conditioning, leather seats, a moonroof and plenty of space in the back for his produce would complete Bouazizi’s ride.

The Red Flame would be the vehicle Bouazizi required to expand his business beyond the market square. Bouazizi would sell his produce out of the back of the van, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood. No longer would he have to wait for customers to come to his stand in the market. Bouazizi would go to his customers. Bouazizi and the Red Flame would be known in all the neighborhoods throughout the district. Bouazizi shook his head and smiled thinking about all the girls who would like to take rides in the Red Flame. Bouazizi and his Red Flame would be a sight to be noticed and a force to be reckoned with.

“EEEEEYOWWW” a Mercedes horn angrily honked; jarring Bouazizi from the reverie of his daydream. A guy whipping around the corner like a silver streak stuck his head out the window blasting with music yelling, “Hey Mnayek, watch where you push that *******.”

The music faded as the Mercedes roared away. “Barra nikk okhtek” Bouazizi yelled, raising his ******* in the direction of the vanished car. “The big guys in the fancy cars think the road belongs to them”, Bouazizi mumbled to himself.

The insult ****** Bouazizi off, but he was accustomed to them and as he limped along pushing his cart he distracted himself with the amusement of the ascending sun chasing the fleeting shadows of the night, sending them scurrying down narrow alleyways.

Bouazizi imaged himself a character from his favorite movie. He was a giant Transformer, chasing the black shadows of evil away from the city into the desert. After battling evil and conquering the bad guys, he would transform himself back into the regular Bouazizi; selling his produce to the people as he patrolled the highways of Tunisia in the Red Flame, the music blasting out the windows, the chrome spinners flashing in the sunlight. Bouazizi would remain vigilant, always ready to transform the Red Flame to fight the evil doers.

The bumps and potholes in the road jostled Bouazizi’s load of apples. A few fell out of the wooden baskets and were rolling around in the open spaces of the cart. Bouazizi didn’t want to risk bruising them. Damaged merchandise can’t be sold so he was careful to secure his goods and arrange his cart to appeal to women customers. He made sure to display his prized electronic scale in the corner of the cart for all to see.

Bouazizi had a reputation as a fair and generous dealer who always gave good value to his customers. Bouazizi was also known for his kindness. He would give apples to hungry children and families who could not pay. Bouazizi knew the pain of hunger and it brought him great satisfaction to be able to alleviate it in others.

As a man who valued fairness, Bouazizi was particularly proud of his electronic scale. Bouazizi was certain the new measuring device assured all customers that Bouazizi sold just and correct portions. The electronic scale was Bouazizi’s shining lamp. He trusted it. He hung it from the corner post of his cart like it was the beacon of a lighthouse guiding shoppers through the treachery of an unscrupulous market. It would attract all customers who valued fairness to the safe harbor of Bouazizi’s cart.

The electronic scale is Bouazizi’s assurance to his customers that the weights and measures of electronic calculation layed beyond any cloud of doubt. It is a fair, impartial and objective arbiter for any dispute.

Bouazizi believed that the fairness of his scale would distinguish his stand from other produce vendors. Though its purchase put Bouazizi into deep debt, the scale was a source of pride for Bouazizi who believed that it would help his profits to increase and help him to achieve his goal of buying the Red Flame.

As Bouazizi pushed his cart toward the market, he mulled his plan over in his mind for the millionth time. He wasn't great in math but he was able to calculate his financial situation with a degree of precision. His estimations triggered worries that his growing debt to money lenders may be difficult to payoff.

Indebtedness pressed down on Bouazizi’s chest like a mounting pile of stones. It was the source of an ever present fear coercing Bouazizi to live in a constant state of anxiety. His business needed to grow for Bouazizi to get a measure of relief and ultimately prosper from all his hard work. Bouazizi was driven by urgency.

The morning roil of the street was coming alive. Bouazizi quickened his step to secure a good location for his cart at the market. Car horns, the spewing diesel from clunking trucks, the flatulent roar of accelerating buses mixed with the laughs and shrieks of children heading to school composed the rising crescendo of the city square.

As he pushed through the market, Bouazizi inhaled the aromatic eddies of roasting coffee floating on the air. It was a pleasantry Bouazizi looked forward to each morning. The delicious wafts of coffee mingling with the crisp aroma of baking bread instigated a growl from Bouazizi’s empty stomach. He needed to get something to eat. After he got money from his first sale he would by a coffee and some fried dough.

Activity in the market was vigorous, punctuated by the usual arguments of petty territorial disputes between vendors. The disagreements were always amicably resolved, burned away in rising billows of roasting meats and vegetables, the exchange of cigarettes and the plumes of tobacco smoke rising as emanations of peace.

Bouazizi skillfully maneuvered his cart through the market commotion. He slid into his usual space between Aaban and Aameen. His good friend Aaban sold candles, incense, oils and sometimes his wife would make cakes to sell. Aameen was the markets most notorious jokester. He sold hardware and just about anything else he could get his hands on.

Aaban was already burning a few sticks of jasmine incense. It helped to attract customers. The aroma defined the immediate space with the pleasant bouquet of a spring garden. Bouazizi liked the smell and appreciated the increased traffic it brought to his apple cart.

“Hey Basboosa#, do you have any cigarettes?“, Aameen asked as he pulled out a lighter. Bouazizi shook the tip of a Kent from an almost empty pack. Aameen grabbed the cigarette with his lips.

“That's three cartons of Kents you owe me, you cheap *******.” Bouazizi answered half jokingly. Aameen mumbled a laugh through a grin tightly gripping the **** as he exhaled smoke from his nose like a fire breathing dragon. Bouazizi also took out a cigarette for himself.

“Aameem, give me a light”, Bouazizi asked.

Aameen tossed him the lighter.

“Keep it Basboosa. I got others.” Aameen smiled as he showed off a newly opened box of disposable lighters to sell on his stand.

“Made in China, Basboosa. They make everything cheap and colorful. I can make some money with these.”

Bouazizi lit his next to last cigarette. He inhaled deeply. The smoke chased away the cool air in Bouazizi’s lungs with a shot of a hot nicotine rush.

“Merci Aameen” Bouazizi answered. He put the lighter into the almost empty cigarette pack and put it into his hip pocket. The lighter would protect his last cigarette from being crushed.

The laughter and shouts of the bazaar, the harangue of radio voices shouting anxious verses of Imam’s exhorting the masses to submit and the piecing ramble of nondescript AM music flinging piercing unintelligible static surrounded Bouazizi and his cart as he waited for his first customers of the day.

Bouazizi sensed a nervous commotion rise along the line of vendors. A crowd of tourists and locals milling about parted as if to avoid a slithering asp making its way through their midst. The hoots of vendors and the cackle of the crowd made its way to Bouazizi’s knowing ear. He knew what was coming. It was nothing more then another shakedown by city officials acting as bagmen for petty municipal bureaucrats. They claim to be checking vendor licences but they’re just making the rounds collecting protection money from the vendors. Pocketing bribes and payoffs is the municipal authorities idea of good government. They are skilled at using the power of their office to extort tribute from the working poor.

Bouazizi made the mistake of making eye contact with Madame Hamdi. As the municipal authority in charge of vendors and taxis Madame Hamdi held sway over the lives of the street vendors. She relished the power she had over the men who make a meager living selling goods in the square; and this morning she was moving through the market like a bloodhound hot on the trail of an escaped convict. Two burly henchmen lead the way before her. Bouazizi knew Madame Hamdi’s hounds were coming for him.

Bouazizi knew he was ******. Having just made a payment to his money lender, Bouazizi had no extra dinars to grease the palm of Madame Hamdi. He grabbed the handle bars of his cart to make an escape; but Madame Hamdi cut him off and got right into into Bouazizi’s face.

“Ah little Basboosa where are you going? she asked with the tone of playful contempt.

“I suppose you still have no license to sell, ah Basboosa?” Madame Hamdi questioned with the air of a soulless inquisitor.

“You know Madame Hamdi, cart vendors do not need a license.” Bouazizi feebly protested, not daring to look into her eyes.

“Basboosa, you know we can overlook your violations with a small fine for your laxity” a dismissive Madame Hamdi offered.

Bouazizi’s sense of guilt would not permit him to lift his eyes. His head remained bowed. Bouazizi stood convicted of being one of the impoverished.

“I have no spare dinars to offer Madame Hamdi, My pockets are empty, full of holes. My money falls into everyone’s palm but my own. I’m sorry Madame Hamdi. I’ll take my cart home”. He lifted the handlebars in an attempt to escape. One of Madame Hamdi’s henchmen stepped in front of his cart while the other pushed Bouazizi away from it.

“Either you pay me a vendor tax for a license or I will confiscate your goods Basboosa”, Madame Hamdi warned as she lifted Bouazizi’s scale off its hook.

“This will be the first to go”, she said grinning as she examined the scale. “We’ll just keep this.”
Like a mother lion protecting a defenseless cub from the snapping jaws of a pack of ravenous hyenas, Bouazizi lunged to retrieve his prized scale from the clutches of Madame Hamdi. Reaching for it, he touched the scale with his fingertips just as Madame Hamdi delivered a vicious slap to Bouazizi’s cheek. It halted him like a thunderbolt from Zeus.

A henchman overturned Bouazizi’s cart, scatter
Three years ago today Muhammad Bouazizi set himself on fire igniting the Jasmine Revolution in Tunisia sparking the Arab Spring Uprisings of 2011.
L B Sep 2016
Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight

Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape

Summer again

I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening

For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….

She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…

     The queen will be safe here
     from the rabble
     The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
     Among these lofty cliffs
     Between the raging circuit of the tide
     Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
     Here lovers learn
     the debt of love’s bad timing
     “Drink ye all of it!”
     --the potion that assigns our sorrow….
     She will not sleep—
     while I chew this gum--  GUM?

Roll down the window!

Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings

As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity

…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly  
Their hands steady the wheel
As a fourteen-year old, I picked up a book to read at the beach about the legend of the lovers, Tristan and Iseult.  I was so captivated by their story that it ruled my imagination that summer.  

Anyway, I still think of it when I think of the ocean-- as I did on this cold dark occasion when I should have pulled off somewhere for a coffee, but I was trying to beat the snow storm home.
Route 84, also known as Dead Bambi Highway, has a desolate, treacherous section going over the mountains between NY and Pennsylvania.  Didn't have much option for music at the time, so I leaned heavily on the radio pushing the search button to find anything bearable-- not too much static.
Song reference in this: "Time of the Season" by the Zombies-- all time favorite beach song that happened to be on the radio that night.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBxK3CcOQD8
Take for example this:

if to the colour of midnight
to a more than darkness(which
is myself and Paris and all
things)the bright
rain
occurs deeply,beautifully

and i(being at a window
in this midnight)
                      for no reason feel
deeply completely conscious of the rain or rather
Somebody who uses roofs and streets skilfully to make a
possible and beautiful sound:

if a(perhaps)clock strikes,in the alive
coolness,very faintly and
finally through altogether delicate gestures of rain

a colour comes,which is morning,O do not wonder that

(just at the edge of day)i surely
make a millionth poem which will not wholly
miss you;or if i certainly create,lady,
one of the thousand selves who are your smile.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
poet, or philosopher, it doesn't really matter which is which, or whether the two are indistinguishable, notable in the former scenario, when someone has an eclectic bounty of interest is simply not love-scorned or love-nostalgic, love-idealistic, does it really matter? i was once called a philosopher: a teenage girl said in third person (as if she was a puppet and some-thing was moving her tongue): 'talk to this philosopher'... not in that sarcastic way that philosopher is an misnomer or an abused term of: self-gratifying grandeour, it was quiet genuine, but: imagine my shock... i had an ambition in life, it was to perform a service to thinking: without doing as much as hammering a nail into a plank of wood, that's the ambition of any thinking man: to borderline on telekinesis or telepathy... that was Hegel's modus operandi, his categorical imperative... after all: ego is a metaphysical tool, while thought is its metaphysical canvas... the mere suggestion that a copernican inversion can happen in physics "contra" metaphysics... it's already apparent, any word can behave like a hand touching the sacred object / subject of transfiguration and become something else, even a misnomer can find itself given solace to the user... for now i've forged a belief in the ultimate: away from the absolute in relation to omni in unum - one first has to learn to think, before having to learn to feel... mind you, i don't like the current nietzschean inversion of the cartesian equation: (ego) sum ergo (ego) cogito... esp. among the youtube political commentators, too many examples to give: i'm a classical liberal, i'm a progressive, i'm a liberterian... i don't really like seeing: i am, precede i think... i don't even like the origin-argument of this inversion: i exist for the sole purpose of thinking... after all: i think prior to being, since i can also daydream and not be what my thinking suspects as a possible truth-outcome... that's the nature of the freedom of thought: i don't have to be what i think, i can find thinking to be a pleasure, when the senses do not offer me any pleasure derivative, e.g. eating can sometimes be boring, chewing, chewing, *******... i eat because i need to live: i don't live to eat... i really have under-appreciated Hegel, i should really visit my grandparents for two months and read the phenomenology of the spirit: i'm trying to replicate the saying attributed to him (verbatim), but i doubt that i will, i don't have the patience to sift through all the quotes, but it goes along the lines of: beware oh wordly man, to not be a pawn in a thinking man's game... hence my suggestion of philosophy entering into the realms of telekinesis and telepathy: you get to see things play out and people express the origin story, of your own memetic generation of the original idea... how are poets finally alligned to philosophers? good thing that i studied chemistry at edinburgh university: we return to atoms, words are no longer enough, sure, they are, contrary to the statement...  (why did i under-appreciate Hegel? ah... had my head stuck up heidegger's and kant's *****...

  integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
    i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
  i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
   i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...

   if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
          ringo star h'ahmed...
  george ali...
                paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
  i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
              and sun-burnt bananas!

a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
        but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
        right on the plonker...
                 i'm not finished!
                        i'm just getting started!

gehirnablassen:

perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...

so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!

i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
   4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
  (one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
                   12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!

    gehirnablassen...
                   brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
   for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...

1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha       khaos
2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
     graphemes: sz phi theta
      compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
       brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
    virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
   german 19th century fascination
with islam...
     θought and φilosophy...
   greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...

1.

chamaleon tongue,                    shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.

p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.
Nik Krutilla Sep 2012
She sits across from me sipping and slurping her fat free french vanilla.
While I'm pacing myself with cappuccino imitation.

"All I'm saying is, that if he starts calling me baby, I might wanna keep him!"

She says it with that cajoling tone.
But I can notice the glimmer in her eyes that tells me she longs for that.
That sweet pet name that would mean she's special to him, in her mind...

I never could get comfortable around those things...pet names.
Cutesy little endearments reserved for a child's affection.

What is wrong with me?

She's vibrating with unmasked giddiness, glancing at her phone.
They've been dating for only months but she is lost in him.

Him.
With his once a week date nights
and clean shaven face
and joking interaction with her friends.  

She's full of soft embrace and warm affection and vulnerable interest.
Wanting never looked so form fitting on a person.
Like a cup waiting for a refill...

"If you want, I could see if his friend is up for dinner next week? You know it's been months for you..."

I hope she doesn't choke on her millionth slurp with the glare of indignation leveled at her cherub-like face.

"Ah thanks, but no thanks." races out of my mouth before I even hesitate to pretend to consider her obvious proposal.

How is it that easy to just offer companionship like that? Do I give off a "desperate for love" vibe?
And what the hell makes her think I can't find someone on my own **** time?


"Okay, okay. It's just...I hate seeing you alone. Don't you want to not be alone anymore?"

I know she loves me but those kind of questions from her caring heart, make me contemplate knocking her in the head.

My alone-ness she says.
My singular existence.

I'd laugh at her if I didn't know it would hurt her feelings.
To disregard her feeble attempts at pairing me up with whatever half-assed man candy she could sway my way.

I'm staring at the ring left from my coffee,
wondering if I should just give in this one time for her,
for me,
for the over used batteries at home.

"I'm not lonely you know. I just, haven't felt that connection yet."

Looking pitifully back at me she wonders aloud, "You're always waiting on that connection but have you ever felt it before? I mean, how do you know it's even real, that body, mind, spirit...magnet pull you believe so fiercely?"

It's the first time I've given her a genuine smile today as I tell her yes I have felt it before.
Briefly...
Bitter sweetly...

I just never got his last name.

It might have been years ago but I can still recall with clarity that electric tornado that seemed to have surrounded us.

We had only been gifted ten hours together but it left a mark on me for over fourteen years.
His face is definitely matured I imagine and his body shaped differently.
But I'll never mistake those sea green eyes, haloed by dusty blue cloud rings.  

The only boy who has ever made me want to get lost and never be found.

"Well...good luck with that. But until mystery man crashes back into your life, for god's sake live a little huh!"

She means well I'm sure but like an eager pup I just tsk at her goofily plastered expression and finish off the grainy remains of my only afternoon delight. She's in a hurry to make her "honey bunny" a homemade dinner anyway so it's not hard to cut things short on our weekly coffee shop vent session.

She's floating out the door before I even get my coat above my elbows but I can't feel offended.
Mulling over the uncomfortable idea of boring interaction with another stranger I decide to grab one more drink for the ride home.

Alone.

Oh, wonderful...now she's planted that seed.

Shaking it off, I order my vice and move benignly to wait and resolve to not think about anything related to that anymore either.

"Seems outrageous they charge so much for imitation don't you think?"

The question's asked to me but I pretend I can't hear it. A guy hitting on me today is not what I want to deal with.

And he seems to be standing right behind me
making goosebumps scatter across my neck.

He tries again, "So I guess you like buying bottom of the barrel cappuccino?"

This time I've gotten a little itchy from his voice and want him to just stop in his tracks.
So I turn to tell him where, in fact, he can go...

But I'm the one stopped short and a bit flabbergasted.

No way do things happen to me like this.

Those coincidental, lucky, fated things...

I almost wish I was a liar right now with the things I just spilled to my loyally, encouraging friend.
Because there is no way the universe would be this cruel.

Finally I exhale and word *****,

"They're the only place that taste just like the ones at my grandmas' house every summer when I was a girl. I waited a long time to find that connection again, even if it is just coffee..."

The smirking face and broad shoulders that greet me aren't the cause of my temporary delirium.
Not even the wild hair and black rimmed glasses.

It's the sea green, haloed dusty blue eyes centering all the rest that shallow my breaths

Of all the places.....

Like a falling satin sheet his face morphs into a query riddled expression.

I hear the barista call out a name and he reluctantly steps away, never taking his eyes off mine whispering,

"I'll...be right back. Don't move...please?"

I'm nodding like an awkward parrot and he turns to grab his imitation coffee.
The same kind I'm waiting on.
And I start smiling after a second.

Not because of the similar drink order, which could be anyone...

But because of something I haven't known until this moment for over fourteen years.
All thanks to fate, or destiny...
Or perhaps the oblivious barista.

His last name...


*© NDHK
Ellie Elliott Mar 2014
There is a tear in my existence,
the gap between two milk teeth
breaking away from wide-mouthed childlike innocence
and falling out,
lost to ice cream cones and garden fences
teen dream dancing and cool pretenses
ignorant bliss, aimless goals
and the taste of near-empty Jack Daniels bottles
seems wiped from me
like a milk moustache.

Adulthood, what are you but a mistress who is cruel to be kind
curling and winding around me until I choke in your perfectly proper pencil skirt?
What are you but a greater knowledge of the world and a lesser understanding of it?
What are you but a greater understanding of the self and a lesser affinity with it?

Adulthood, what are you but broken dreams and disappointment?
What are you but bigger dreams with arms that reach beyond death itself?
What do you bring except shrivelled skin and nostalgia for once upon a times?
What but wisdom and a sense of sanguine satisfaction?
What are you but blood and cells and bells and *** and terrific notions and consequences and deckchairs and chinaware and despair?

Adulthood, what are you but glazed-over wasted days and self-loathing?
What are you but three hundred responsibilities taken care of all at once, caffeine eyes and welling pride?
What are you but the inevitable crash and getting smashed and suddenly remembering why I should do things one at a time?

What are you but change upon change upon change upon mistakes made again for the millionth time?
And my changes, now lifeless
cause an identity crisis
about whether I'm really any different in the end
the likes of which will no doubt be seen again
when Monday rolls around,
what are you but Mondays, endless Mondays
driving me into the ground?

Oh Adulthood,
what are you but a downsize of naivity, a self-belief redundancy, a vitamin D deficiency and a proper place for everything apart from me?
What are you but desperate faces smashing into one another, drowning lungs, curtains pulled down, curtains put up, curtains being suddenly important? Curtains ******* me up?
What are you but woodsmoke and patios, warm faces, good graces and the ceaselessly mounting cost of Freddos, buildings and building things and falling in love...

And falling in love, falling asleep, falling awake, falling apart, falling together, falling
falling
falling
down.

What are you, Adulthood, but always always getting back up again no matter what, and alarms and reminders and no bed times
but being so tired you start to admire
that even the sun must sleep sometimes,
even if it always comes back up, shining even brighter
until the timing is right until the living is right until the mind is right only then can we stop trying
only then can we die
no wonder the afterlife is idealised
and even then, will I see the light?
Can I stop now?
Is it really alright?

What are you Adulthood, but a long list of questions?
Because I have so much to ask, you see, but mostly

What are you here for, except to show me how good I had it before?

Adulthood, I don't know.
ellie elliott
annvelope Oct 2014
I don't know a lot of things
But,
I do know Life is good and serious.

So this morning I woke to the touch of a morning sun, softly teasing my eyes apart. I found the smile I thought I had missed. The first thing that came into my mind was the word 'grateful'. I am very grateful for my amazing family and friends and my wonderful cozy home. I’m also consistently thankful for the little things in life that remind me just how lucky I am. But at this moment, at this point, I just want to jot down everything that makes me feel thankful for having a powerful and strongest boyfriend in my life. You had no idea how this feeling blessed for the millionth time.

When I describe the perfect boyfriend I could have, I think of one I already had. Actually, to me perfectness in my eyes does exist. What I call perfect is my boyfriend Hedzmy. The first thing I noticed was his long wavy jet black hair and I was hooked (well not literally hooked at that time) because he wasn't my taste after all (maybe it's because of he is so Melayuish a.k.a typical malay guy). I'm constantly impressed with the ones who speaks very well in English. But, that was before. The longer I get to know him, the more I began to get bonded...and then I fell deeply in love with him. I don't even know how that happened.

Hedzmy is such an amazing guy, not that tall, smart, sensitive, he got the cutest smile, has a pair of beautiful very-dark brown eyes and a very unique hairstyle. He is the sweetest person you could ever meet. He wears nice clothing, he loves to dress preppy on some special occasions or either any day at times. An example of wearing preppy clothing will be a nice casual long sleeves shirt, nice printed T, slanted skinny pants, and nice high top Converse shoes. His favorite color is red, he loves good food and a good passion in photography. He plays guitar, eventhough it wasn't that good, but I just love watching him play and sing. Yet, you had no idea how much I love his voice.

I’ve been together with my boyfriend for 1 year. Hedzmy has been such a wonderful person to me. He has been there for me, cared for me and loved me like no one else ever had. Every time I’m not in a great mood, he always finds a way for me to smile and laugh and forget about the bad things. He has even got me going forward to a good path so I can make my dreams come true and so I can be the happiest person alive. But I’m happy as long as he is with me and is there for me. I may ******* things up a lot throughout our relationship, but it just happened and I didn't mean to hurt his feelings as well. I love my boyfriend so much and it scares me when I realized that for the first time in my entire life, I was really falling in love. Falling in love for who he is. He's amazing. Eventhough there were times I recalls when he tweeted about how he wish he could turn back time to save his previous relationship and so on, (that was like after we've been together for almost half of months), well it really breaks my heart. Imagine how someone sees you for the first time and telling you how much they want you to be with them but the fact is they still can't let go of the past? Painful isn't it? So I began to seek for attention by making a lot of friends with boys but none of them attracts me. It is because, I love my boyfriend. I just want to be with him. I have the guts to take him to see my parents. How I love seeing him tested by my mom to see if he could tolerate her.

Sometimes, in the beginning, and even still today, I’ll become untrusting and difficult, attacking out of nowhere. The naive trust that I had so long ago got used up and beaten up by the wrong person. But unlike that wrong person, when he used to attack for no reason, chase protects everything.

I had no goal in my life but to make him happy. I was in fear of loosing him, loosing this companionship between us. Loosing something I have placed so much effort into. Thus I had no confidence to speak up for 1 year, there was no sense of belonging, passion or safety. Just me thinking this is the best thing that had ever happened me, I won't be able to find anyone else and I didn't want to loose it, so I would do what ever it takes to protect it.

Many people say perfectness is nowhere to be found but in my world there is. Hedzmy is perfect, no matter of fact he is beyond perfect. He doesn’t see the perfect and amazing part in him but I do. Now, what makes me happy is his English is improving! And I am so glad I could help him bits by bits. Sometimes the little things in life mean the most, right?

Happy 1st Anniversary Sayang,
           I love you to the moon and back! **
Ayad Gharbawi Dec 2009
THE STORY OF SARA

Ayad Gharbawi


CHAPTER 2: UNIVERSITY

  
  Well, I did study and, I did pass my exams, and I did succeed in ending up in a decent, upper class school!
  How did I pay for it? I hear you ask me?
  I didn't: I got a scholarship!
  And, what a new world I faced!
  What a totally different society I saw!
  I felt that I was in another country, for I never knew that there existed, from my own people, men and women such as those I encountered!
  My studies in psychiatry really excited me: I thought that I would be able to 'solve' anyone's mental problems.
  All I had to do, was to study and study as feverishly as I could.
Studying furiously, and with love and passion, was the key to success.
  Study, and then you pass your examinations, and then you become a doctor in psychiatry - and I would thereby become successful.
  I would then be someone important.
  I would be respected by everyone.
  My life would have a purpose and a meaning because I would be going in the correct path.
It was simple as that!
  And what was the alternative?
  Not to study?
  And what would I do then?
  Go do a menial, low paying job?
  That was anathema to me!
  It made me sick, to even think about that!
  Why?
  Because, I came from a poor background, and I lived in poverty, and I saw the culture and the people who lived in poverty, and by God, I don’t want to ever live in those circumstances ever again in my life.
  What was poverty to me?
  Your house is ugly; your neighbourhood is ugly; your neighbours are the most indecent people you can imagine.
  The area you live in, swarms with people who live their lives in ‘anti-social behaviour’!
  And what’s ‘anti-social behaviour’?
  That means your community is one, where most people are drunks in  public, where fights, with guns and knives, are an everyday occurrence; where the most filthy language is the norm in public; where ******* covers large parts of the town; where vandalism and damage to cars and property is another daily occurrence; where people play ear-deafening music in the streets and there’s nothing you can do – because, if you call the police, they’ll obey, but then they’ll come back and make hell out of your life – in other words, the gangs rule the community.
  Aren’t those enough reasons to get out of poverty?!
  And, then for me, there are other things that are really important to me.
  For example:
  I mean, who is going to respect you, if you have a menial job? Who is going to look up at you?
  Who is going to listen to your words, when you speak?
  And, most importantly, are you yourself going to be happy with your self and with your life, if you had a menial job?
  Of course not!
  To be a fully satisfied human, you need to live in respectable surroundings with a respectable job.
  Otherwise, there cannot be happiness for you.

  Once I joined my university, I encountered mostly upper class students.
  That’s why, I say it was like ‘another world’ for me, because I had never encountered people like that before!
  Their dress was different; their accent and they way they spoke was different; but what interested me the most, was the fact, that their intellectual interests were extremely varied, as opposed to the people that I had grown up with and knew – those people whose only interests, were getting drunk, practicing promiscuity, crime and drugs!
  Now outside classes, I got began to get involved with different groups of academic students – each group held differing ideas about the world, politics, economics, philosophy of life - and any other subject you can imagine.
  I was never interested in what I called the other 'superficial' groups; that is, those who discussed what I considered to be the stupidities of life, such as fashion, make up, cars, sports and so on. No way; not for me, were people like that!
  For I was far too serious for such mind-wasting people, and, frankly life-wasting people.
  No, I wanted to learn; my God how utterly hungry and thirsty and deadly serious about acquiring more and more knowledge on every 'serious' subject I was - so that, one day, I would be a useful and productive human to society!
  If I was not in my classes, and if I was not listening to those intellectuals, I would sit on any desk and search the internet and read endlessly, on any and every 'serious' subject.

With respect to my classes, as the months rolled over, I began to feel, and think, that my professors were not all that smart at all. I began to feel that they were, in fact, quite ordinary, dull people. But then, I grappled with next obvious question: if they were 'ordinary' and 'dull' people, then how come they were professors – and by 'professors', I mean that they must be far from 'ordinary'? Surely, any person, who is able to be a professor, must be intelligent?
  And yet, the more I listened and took down notes from these professors, and the more I analyzed their words and ideas, the more I became convinced at their emptiness and stupidity!
  My God, you must believe me, for they were talking utter *******!
  Well, who exactly, 'made' them professors?
  I began to dislike them.
  Then, the obvious consequences took place in my mind: the more I disliked them, the less I paid attention to their words and that, in turn, increased my boredom in class!
  No, this was a complete and utter waste of time for me. Yes, I would still need to read the text books given to us by the university, and I would need to understand these books in order to pass the examinations.
  But, I was also determined to do my own independent psychiatry studies, in order to find the ways and means of solving people's emotional problems.

I found it really thrilling to see so many students having so many ideas about the world, because, for me it was so utterly unusual to see young people actually caring about so many issues in our lives!
  You had the conservatives; socialists; Dadaists, existentialists, communists of every shade you can imagine; fascists, socialists, liberals, Nazis, monarchists, Hare Krishnas, Hindus, Budhists, yoga-followers, animal rights campaigners, environmentalists, religious fundamentalists, anarchists  - the list was quite endless to the point of absurdity for, within each group, there were sub-groups, that ranged from the so-called 'left' to the so-called 'right'.
  However, in all this confusion and chaos, there were, at least two things, that you knew for certain: and that was, firstly; that no group agreed with any other group, whilst secondly; every 'leader' of any group sincerely and passionately believed that, yes they, and only they, had all the answers to all the questions that faced our dear Humanity!

But with time, it dawned on me that that most of these intellectual students were not quite what I expected of them.
They would passionately discuss any subject and in excruciating detail!
  To me not every subject was worthy of being discussed!
  Everything was criticized in university.
  Everything was questionable.
  Nothing was certain.
  On the opposite these students believed that they had a duty to deeply philosophise and intricately analyse and scrutinize from every angle every subject and issue in our planet!
  Nothing was accepted and nothing was taken for granted.
  And it was exhausting to listen to them!
  I say ‘exhausting’ because after every meeting, I would actually feel emptier!
  I simply did not learn or gain anything from all these endless discussions!
  So they would analyse issues like: what is the soul?
  What is the difference between the soul and the spirit?
  Where is the soul located?
  Where is the mind located?
  What is the difference between bravery and foolishness?
  Are mathematical facts like 1+1=2 discovered or created by mathematicians?
  What does the word ‘the’ mean?
  What does the word ‘a’ mean?
  Who has a right to create rules and laws?
  How much taxes should each adult pay?
  Is the universe finite or infinite?

  And so it went on and on until your brain became numb with the deafening boredom and pointlessness of it all.
  What irritated me the most was that with these groups of students, was that nothing was sacred.
  Nothing was certain.
On the opposite, everything was completely uncertain.


  As for myself, I gradually gravitated to the leftists – that mixture of socialists, communists, anarchists and other such-like groups.
  Why?
  Because to me their philosophy was more or less simple.
  There wasn’t all that endless series of critiques and analysis that so nearly damaged my brains!
  Their idea was simple: we had to removed the oppressors.
And the oppressors was anyone who had power and influence.
  And what kind of society did we want?
  A purely egalitarian one where there would be neither master nor slave.
  Simple!
  Here I found that much needed sense of certainty!
  Here was an ideal, a philosophy that had strict rules that we were meant to follow in order to achieve our sacred aims!
  

  I was immediately attracted to one student leader, Tony, who passionately urged his listeners to use any means necessary – except violence –in order to achieve our goals of total equality within our society.
  He was a tall man of average weight, with short hair – actually, let me immediately stop myself here - because actually there was absolutely and totally nothing remarkable about the way he looked; but what really made him so attractive was in his personal charm, and the way he spoke, with such a theatrical ability, that made you unable to move as long as he talked.
  I can still see him, as he gracefully gesticulated in such an animated manner, giving further power and reason, to every word and idea he uttered:
  "Can't you see and feel what is going all around you? My friends, listen to my words, because we are living in a society that is dominated by greed and ultimately misery and death on an everyday scale. Why is the dustman paid any less than a doctor? Aren't we all human beings, born free and equal? And, so, if you, my friends, agree with me that all men, women and children, are equal, then it should make obvious sense to you that we should all live equally. Do you feel what I am saying to your hearts, or not?!" he would thunder at us, with his face contorting from the passion, and with his ability to be so majestic and, yet, so utterly humble at the same moment!
  Yes, I began to think more and more about what Tony had to say.    Why was there poverty in the first place?
  Where was Humanity?


  Indeed, aren't we all equal human beings; so why this discrimination? It seemed so sensible to me; and yet, what was I, Sara the Nobody, doing about this problem?
  Nothing, of course.
  Yes, I was just a student – but I was not actively working against the dark forces, as Tony was always talking about.
  Tony would mesmerize his listeners, which were usually held in the evenings, at around eight o'clock.
  He always managed to talk to you directly – or so it felt, despite the large number of listeners.
  "There are people who make millions in minutes – did you people know that?  While most people in our society struggle and sweat not only tears, but, I tell you, they sweat blood – yes blood" he would scream at this point, "day in and day out, and getting paid next to nothing, you also have a minority who make millions in minutes!   How can you, yes you, tell me that that is fair? Why do you, my listeners, why do you lamely accept, that we live in a society that allows conditions, whereby the majority, and I say the vast majority of human beings, men and women, have to bleed to death just, to pay their never ending bills, while a minority lead an easy life overflowing with money, glamour, power and luxuries that are indescribable? I ask you again and again to answer my questions: is that fair? And if it is not fair, then what should be done about this sick situation? Well, clearly, we must use violence to take our rights, because no democracy will allow our party to succeed in any election and obviously the rich will never voluntarily give up their oceans of wealth; therefore, if you ask me, what is to be done, I firmly tell you as my response, that we must fight for our eternal rights, and by using the verb 'fight', I mean we 'fight' with every weapon at our disposal – be they words or bullets!"
  I was simply exhilarated by his symphony of words!
  And yet, I couldn’t help but feel that there was something ‘missing’ in Tony’s personality.  
  He just didn’t have that supreme self assurance that others had.
  I guess that was what was ‘missing’.
  I couldn’t understand why he did have that degree of insecurity – because, it seemed to be a contradiction when you are living your life for an ideal, and at the same time, you have insecurities within your heart!

  It was also at university, that I first met Sanji.
  He was a tall, dark wavy haired man with a dark complexion.  His beautifully oval eyes had a deeply pensive look, and at the same time, they were always somehow mired within a sorrowful gaze.
  Even when he would talk to you, Sanji's eyes seemed to be far away, deep in thought, about God knows what subject!
  Gracing his eyes, were beautifully arched eyebrows and the longest, thickest eyelashes I have ever seen, that beautifully complimented those seemingly lonely eyebrows in perfect harmony.
  He was a quiet, soft spoken gentleman, who was the most polite and sincere man I had ever met – I would forever ask myself, how can this man, be so gentle and compassionate, and without seeming to get distressed, angry or anxious?!
  He had such a depth of serenity in his personality – and that trait was something that made so utterly envious of him; I was constantly wishing and trying to have a millionth of that serenity of his.
  He was utterly sure of himself – and not in any arrogant way. He was completely happy and secure with the ideas and principles which guided him throughout his life.
  He had a complete knowledge as to what the purpose of his life was. As a result he knew exactly where he was going with his life.
  There was no sense of being lost with Sanji; for he knew the endless, twisted, meandering number of Paths of Life ahead of him - and more importantly he knew which path he wanted to tread on in his life’s journey.
  He would never use foul language; and would always listen to you with interest as you talked – which is rare in our world.
  And he had that most beautiful ability and talent to be so extra careful in choosing his words when he spoke, for he always wanted to get his thoughts and ideas properly across to you, so that people would understand him well, and so that there would be no confusion as to what he stood for.
  That's why he was so pensive and why he spoke so deliberately; there was never any impulsiveness on his part; he intended exactly every word, and exactly every phrase, and every sentence he used; there never was any carelessness on his part when he would interact with you.


  I never met a man who was so wholly and totally considerate for the feeling
Kafersuseh One-Dimensional Beams II; In this environment of preservation of links and communication with each other, Raeder, Petrobus the Pelican and Alikanto were in a state of maximum stillness and complacency, they were enjoying the reality that was experienced with the child. Raeder unexpectedly leads Petrobus out of the barn and begins an exploration of the rolling nativity event. Here he takes hold of the gold-jade rings and takes flight towards the upper part of the stable, where he can see from above that it did not look like an ordinary stable, rather it seemed like a seat of the Faith where he observed that some prowling on the roof cherubs, they jumped and crossed mimicking the same gestures that Joshua made in his manger. Impressed, Raeder approached them and began to share with them, flying over where they could do it with their new friends. After a while, Alikanto joined them, who also enjoyed these games precisely, but did not see the Cherubim. He only saw how the two of them jumped but was surrounded by a large concentration of flying Lepidoptera. At the end of the night, when dawn begins, everyone retires and goes to their tents, not knowing what to decide for the next day. The tired Apostle next to Vernarth was glorious with joy after having recalled this episode of the arrival of a Messiah who would transport them from this stable to Gethsemane where his native Aramaic jargon had to enable him to generate synergy between the areas of the Gardens of the Olive trees and Gethsemane, to concatenate the entire phylogeny He only saw how the two of them jumped but surrounded by a large concentration of flying Lepidoptera. At the end of the night, when dawn begins, everyone retires and goes to their tents, not knowing what to decide for the next day. The tired Apostle next to Vernarth was glorious with joy after having recalled this episode of the arrival of a Messiah who would transport them from this stable to Gethsemane where his native Aramaic jargon had to enable him to generate synergy between the areas of the Gardens of the Olive trees and Gethsemane, to concatenate the entire phylogeny He only saw how the two of them jumped but surrounded by a large concentration of flying Lepidoptera. At the end of the night, when dawn begins, everyone retires and goes to their tents, not knowing what to decide for the next day. The tired Apostle next to Vernarth was glorious with joy after having recalled this episode of the arrival of a Messiah who would transport them from this stable to Gethsemane where his native Aramaic jargon had to enable him to generate synergy between the areas of the Gardens of the Olive trees and Gethsemane, to concatenate the entire phylogenies a new bonding relationship between species that were appropriate and endemic to the region near the stable at Bethlem to be inter-inseminated on banks of the Gethsemane slopes, so that linguistics would begin to absorb Joshua and go for a closer shortcut towards the classification of the traditional and omnipotent variants that migrated through the Olive Trees, to renew and preserve the Aramaic or Aramaic languages ​​of a shared origin now, for the omnipotent salvific languages ​​that were to be redirected in Gethsemane. Once leaving for the city of the eight gates, Raeder continued to sway on the roof with the Cherubim, rather they were already inseparable until he received an order from Alikanto that they should hurry back to the stores. He leaves but some mischievous Cherubim follow them and escort them to the tent. The next day at dawn they stand in front of them serenely as if they were still in Kafersesuh. They prepare the camels and the belongings, to resume the return to the final grand opening of Judah; to initiate the trades of reintegration of Saint John the Apostle to the surrealism that predicted him to split poles in his former exile and reintegration, under an early departure to revive the cathedrals of constant ringing and constant vibrating in the bells of Jerusalem and Gethsemane. everyone rides, the Hexagonal Birthright and King David tighten the incisors of the camels heading towards the new door that they took turns opening once they arrived in Jerusalem. Raeder and Petrobus arrived late, flying from the top of the caravan alongside the Cherubim who now guarded them. While the Crickets consumed all the laws that were incommensurable with the litanies of Angels that waited to unroll from In dextro qui non ad altare. "On the boast of those who did not have to reach the altar"



Paraps XXVII

Messiah of Judah IV part

Miracle V- Gethsemane / Aramic Phylogeny

They leave Bethlehem undivided in the Giant Ungulates. Of the seven spaces in the column, the last one that was occupied was the seventh where King David went. Of the five remaining spaces, the Cherubs went, they were playing with Raeder and Petrobus; they showed off with their adventures flying towards elevations of the majestic Sun. The Cherubim tinkled with colors of Abrahamic angelic beings involved in the worship and praise of the Caravan. The Cherubim are first mentioned on the route back to Jerusalem with the large turnout of bumblebees, bees, and wasps all flying alongside Raeder, Petrobus, and Alikanto. They would all stay for up to half a mile before reaching the eight gates and resuming their course to the Garden of Gethsemane. They were surrounded by Debkas dancing in their Aramaic phylogeny. The bumblebees were encrusted by the hills loaded with echoes outside of man...., placing themselves to the east of the Garden of Eden in rows of Cherubim with a flaming sword that turned on all sides to guard the path of the tree of life. Ezekiel describes "four living creatures" as the same beings as the Cherubs, each having four faces that were like a man, a lion, an ox, and an eagle, and each one was tetra-winged. As for their appearance of them: "there was in them the likeness of man" These used two of their wings to fly and the other two to cover their bodies, under their wings they seemed to have the shape or resemblance of a man's hand that resembled the Aramean phylogeny that linked environmental and organic pollinations of Lepidoptera that were carrying the fertilizing spheres to reach the angiosperms. The Christic language was inaugurating the fringe of the frolicsome land that awaited the inauguration of Linguistic Phylogeny to attend to the decrees for the perenniality of the language that relates Gethsemane with the Olivo presses, the Cherubs beating their wings to reach Father Abba. With the flashes of the Apocalypse, the Cherubim danced happily, magnifying the presence of the Apostle in the Hexagonal Birthright with the holiness and power of God, This is one of their main responsibilities throughout the abbey and members mobilize to meet one of the twelve apostles with propaedeutic assonance attached to the twelve Giga camels, in addition to singing praises to Yahweh they also served as a visible reminder of the majesty and glory of the Messiah. The Apostle says by parapsychological regression: "A fascinating route on foot in Jerusalem begins at the top of the Mount of Olives and curiously leads us to the route that will be taken after the evangelical legs of the camelids that will take them to the Holy Sepulchre, Continuing through the Damascus Gate..., here the camelids became restless! Very close by, the topography of the top of the Mount between the route at the foot of Bethany and Jerusalem was perceived, the Garden of Gethsemane crammed with Angels appeared to us..., Joshua's prayers in Aramaic are felt slipping into camel snores as pleas are heard before his arrest in the Garden." Here at that moment, it happens that the flies arrested the apostle, taking him to a specific sector of the orchard where sacred water and humid wind continue to flow, having olive trees growing in the embossed garden with enormous oil press to border them by olive oil pipeline to grace the Lord in laurels from Daphnomancy such a holistic form of divination by which it is intended to make predictions using laurel leaves and branches chewing them before and then lighting them towards the crackle of the consecrated fire of Gethsemane Aramaic that lit paths and feet of Joshua. also carried on its four wings the Cherubim four laurels on each laureate wing.Thickened by palmistry energy, they walked towards the main entrance of the oil press, They arrive in the surroundings of Gethsemane surrounded by Daphnomancy of laurels carried on their wings by the Seraphim, Bumblebees, and others who would be in charge of inseminating the pollinating particles in the angiosperms, thus rescuing minimal words and verbal serial in the words that were transferred from the stable Kafersuseh in Bethlehem so as not to lose the Aramaic word, thus being redistributed to Gethsemane by the Lepidoptera and Bumblebees, wasps and bees. This inter-organic phenomenon would re-couple the verbalized accents of Joshua in middle age and in the unborn in such a way as to preserve the Aramaic dialect, to re-clone the same groupings and intentions as the environmental phylogeny of the dialect in a ritual culture that would redact with insects. and Cherubim, to re-enchant all the pluralities that would be arranged in the Garden to energize the salvific and appearing oil pipelines of the image of Saint John the Apostle, King David, Vernarth, Etréstles, Eurídice, and the rest that make up further from the seventh camelid until reaching the latest; the Fifth Cherub that will be the scribe present together with Pedro and the two sons of Zebedeo, only one with the one nearby in great courage, San Ioannis. His Holiness Joshua used to say: "Abba..., Father, all things are possible for you, take this cup away from me; But not what I want, but what you want. Joshua came later and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter: Simon, are you sleeping? Have not you been able to watch for one hour? Watch and pray so that you do not enter into temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. Again he went and prayed, saying the same words. When he returned, he found them sleeping again because their eyes were heavy with sleep; And they didn't know what to answer. He came the third time and said to them: Sleep now and rest. Enough, the hour has come; behold, the Son of Man is delivered into the hands of sinners. Get up, let's go; Behold, the one who delivers me is approaching." From small lively henchmen lights were seen to greater discontent..., they were the executioner, attached to the broken hostile leaf of the laurel that fell on his back "In flames and crackling in all his offspring "The anticipated visions were fertilized by the Cherubs that anticipated events in the chronological life of the apostle having to do with his life as an apostle and evangelist of the new succession after returning from exile. He came close already entering through a path, that was a road where the rows of pipes were that crossed the Getsemaní subsoil. Fifth Cherubim of the Septuagint: "As a scribe of the Hexagonal Primogeniture I make reference to two hundred years before the birth of Jesus, a Greek translation of the Hebrew scriptures developed and became widely accepted as a legitimate (even inspired) translation. Tradition relates to how King Ptolemy II of Egypt established a vast library in Alexandria. However, it was not complete, and he wanted to have a copy of the Hebrew Scriptures in it. Ptolemy sent representatives to Jerusalem and invited the Jewish elders to prepare a new Greek translation of the text. Seventy-two elders six from each of the 12 tribes of Israel came to Egypt to fulfill the request. And as your Santiago, you will write with me the allegory that will shine brightest in Alexandria. Thus they were led to the lonely island of Pharos where at the end of 72 days their work was completed. King Ptolemy was pleased with the result and placed it in his library. When the task was completed the translators compared everything and it was discovered that each one was miraculously identical to the others. The result later became known as the Septuagint (from the Greek word for 70) and was especially popular with Greek-speaking Jews for centuries to come. Hebrew was displaced and Aramaic prevailed, which is the New Testament language that will influence the eclectic of Aramaic as a language that was also ascended with Joshua to heaven to communicate with all the preaching of his Father in the sacred phylogeny with Lepidoptera and his entourage "I am sitting on the last camel, and I know I will be the first."

Ellipsis Prophet Elijah: "They were on Mount Carmel when I summoned the faithful of Baal, Asherah and others. I summoned them to seal a new pact on the slopes that pointed to the howls in Jezrael from where a prolonged and accursed drought was lamented. At the moment all the congregants were absorbed before the imprecation that he made before Ahab asking for the abandonment of Baal and finalizing the 450 pagan prophets, they called Baal in several days and nights and did not answer, Elijah, mocked him saying "Call him with all your might Maybe he fell asleep and needs someone to wake him up." The people gathered on the mountain and then Elijah told them: "You have to decide, If Jehovah is the true God, follow him But if Baal is the true God, follow him. Let's do a test: the 450 prophets of Baal must prepare an offering and call their god, I am going to prepare an offering and call Jehovah. The god who responds by sending fire is the true God." The people accepted. Elijah put his offering on an altar and poured a lot of water on it. Then he prayed: "O Jehovah, let the people see that you are the true God." Immediately Jehovah sent fire from heaven to burn up the offering. The people shouted: "Jehovah is the true God!" Now Elijah said, "Let no prophet of Baal escape." That day, They killed the 450 prophets of Baal. Then a little cloud appeared over the sea, and Elijah said to Ahab, "There's a storm coming. Get your car ready and go home." The sky was filled with black clouds, the wind blew and it started to rain very hard. The drought is finally over. Ahab took off in his chariot as fast as he could. Jehovah helped Elijah to run faster than the chariot. But were all Elijah's problems already over...? Here the god Aiónius rained down in the crystalline waxy dews of the Horcondising proclaiming eternity in the presence of an ascended Merkabah like Elijah. The drought is finally over. Ahab took off in his chariot as fast as he could. Jehovah helped Elijah to run faster than the chariot. But were all Elijah's problems already over...? Here the god Aiónius rained down in the crystalline waxy dews of the Horcondising proclaiming eternity in the presence of an ascended Merkabah like Elijah. The drought is finally over. Ahab took off in his chariot as fast as he could. Jehovah helped Elijah to run faster than the chariot. But were all Elijah's problems already over...? Here the god Aiónius rained down in the crystalline waxy dews of the Horcondising proclaiming eternity in the presence of an ascended Merkabah like Elijah. The ground shakes and initiations of the Aramaic roots appear after the intervention of the fifth Cherub and the prophet Elijah on Mount Carmel, the Phylogeny is testified with links that flow between subterfuges of re-dogmatized civilizations for ignoring their pagan languages ​​and creeds. In this genealogy were the bumblebees, bees, wasps, and Lepidoptera scattering all this stormy rain before they all reached the arenas of Gethsemane with the perfect connection between the idiomatic form, and the interspecies communicated with the vivid expressions where so many times the strings of Joshua circled the Gethsemane tapestry. No doubt here these species will establish the DNA and molecules for successful genetic derivation in an evolutionary environmental testament to the establishment of pollination in the Garden.

Phylogenetic dogma: The coincidences in morphological and embryological themes will be located in the orchard with a great genetic relationship and evolutionary resemblance. to that of the orchard to eternalize the concatenations of both topographical niches, in such a way as to root the Aramaic in all organic elements and not to provide the great prevalence of an eternal pacifying-luminous discourse in creation that does not perish, but rather is reactivated with these procedures in a new phase that the Apostle and Vernarth will inaugurate by reestablishing the premature hegemony of the garden, as a link between birth and resurrection. From the ratio Nazareth – Bethlehem / Kafersesuh – Getsemani. Of these diversifications, the key to the trees and their adaptation to the environment and the new Methodist dogmatics will appear, to adapt it to the material and immaterial elements as a paradise habitat in Judah with adequate species aware of their own self-preservation and self-evolution at the service by Joshua, Says Vernarth: "In Greek mythology, Ilithyia-Eileithyi is our Hellenic goddess of births and midwives. In the cave at Amnisos-Crete, she was associated with the annual birth of the divine child, and her worship is connected with Aeneidaon the earth-shaker who was the chthonic aspect of the god Poseidon. My divine child has similar "Behold the Fifth Miracle" coincidences both in a cave or stable. Ilithyia is seen with the torch-carrying light for the children to come to the world of the Messiah. Now we will shake the garden from its nascent oil ducts, we will have the salvific light that will flow from the hypos secretion of candlesticks with olive oil, anticipating a new messianic verdict, where we will populate the abyss of the earth as a great similar light that will accompany us in Shemesh philosophy. Sun, witnessing to the Messiah and conciliating ourselves with his instructions as it was in Jezrael and now in the garden". Bern Aramic Element from Bethlehem is felt in the messages from the fields of Moab, after the death of Elimelech and Mahlon and Chilion's children, leaving Naomi alone, Alone among the ears of grain. Lepidoptera would begin to fly throughout the lands of Judah after this distressing event. From the separations of the fields in the hot afternoons, Ruth could be seen in the fields and in Hera firmly united to Naomi, where each fence after another will go into the other in the name of Jehovah. Ruth gathers the corn and ears on purpose with the sheaves among the reapers and overgrown sheaves to make the sustenance of a past life of famine brought by Naomi's cries. Then Ruth, after gleaning the grasses, thanked Boaz, looking into his eyes intently, being able to see in him how to lift the hay and run it to the world of the midwives to feed the newborn children anointed by Ilithyah as well, so everyone will eat the pottage and They will satiate until they are very satisfied. From this land of spikes will come the celebrations of Shavuot and good grace for the stay of the Hexagonal Birthright in Gethsemane. The histrionics and ranchers of these lands are making a great contribution to this phylogeny (with the consolidation of the Aramaic language in the garden). Ruth appears saying: "Look at the field, we are all in it, we have water and enough heat from the Shemesh ignition, to give the spikes to grow here is the refuge of Jehovah who gives us his protection making us an equal part of his children to sustain us. I feel great pride in being respectful to Noemi, she will help me with ears of corn that will migrate to Gethsemane with the imminent visit of the Apostle Saint John. The Bumblebees, Bees, and Wasps will be satiated, they will provide the nutrient food to those who will have to make the communications in the garden. "Blessed is the food that she gives you by harvesting it, preserving it and lavishing it"A great archaeological hereditary axiom begins to be evidenced in this agriculture transmitted from the field to the expression of epistemic-emotional areas that represent endocranial and buccopharyngeal molds of sheep that intervene with tillage and weevils. Here the beloved rhetoric of the weevils will intervene with personal wings from the basic strut of their emotions, attracting signals in the fields and images described by flocks of insects that migrated from this passage in the Book of Ruth in order to relay them with phonetic signals that go beyond the spike that is rather a settlement or a current Kibbutz, to mold or settle archaic civilizations under an idiomatic link that will attend the phylogeny as cephalization of invertebrate animals with those of kind of support,

Phylogeny in Gethsemane: The **** Erectus crossed paths with multiple pieces of evidence of adaptive pro-evolution beings, Neanderthal/**** Sapiens. The children of Israel wrote parables, epistles, verses, stories, and books..., their phonetic vocal tract spoke of storms and environmental factors between heaven and earth "Great noise outside of us, but little silence in us." What is elemental is the larynx that has only pronounced the image that denounces a concept evoking the minimum sound in the different positions of its instrumentalized mega sound. Speaking to us how language varies according to history and the civic-environmental environment, instructing us on its threshold and caste as it detaches itself through aerial effusions from the statement at the laryngeal level. It authoritatively collects the intervals of vocalization and relationship with agriculture in all its dimensions descending through its internal panels but rising through our parietal emotions outside of herself. The little of the air that the world has left to continue digesting temporarily have it to let air flow that is possessed in mechanically inert particles, and not in sanctified prophecies with corollaries of miracles. Inherences have made of a super existence of those who still do not perish by the hand of a monarchical mandate, even the mute swallow air is suffocating and contaminated halves while others redistribute them for those who need to sit at the table to collect the unleavened and share it with what the rest. "Here resounds the echo of my Christic body". That in Aramaic will syndicate much more than the phrasing in its blood, grapheme and phonemes or stylistics that is the commotion of vibrating beyond the deep ground reverberating with the grace of its divine statement". Joshua resists spikes and olive leaves simultaneously disposing of us in his arms as his children, he is a sheep in his arms lactating hydro-milk of sustenance from his creative verb. "a strict fact of preserving Aramaic and not misleading them by turning the pages of history". The Aramaic must be incorporated so that Joshua, after more than two thousand years, can see that He is still here walking from one place to another to tell us that He is still here, only suggestive of your walking, plagiarizing your larynx in the sound of His expression and shepherding. The sheep are quadrupedal..., more mammalian than a man because its statement is always reflected in the bases of its skull for the rest of its offspring as a biblical expression, under all the rainbows of the cherubim, together with the children surrounding them in identical intention. **** habilis–**** Sanctus, which is a process that has a charismatic base and peripheral anatomical volume for the exposed part of the sternum by confusing them with each other, not altering their structural or functional complexity. From the potential of Lepidoptera and winged weevils, the phenotype will emerge that will relate and relativize the mechanics of Aramaic or the Aramaic method of not losing the gibberish because it is divine, as well as it is exalted and laryngeal torque to those who possess Aramaic blood and body, since its motorized mysticism is to devour minimum words with maxims in a whole of ranges and sounds of the field, dialoguing: "Come to my field, here the ears of corn and weevils will speak more than the mechanical potential of Your Voice". They continue through the Ruth field integrating phonemes in small verses that go from the shelter of words and that refer to settlements of which they do not speak only suggest the presence of Jeheová without being present, but if after being with his stomach satisfied parodying activities in the field with his plectrum made a reality in a transgenerational poetic-hydric whole of ancient peoples who no longer speak..., "They only express wisdom in ****** agro-phrases of spikes and olives in all their songs." After walking through cobbled and narrow streets that are now full of runes with Bedouin fumaroles..., it is such a walk through an avid heart of alkaloids and lipids; touring synagogues and evoking an outstanding barrage of pilgrimages without knowing how many more will escort them in our attempts. The walls that protect Jerusalem are witnesses to many battles that have been fought "in the name of God". As well as the ground that speaks for itself, without a doubt the Mount of Olives can be seen from Jerusalem beautifully but not, in the same way, the other way around. The forests whose fruits contribute positively to the economy of the region, in addition to symbolizing strength, security, and prosperity, give hope in the journey of history the same as nothing that tires of the same. The Garden or Garden of Gethsemane, a name that alludes to the olive mill used to extract and process the oil according to the Gospels, The Lord came to Gethsemane with his disciples to dedicate some time to prayer, but since the atmosphere in Jerusalem was one of hesitation and high tension due to the celebration of the Jewish Passover festival due to the context of the political and military occupation of the Roman Empire, Jesus was very saddened and began to get distressed...holding on to the branches every time he felt an olive near his denoted fingers. Etréstles says: "All the physical, exalted and psychic forces of Jesus here stink digging into the organic tissue, experiences that go beyond the intellect..., it is the proper and unequivocal admissibility of military feet walking on the ground after meditation and recollection. From today when the lights between shadows will fill the limits of the orchard with connection, They will have to graze on the Gigas ungulates when the atmospheres have to make the tribune grass grow on their idyllic evangelizer to have it for tomorrow in the meditation of dawn. All the pros and cons will have to get lost with prayer guests that will inhabit spaces that will not intervene in human reason. Meditation with the Cherubim in the hexagonal primogeniture and weevils interpenetrating divisions of time that is obtained at the end of a calm, and being able to offer with imagination the inclemencies of having everything just beginning. That is prayer, it begins cyclically and then returns to the beginning, without leaving us comforted to finish what the circle of lapse of the meditative circumambulation does not enclose. Saint John the Apostle expounded: More than pain and concern, After praying, he regained his strength and courage to face the vine with disappointments and betrayals with the courage of hopeful dignity. But more than this atavistic-anthropological complex it is salvific integrity that the verb saves the term, through the vibratory prayer of sound and perception of words and more with the Aramaic sound that narrows like the streets of Jerusalem, to distinguish biases in praising essence in the elements of noise almost to the harmonic limit of a sound perfecting itself in a psalter or a parable, which emerges from its oropharyngeal fret, leaving without expiation the abrupt change of Hebrew thought and doctrine, together with the external sound emancipating in the perfect cacophony of its inner vibratory howl beyond the ritual that pleases our insufficiencies by having an Abba. He sanctifies and purifies because he is substance and the dawn of a new earth that lies in the garden of prayer, and all the times that they have to get up to grab the Bible and watch as an indivisible interloquy in me prostrated each time I get up and speak with my Abba being attentive to lock me in his dimension. The food that returns and feeds back is the lineage provided with justice to inhabit the body that synthesizes its protean oratory, the food that you go there from a breeze and from revelry puts all its outfits on the tables to sit around is the lament that smells of seeds that evaporate from the hands and the heat of the holy field. The food that speaks of inviting so many to sit next to us is the one who was least thought to be lacking in love and should not be prepared, being the indicated one who would eat everything until he was satisfied, leaving nothing in the compote or in the yeast, because from it the food that satisfies will persist only for those who have the excessive spirit of the famine of those who can be quenched. Gethsemane is a flowery field where intoxicated Lepidoptera and Angels who only have one mission fly; "Give food to those who owe the desire to eat and nothing else because the rest that suggests it is abstention, and this will be procrastination of the verb that ceases to create endowment even wanting it, because all the sustenance of life can cease by risking bread and came more than to consecrate Health! Rather, it is due to the nourished devotional circle of the action of lavishing the circle of Son-Father granting the establishment of hunger-satiety to forge genetic and paternal seeds to recirculate them in the chain of procreation. Eurydice speaks: "My body undulates like a peg towards my beloved Joshua, I come from the figurehead of a ship. I went to Jerusalem to look for flowers that pour aromatic to bring and exalt their words tied to their feet. I was late and I lost my way, unable to find my way back. I only saw that from afar some lights in the northern area of ​​the orchard lit up like olive cyclers exploding in the air in nocturnal fireflies that swarmed together with the Lepidoptera..., they guided me here. But I repeat, when I saw the lights it took me back to when I was little in my distant Greece with Orpheus when he managed to sleep on Cerberus near Lake Styx. But I reiterate..., beyond the lights I have been able to see how the weevils are framing and plotting your words, my beloved Joshua, that the auditors will be able to help the square and interpret for many more than thousands of years, taking us with pre-recipients that allow us to feel their voice and hear it as far away as if it were closer than the olive branch that caresses their face. But I reiterate, I never thought I would get lost, I am even arriving as if I were from the figurehead of my ship, I always wanted to be close to the world of light of the Olivo of Barnea genetics like this one that has led me to meet it" Eurídice heads to the holy place, when it approaches, the Fireflies and Lepidoptera come out to pick it up, they allied themselves with the twisted shadows of olive trees, sharpening in clear harmony with the mirror archetypes of the dark foliage reflecting the green shadows on the wild fruits,

Just eleven days before the ekadashi of the full moon, the phenomenon of the harvest took place, which happens after a year of the abundant harvest of olives and another in which the harvest is small, here the change of nuances and corrugated textures is evident in the countenance of the olive trees without it being possible to think that this phenomenon will necessarily take place on a biennial or triennial basis. It was suspected and was known that the developing fruits would go to this event through their hormones and substances that intervene in their growth, acting as inhibitors of the differentiation of the buds, for which many of them would change when they were transformed into flowers to make them into the wood, from this process it was deduced that alternate bearing occurs when grass and gospel are lacking. The actions aimed at promoting ascending harvests in years that correspond to load, through the care of the planting of meditation and the abandonment of it in the years of discharge contribute even more, to accentuating the vecería in the doubts of faith. Some varieties of olive trees are more frequent than others, so it can be guessed that a genetic component is generated in this phenomenon. On the other hand, there will be the Christian cultivation technique, reducing the frequency of rotation, such as irrigation or the early harvesting of the olive for the tables that need to have it on their tablecloth. In such a way that this phenomenon will help the genetic phylogeny to reinsert lost expired words of antiquity in the emanation of the wisdom of God, through the universe acting as a great Drupa or peach that will assimilate being the amygdala that will allow sent vibrations to nod when they connect with the soil plagued walking and retraced the Messiah bringing us to his land with words in Aramaic of sacred salvation and his ancestry of word surveyor worker; which will allow us to transfer some appropriate spirit possession from him to Patmos when we return. Says King David: "as the Olivar de Barne species of the old husk will serve us for the Morning harvest with its fat percentage helping us to sustain the Shemesh fat of the new Sun to brandish winds that will hide the nocturnal haze of the waning moon. All as kings we have been baptized with oil in our solemnities, also coins traded in Kar to pay their benefits with the allegory of Yotam, in the Book of Judges to choose the king of the trees..., refusing the olive tree because it had to produce oil in the Menorah are the two tiny but large olive branches that illuminate the great temple of life. Now we will need it because the eleven days come before rescinding the cessation of Aramaic as a lost language, rather reimposing it as an entity of its channel with a gesture-light and space that hears or listens in repeated Aramaic oropharyngeal systems, and voices when lamenting in Hebrew happily the passages of the Torah with the same meaning and channeling source of the Pentateuch, to repast in the Barne species and transcend in its science together with its Katapausis phylogeny in the monastic cell of San Juan in Patmos next to Vernarth." Euridice kept giving atomic spouts and impulses at his feet to get to Gethsemane soon. Upon arrival, he insinuated how the Cherubim were pruning the Olive Trees next to the Hexagonal Birthright. Everyone was preparing for the olive tree festival in the Garden. He almost reached the end of King David's itchy speech among the Roses of Sharon, more than the cobbled one that a Cherub was replying to him so that nothing would waste being heard by his listeners on the Prow figurehead. It arrives and carries the odoriferous trans-essences in Astragalus, to begin with, intuitive adoration for each barefoot step that each petal and particle of its essence took, revering the base of the invested Messiah, reaching the perfect triangulation of balsamic acid and thorns with increased Aramaic of reviving the Barne Olive Grove Trail,



Paraps XXVIII

Mashiach of Judah V part

Miracle VI- Gethsemane / Maasefa

In this chapter preface, in particular, the revelation of three fundamental phases of the outcome of this chapter of Judah by the will of the god Aiónius in all real events and not, because the submithology that concerns us is of living relevance and is not experiment. Here Ezpatkul will enter Dóntiakul or prominent Augrum or Oro teeth turningScarabaeidaedemarcating the Vóreios Vóreios throughout the Horcondising region bilocating it in Encinas de Patmos borers, with such frenzy...!, that from there they would draw the strength of the north winds and the Olivos Barnea.

a) The subsequent phase after the Stable in Bethelem (Kafersuseh) will entail the neurochemical conformation of energies subtracted from visions of the stable, exclusively from the roof incontinenti of the intervention of the Cherubim with their four wings like the Lepidoptera (butterflies) incurring an original nexus messianic equipped with pheromonic sensitivity and chemical activation in the pollinations of bumblebees, bees, and wasps to regenerate the species of Olive Barnea consolidated the language and perpetuate it as a dialect of Messiah-Abba.

b) Phylogeny is subtracted from this phase itself as a relationship between species or taxa in general of tree species and wild plants. Although the term also appears in historical linguistics to refer to the classification of human languages ​​according to their common origin, the term is used primarily in its biological sense. The symbiosis of both interactions will intervene in the juxtaposition of "Joshua is born-dies in the interval" when he is born in the stable" but his analogy with Gethsemane and Golgotha, the two "G" will recreate the salvific miracle and anticipation of the Scourge that he will suffer but the Hexagonal Progeniture (Men and animal and insect species) will intervene with salvific action from the caves to rejoin the dry bones of Maasefa humanity. It also saves us from Shibboleth, identifying the members of a group in a kind of password) that appeals to changes in the use of phonetics in terms of difference and aspires to reorder social disagreements, caused by conflicts even of lost concomitant civilizations and their socio-cultural niche patrimonial, therefore from Aramaic as an anticipated signal thread of a beginning of communicative intention and preservation of messianic language)

c) The physical, mental, geophysical, and spiritual elemental energies will mutate the adherence of the Aramaic dialect with the pollen duct generated in the Barnea olive species, creating a relationship of chemical change in them deified in favor of a new "Bern of Vernarth" with the interaction of the isotope that will generate the inclusion of a proton that will mutate the chemistry of divination and connectivity with him (Heavenly Father-Abba in the Garden) in such a way that the methodological lines of anticipation will prosper on the night of the abduction by Sayones before being taken to the Lithostrotus to be flagellated to interpret the power of his gospel.

d) And for a consequent and emeritus synchronization of caverns in conjunction with dry bone Maasefa, triggering the awareness of the awakening of protection before, during, and after the events that occurred at the culmination of his death. This will delve into the three chemical sediments interacting with each other, the Aramaic language enchanting the univocal and eternal root to always have it in Gethsemane, the revelation of phylogeny as a determining entity for the consolidation of the geophysical-animal world, and the transcendent soul that intervenes between the stars of the everlasting creation on Crescent Moon eleven days earlier with Sun-Shemesh astonishingly at the debasement of the human species and all of its feelings of unconfessed loss of existence.

e) Experiencing and surviving indecisions and fears of recognition of exposing and externalizing the calls of caverns have allowed us to escape from threats, but from there towards a reverberation in the same tune of Calvary, in the sockets of a skull sheltering you to serve and look from the optics of shining with the flow of ears of wheat in your dreams. Gethsemane and Golgotha ​​are the set of double "G" that generates endo-trauma in the throat and in its global skeleton bone set wanting to revive the call of the Messiah, from the Neck of Heaven rising roughly up your throat, forever and for the Centuries. of the Centuries.

f) The plectrum led me to write this paradisiacal essay in this chapter (it is the same depressive unconsciousness of having a body already abandoned without a Soul, but in my own without understanding anything), this tends to describe how history teaches us that there are phenomena difficult to capture with certainty, the masque of extra mediumistic sensitivities emerging from where our conscience does not discover what spiritual power does canonically the intuitive divine exponential or the external machine of multiple systems of serial spirits that besiege us and show us their Ether and that rarely can we actually be able to enter them from deep inside from their activation data to our hyper cognition, and their level of travel leading us to abandon our abstraction.

They were all stationed on the northeast *****, Eurydice arrived with her essences full of little birds surrounding her, she could not hold them due to the invasion of these surprising birds. They were all sitting on the stones of the garden, they were all leaning their heads on the Svein Tzora stones. Says Vernarth: "The stone of Gethsemane", on grains and crystals they are soaked with spheres of the stone of the Mashiah. She showed them meekness in the face of the hardness that could be distinguished compared to limestone or clay, full of sedimentary grains that devastate igneous from where some voices of her holocaust were left over, compared to marrying corporeal materiality in the Aramaic syllable embedded in a stripped bustle and silent, of everything and little petulant organic element coexisting in its amorphous figure. This graphs the consonance with the demonstrations of passion for his followers by embedding himself in a stone with multiple and sharp cuts like taking out the atoms in a grenade with his law of 613 grains that are enough to stipule them and to break the lithosphere of the messianic referendum in his sacrificial law. in the lithostrotes. No barrier will stop us to overcome this lithosphere that separates us so coldly from the rebirth of a body that takes root beyond the cracks of Gethsemane since the olive trees grow on the same stones, pretending to be in a mansard. The will of destiny under a stone, admits arrogant worries to startle that "He was there, and his destiny condemned him", but "My Abba, if it is possible for this cup to pass from me; but let it not be as I want, but as You want...", equivalent to telling of stones for all the cups, as long as the will is of the Abba", thus the stones are lightened, and our pride weighs less than the subterranean immortality. Saint John says: "Which is agony, it is nothing more than holding in our dreams the heavy shadow of its burden. The stone does not fit through the interstices of dreams but its image weighing in the symbology of being part of it, more than all hailstorms being the scene of sin near the disciple family and their despondency that runs where a curtain circulates towards the Resurrection. The large drops are large grains of the pomegranate in the Via Dolorosa, being large stones falling from the universe rubbing against the Sun and the Moon, falling on Him as well. Today on this day that he confesses tribulation of an eternal night that he never clarified..., It will start to rain, interrupting itself for days running backward, since several syllables remained un catechized before rising from where the wind of Elijah called him Mashiach. Revered Mashiaj, always close to you jumping from the red sea such a pomegranate as the food of a Father between waves of his sea! Again we are in the celebration of Holy Week and we have thought it appropriate to write this work on the stone of Gethsemane with a gifted scene that was his arrest, caused by the petty betrayal of all the Treacherous in the world. Mashiah, lonely in his full youth of thirty-three years in Aramaic verses succumbing to the arms of his Abba, .. He takes him and wraps him in his arms to defend him from the darkness shedding blood and tears on a cracked stone, beyond the skies that predecessor grenades in his hands revealing will that surpasses the levels of being rescued more times. There is a bitter taste of fruit, of course, but it tastes like a red planting of the dry red rock that is not emanated from anything but that if it brings us the generous hand that ceases pain and affliction, that produces sweet sleep even having wrought iron entering through your carpals and tarsal feet. With the pantomime of our morbidity we stretch our arms on your crucified cross but without awareness of the ******* test of not experiencing the iron in our questioned soul, without crucified skin in the epidemic that the beast of punishment gave to his skin between screams and hoarse cries that if they slip towards him, rather under the acíbar of a hammered heartless glass inert and stone that runs towards the west looking for the voices of his pious mother. The sip of the sunset was ingested in the sadness of my life that begins to be reborn every time it was lost and lifeless without feeling it as mine. I sleep vigil on the flames of the stand in the stones of the fire, and I sleep because others will not wake me up on the edge that cuts my game in flames. What cowardly courage accumulating in a depersonalized spilled heart..., what hours will have to pass without feeling them to date the entrance into his body of burning iron towards the sacrifice and not the sacrifice. "Let it continue here in this pebble with the shape that bears fruit because it will not burst with impatience, but rather with tears of pomegranate grains." What stronger aloe than seven days in a row turning to my usual sweetness sin to finish them abandoned without savoring it. For the first time since I returned from exile, I understand that his Aramaic smells like wisps of fruit and hundreds of syllables that are..., whipped like mega words that smell like his upright trunk in solitude and abandonment. Its trunk like mine is stone of tree bark, of vile whips lost in the frieze of its temple breaking its head bark, weeping its moans in full reconverted hopes of a hidden Ziziphus crown. They are nailed to a purple wisp of pomegranate, defeating the ailment of those who dared to martyr him in the pain that runs through his icy strata..., not sifted even by brave poor people; as it is to say by the voice of the wealthy spirit helping you. "Being prepared and No,

Maasefa Stone Powder: "You are made of stone and you will become stone" were the words of communion in Gethsemane of the stone of the Mashiach's prayer, indicating the expression of freedom and cessation of the oligarchy of belonging to the doctrine of the world of dimensional physical slavery, and its intertwined solidity of stones that the priests elaborated in the catacombs in times of consecration of loved ones towards a centile universe of Orthodox spirituality. Here are the stones carved like the Sanhedrin that met in the building known as the Hall of Carved Stones (Lishkat Ha-Gazith) for this purpose it will be the conservation of ossuaries of the high authorities and common citizens, having the prerogative of the Maasefa that has to consist of collecting the bones of all those reduced after a year in complete secrecy in the assigned catacombs. Through this immediacy of low and recondite spaces grows the vague wandering of precepting in approaching the salvific redemption awaiting the projection of the expired ancestors in the source of eternal life accepted by the Mashiach (Messiah), to shelter us in his illusion in beautiful brotherhood before to be resurrected. The Hexagonal Primogeniture would go by way of making the nucleus of nearby songs of the oratory of the orchard towards an honorable mention of elaborating concavities in the geology of the orchard, so that the alliance of the Aramaic verb of cloistering and devotion of the members in each stony cell, and the explosion of the Aramaic verb speaking infinitely of the Father-Son analogy. In such a way that translucent particles will be spread by the rhizomes of the Olivos Barnea species; deriving to Bern for the posthumous tribute of Vernarth considered Champion of conservation and cenacle of living and extinct organic bones, such as the aforementioned case of the Apostle before gathering as elemental dust of Joshua's Maasefa prior to the completion of the withdrawal of the Garden of Gethsemane. Shofar, sistrum, harp, and cymbals resonate for the wise night and its star sign before starting the excavation works in the nearby veins to conclude the Maasefa. They all sleep together that night touching each other's heels in the matrix phase to start a day with the strength of the stonework from left to right for the allegory of the Menorah that never leaves the magnetized night. They rise at twenty minutes to four to begin the ritual, an hour and a half before sunrise they were in the stratum of purple dawn on layers of divinity tinged with the conscious subtlety of the creator in our levitating being. Its consequences arise before their bodies continue to evolve towards the hegemonic process on the stratum of the nascent mineralogy that was going to intervene, being oratory of the Mashiach or synchronic Messiah. Beneath it, Vernarth would begin to pierce looking for the dimensional spaces of the search for his physiognomic extension adaptable to everyone's and evolutionary memory that separated the entrance of the Shemash and Selene over the glasses waiting to be filled and drunk at noon. Eleven days before the Ekadashi (full moon) began. Thus, in this way, they would sculpt the poked catacomb in twelve simultaneous rocks that were in a perfect limbic diametral circle of the plotline of the orchard with their physical displacements in congruence with the moon and consciousness that agrees with it, like that alert of that fateful night in which was kidnapped. In perfection with the oscillating vibration that is expanding in front of the dorsal cold of the stone analogically when the Mashiach vibrated in physical magnitude and in the absence of alert, more emotional if after talking with his Abba. The tremulous line she encompassed was widely displaced further since she was transported into the Edicule isotope as an element of flight, escape, detonation and resignation, being able to find nature configured in the fuss of a great variety of isotopes of different mass. the one in a large part will exceed in the cumulative gasified reaction, and in cathartic events that will occur at fifteen o'clock on Good Friday when the prophetic events and the mischievous changes of evidence of the cataclysm expire on the cross and hands. The eclipsed sun, storm with depressing losses, and tragedy for a world that will sleep more than seventeen hundred years to the right create the consciousness of being in more than two conscious places, with the minimum and childish aspect of the remaining second that is divided between the before and after the physical and physiological abandonment, beginning a final episode and conclusive torment that precedes a culminating beginning. All this transformation of the enclave and energetic dimension allowed them to synchronously pierce the sedimented rocks that were thus sustained in the timid energy, generating higher will field electromagnetism. Thus, in the sinkholes, everyone was drilling, they would be of the same mass category as the isotopes to manifest the energy and its dynamic charge, such an occlusive energy mass that would explode on the day of Golgotha's martyrdom. Preceding this energy phenomenon underlies the symmetry of the magnetic field created synchronously with words emitted in comparative Aramaic words with reminiscences that must serve in the twelve caverns of the garden in conversions and exchanges of exhalations of bees, bumblebees, and wasps of the curved universe that transits in the explosiveness of the lines that approach the dislocation ratio of the vibrations and their sound frequencies. Globally pollination as a genetic element of the fresh chlorophyll macerated as kinetics in elytra of Lepidoptera with the indications of connecting the clan with the aforementioned electromagnetic energies. The interaction of the fields within the system will be induced between Golgotha ​​and Gethsemane, they will establish here electric charges that will produce gases and liquids that will intervene in the entire lithosphere that unites both portions of soils, this created the interaction of particles establishing the undermining of rocks with basin-shaped Calota de Calavera, due to the geological conformation of the radius that surrounds both predicted areas. From this standard, the caverns will be improvised in the garden, magnetizing the vibration areas that depend on each other. The search Interrelates a magnetic and electrical phenomenon between both zones; the impulse to anticipate the premonitions of the Mashiach is derived, and how he was going to endure such torments towards his illustrious body in such a way as to retransmit it electromagnetically between the transmission bridge of the Garden and admission to Golgotha. This will unleash all subsequent supernatural and geological phenomena during the day of his torment and delicacy that will be glimpsed by decree of an execution damaged humanity exposed to orthodox fanaticism, causing a sensitive correspondence between the transmission of faith and the dogma of attending to the work physical and mystical legacy to protect for successive generations in the species Berna Olivar, ratifying correlation of the majestic and axiomatic cultivation of preservation under the catacombs and unalterable progeny of concelebrations of the eternal relation of a coalition of prosapia united to the shock and conscience of Christian Eternity. This gravitational potential energy will associate the Aramaic multi-effect towards all the attendees to confer, dialogue, assimilate and consent towards a supra lingual organic and historical heritage dynamic channel, on the basis of a monumental act of consanguinity in front of all will, "Here are all alphas over omegas." Creating complex harmonic movements between the caverns of impiety, but with a perfect and renovating equation with the redeemed Prayer in Aramaic towards the universe in quasi-face-to-face degrees, but not verifiable until the ritual of saving prayer is concluded. The chain reaction of this divine particle will be the opposite reaction tax of the active consolidation work area tensioned between the pilasters, Golgotha ​​and Gethsemane, both are started with "G" and if you turn it in any direction surrounding it you make a perfect skull of no more than twelve kilometers, whose distance in a direct line would certainly be crossing the eternal vision through ocular concavities, demonstrating levels of analogy and esoteric analysis. The extended reciprocity and supra value of divine consciousness are latent, from where the emission of the word and the will is born "the Calota or head skeleton" in the sense of reduced material and the corpuscle of antimatter that would come to be where the universes intersect in the elite of direct mercy (one has already happened, but another sphere of the difficult concavity has yet to travel..., only a Messiah will have to cross it when it returns to us again). This Eclipse of the Messiah of the Sun is a dark aspect of anemic light, torment, and three Maries, vindicating itself in this token of superficial passion in the Garden and antimatter rooted in the anti-particle, which evades this great event by lavishing its blessed spiritual figure with a charge of ambivalent theological antimatter; of egregious trust and bipartite univocity but fainting for the dark mercy on Golgotha ​​and light in the Garden of Gethsemane. "His body trembling and the Earth also" Shibboleth was getting up to distinguish members of a group such as the tribe of Ephraim, whose dialect lacked a sound (S), unlike others such as the Gileadites, whose dialect did include it. Shibboleth is a spike and also celebrates the fertility of the wheat crops and all concomitant species of the natural and endemic species of central Judah. And the Gileadites took the fords of the Jordan River to Ephraim, and when one of Ephraim who had fled said, Shall I cross over? The Gilead asked him, Are you an Ephraimite? If he answered no, then they told him: Well say "shibboleth". And he said shibboleth because he couldn't pronounce that luck. Then they laid hands on him and cut his throat. And so died forty-two thousand of those of Ephraim. however renewing when released by the contending magnetic forces that made Virola a whole that surrounds Gethsemane and Golgotha ​​as a magnetized tunnel of great mystical conversion for purposes of adaptability and preservation of renewed fertilizations of bumblebees, bees, and wasps in view of a commonwealth conforming and spreading in all spheres of faith and apotheosis from the pre-act of the Messiah's refuge to the judgment and punishment of his truth. After expunging their scourge in a dazed journey, they will fall with great similarity to the verb "Betrays and Forgives", the Universe in its creation renews everything, because that is how it has been written since the beginning of the Universe and by whoever dictated it." Shibboleth, will reconcile differences of understanding without prejudice and differences of geographical, anthropological, lingual mentions, cultural and divine verticals. "Our informal culture is preserved within village houses by resisting the scourge of victorious death, within the cave that protects us in its infinite mercy and commiseration" Maasefa and The Valley of Dry Bones collide at the appointed time the Svein Tzora, "the flintstones", to kindle the fire of the Messiah. The thunder was such that it made the seas decant for rivers and thunder on the terraces of the houses and fire on the banks of each unfulfilled prayer! Everyone gets up, each one leaving each cave of his ordeal, and goes to the meeting of the Dry Bones. The tradition of gathering the bony componential that has no soul all deviates towards the request of the flesh for its soul. As the account of the Prophet Ezekiel, five hundred years BC There are many outstanding remains of bones, this would resume in Gethsemane for the offspring of the Messiah's son caste, the Cherubim with the Lepidoptera twenty meters from the Svein Tzora donating light and heat to begin the ritual of dim moonlight. It is already a crescent moon and dim green lights shine through the beautiful dim green branches that light up the dry land of the beloved orchard on the face of the wasteland Calvary. The advantageous meats that began to butcher the bones raised the desire to start ultra fast in the oropharyngeal area, to endow solemnity and fulfillment of the prophecy of the sacred language of the Aramaic lingual group in tune with the vibrations of sound waves of the wind in romance with the blows of the fire towards their faces. In this way, the spirit of Jehovah was adhered to reunite the primary words of reunion of the edicts of Bethhelem, with the visions of Joshua so that the stable in its language emits the immortal edict from the very stable Kafersuseh to Gethsemane. Now everything was holy energy in union with the lands that made the compost fertile and his word was fulfilled, The valley of olive trees was reconverted and prayed complacency, everyone tried in the attachment of clan and twilight in the accidentality of the event, the new reason will not deprive of anointing the past-present in the realization of the joy of remains with bones, of laughter with laughter, of a patriarch with veterans, of offspring with their offspring, with the greatest thing than a hand covered with a great spirit over a valley where only distensions and candles should fit in each one of them. with Joshua's visions for the stable in his language to issue the immortal edict from the very stable Kafersuseh to Gethsemane. Now everything was holy energy in union with the lands that made the compost fertile and his word was fulfilled.



Paraps XXIX

Mashiach of Judah VI part

Miracle VII- Gethsemane / Meshuva Basics

The kicks of the feet begin. The twelve Giga camels stand up with their paired toes beginning to peel off the fat deposits of the remaining six camels with hoofed nails. They tore the epidermis with their fingernails to spread fat and oil into the lamps of light they need to distribute from the Full Moon in each palm of each component. The moon was in cacophony, it walked everywhere and imagined itself in the court of King David, drowsing in cubicles at the first light of the second sleep in the morning. Undivided they walked in procession through the source of the change in the socio-religious paradigm that kept them united, they were Raeder and Petrobus, Alikanto with a golden mount on his small back, the Lepidoptera, bumblebees, bees, and wasps, they tiptoed silently over the first level of damp wind at dawn, many of them perched on the backs of immune camels to ride with them to the reestablished Gethsemane starting point. In their phylogeny they collaterally impute the taxonomy that belongs to the camelid genus, which is a taxonomic category that is located between the family of Judah and the Middle East in the buried ecclesiastical species; thus, a genus of a group of organisms is propitiated, which in turn can be divided into several species. As ungulates as well as strictly herbivores, their musculature differs from other proboscideans in that the legs are attached to the body only at the upper thigh, instead of being connected from the knee up by skin and muscle, therefore it will be very easy for them to connect with flying insects so that they do not have to kneel. While the six sectioned the tanks of another six, and so they will continue to be stationed and intervened until their superficial wounds heal before leaving for the return to the port of Jaffa. On this long journey until dawn, they must stand on their footpads to resist the final farewell cult of the twelve caves, as they emerge from the placental sites they had developed with the Primogen to empower the vestigial area of ​​the rescued Aramaic word. This will be to grant and scale prosperity by having the signs of vitality intertwined, with each reminiscence of calls and responses of messages for the "Propitius Esto Humanity" that is projected in the secular future. This will be generated by external stimulation each time the intention to communicate with the ceremonial of existence-life-deaths-fullness is presented, thus the voice of the greatest incisive devotional forces will resemble, grabbing or grabbing the smallest voices that can even be overlooked or not understood when the Golden Gate of Jerusalem is inaugurated. From the very top, the Gigas species can be seen walking with six candlesticks, these species cross their artiodactyl locomotion towards a fluctuate on the flames of the candlesticks towards the rock of Mashiaj. While the other camels were recovering from their wounds, they looked with their calm eyes and were very aware of the proselytizing nunciature that channeled the reactions of the Hexagonal Progeniture, thus being absolved of the commitment of the prayers for the new launch with the atmospheric ordering ceremony in Getsemaní with the voices of the Messiah, with the framework, volume, and reverberation to flood with light and sounds in all the geographical areas that have not had a subscription. As the Giants trod the grounds with their hoofed nails, Vernarth and Alikanto, Saint John the Apostle, King David, Eurydice, Raeder, and Petrobus (The Hexagonal Primogeniture), made solemn vows before such an episode. It was not long before dawn and even Selene disputed with other stars of the envelope to shine more for such a great event..., as it is surprising at the moment that everything would seem of stillness and gestation of winged embryos appearing from the top of the Bern Olive trees near the Cherubs. They came with the Mashiaj who brought them new charities..., he could be seen in a deep field in two light bulbs of his white tunic, full of gold and blue lace, with Lepidoptera around him throughout the journey distilling crimson celestial radiosities.  Meshuva white cloak descended through the fronds of the olive trees lit and previously illuminated by the northeast ***** of the orchard, the Cherubim and Archangel Miguel and Gabriel came with decided parallelism by six-folding the interpretations expressed by the Lepidoptera, for the purpose of consolidating the institution of the north side of Gethsemane as a sanctified area of ​​Aramaic prayer and devotion of absolute naturalization of the classification of the Cherubim and Lepidoptera as winged tetras and Cultivators of the phylogenetic transmission of the pollen-orchard on the opening of the gynaeceum of the Olivo Berna, in the Valley of the Olives, and taxonomic choice by hierarchical order of the species and geo-referencing of the asteroseismic corridor of the narrow pass between Bethhelem and Gethsemane. On the tops of the olive trees were the Cherubim and the Lepidoptera, they fluttered through the flowery ramifications intertwined with the Messiah's tunic that came descending with an accent of graceful Torah, then the dawn of pre-dawn fireflies re-blooms on his face..., they brought a million beams of another thousand groups of beams to be born among the first luminaries of the day. The Lepidoptera ascended through an oval interval and in a spiral path through the petiole until the fifth generation of Rapa or Eskimo with forty flowers with four white petals in phylogenetic synchrony with Cherubim and Lepidoptera with four elementary portions to deliver the fundamental membrane that will generate the physiognomy of the Messiah between the transposed ones, and blond, ruddy lights of the Messiah's face with the cross-like texture of themselves on their shoulders of Capernaum dew. The Esquimo or the flowers would grow in clusters of between ten to forty flowers in perfect series depending on the variety, each flower would also have four white petals, a little pulpy facing each other in a symmetrical cross, and the flower will bring in the center an orange-yellow hue of an arboreal sphinx that would be filled with clusters that will transform the appearance of the oil-bearing tree, giving white brushstrokes to the olive grove before stingy gallantry glances. Each flower will supper from its captive pollen for approximately one week, so the flowering phase of the olive trees will turn before a brief duration, but of a messianic lapse with the cyclical lives of their idyllic Syriac Aramean. The female and hermaphrodite caste will bring you the biblical universal pollen with tremulous stamens and surcharged pistils traveling more than nine and a half kilometers from Bethlehem of the "Kafersuseh" to the orchard. Before the majestic pollination, the archangels Michael and Gabriel will invade two percent of the gynoecium of the flowers, giving way to the Meshuva candid cloak, full of white apotheosis petals. Vernarth rushes to the ground and rolls around between the petals filling his entire body and face with thousands of them, leaving many of them transfigured in the oily fruit of the Palate Universe between the ring finger and the index finger with an accent of Purification of the Mikveh, floating like neutron orbit of Life and Micro Universe only to be entranced by the presence of the Messiah in his white robe of petals.  Coming down with Bernese Petals strawberry trees in his white tunic, the Mashiach rushes to Vernarth, takes him, and tells him secretly: floating like neutron orbit of Life and Micro Universe only to be entranced by the presence of the Messiah in his white robe of petals. Coming down with Bernese Petals strawberry trees in his white tunic, the Mashiach rushes to Vernarth, takes him, and tells him secretly:

Mashiah: "Only you..., in each one of these white cells you are..., and in those that you are not in my remembrance, it is reborn as the fruit of the Bern Olive Tree. Over the cup of this species I heard your prayer, I know who you are and gratitude for resisting this lymphoma so nobly, I took it out of your soul when it was confused with the fresh breeze of the grass that feeds the fungi of pain. Immerse yourself in this Mikveh of columns of white petals from Bern, here the voices and words of Aramaic will run in a row to the right to sip white in my thoughts of the Gospel, with your miraculous grace by returning to me John the Apostle being exiled by Domitian. Come to me walking on this unleavened bread with Bern olive elixir and let's drink Hanukkah wine and its vital dawn that boils with each sip of the glandular thymus and your sore chest in between. I am tired, I come from far away, but I have taken this road from Emmaus to lift you up. Arise and come to My Vernarth." Vernarth erects his purified column with the petals emulating the Mikve "Purification", he predisposes himself to the Holy path of the Meshuva "Return to God". So from today Vernarth is born and revives to continue his journey back to Patmos. Mashiah says: "The why of the naive deviation will **** them and the complacency of the fools will destroy them. Your own wickedness will correct you, and your apostasies will rebuke you; Know therefore and see that it is evil and bitter that you should forsake the Lord your God, and the fear of me be not in you." Vernarth says: "We will be loyal and under these leafy trees Bern I will proclaim to the north saying; that we walk towards merciful fidelity and declare all together! We know that  My Lord will heal us of our infidelity, that is why we have come here because You are our Lord God." St. John the Apostle replies: "The lion, wolf, leopard, will **** us, destroy us and tear us to pieces because transgressions and apostasies have invaded in great numbers..., my beloved Mashiach, we have already got rid of the deception and we want the Meshuva back to your ether. of the accomplice desert with the aromas of the flying weevils that the Aramaic lexicons bring us from Kafersesuh to re-graft them into the eternity of your word that crosses the entire universe. The world has sinned against you, the apostasies are innumerable, and we are here to lovingly honor your name. So my people were determined to push me away even though they call them to the Highest, none at all exalts him. I will heal his apostasy, I will love them freely because my anger has departed from them" The Garden was eclipsed by the cardinal points, it was delineated by a Cherub from South to North, for the main border that passed through the zenith where the Mashiach would order the promontory of the dependent rock of the placental rocks that coexist with the twelve inhabitants who had erected them with their eyes closed and opened by the light of Faith. The border that Vernarth and the Apostle nominally saw, was connected with the new division of the world of the stagnant word, and in the new route, it revived in a perfect cross from west to east towards the paleo trill of the Palestinian Eagles loaded with incense and sawdust from the felled Olive Tree for the furniture that they used as input in the lavish boasts of the Romans. The magnetized needle will crack the back of each of the members,"O Kýrios tha epistrépsei se mas, tis rízes tou Kósmou, ópou krémetai ta skoupídia tou" (The Lord will return to us the roots of the World, where its concrete debris hangs). Then this voice takes from the inconcrete state, aligning the excellence of the north of the Messiah, together with the iron of the blood plasma of Vernarth and the Apostle to be magnetized towards the north in the sublime magnetized cardinal. Shemesh-Sun King order of cardinal parallelism is thus established; north: north or boreal ruled by Vernarth and Saint John the Apostle, South: Meridian or Austral by Etréstles and Eurydice, East: East, rising or rising ruled by Raeder and King David West: West or West. In this way, the insects and animals, declaimed the sunrise of the Sun to the Levant before each cup of the Chalice synchronous with the intercession of the cross to the tangential of the horizontal that extends to the west when both phases of the solar cycle are aligned with the departure of the Bread and discharge of the Messiah from his time in the cloister. The Alikantus and Petrobus animals will be ruled by the Northeast and Northwest, while the flying insects will be ruled by the Southeast and Southwest.

Etymological ellipsis of Ancient Nordic Civilizations: The east-west perimeter is considered as the axis of the abscissas in a geographic coordinate system, the axis of the ordinates would be described by the north-south line, which corresponds to the axis of terrestrial rotation. This composition generates four angles of ninety degrees that in turn are divided by the bisectors generating northwest, southwest, northeast, and southeast. Thus the Rose of the Winds is demarcated by the Esquimo del Olivo flower in perfect harmony with the circumference of the horizon. This will attract the lines that intersect verbally and non-verbally, by the abscissa that delineates the guideline of the Rock of the Messiah overflowing with total generosity to shine in the caves at dawn, to sprinkle them with the rays that they lack due to the supposed static latitude. In order to parody the line of the lethality of the Norse Gods by being tangential to this new alignment of the earth axis and laterality coordination, only through the Apples of Asynjur can they hope to revive until the final destiny of the Gods. This Nordic parallelism goes back to us in the chapter Vernarth Chapter II - Animal of War in Tel Gomel, where Asgard is mentioned, which in Norse mythology is the one conceived on earth, it is a rainbow bridge, Bifrost, which connects it with the paradise. This etymology will cross the genesis of the plotline of the entire Hellenic epic in the first chapters until it is reiterated here in this Messianic epic with the demarcation of the limits in Gethsemane, that marks the guideline that intersects the exact point of the Aramean Prayer Rock for the diction of the words and cosmogonic interrelationships of cultures and the sparkling use of the atavistic language before the year 332 BC and even after, to project with the temporal line of the regressive line of parapsychology after 1820, in the Spanish Revolution of this same work. This demarcation has intertextuality in coordinates of time-history, to make this unpublished Gethsemane map the timelessness of archaic civilizations, which have applauded and venerated all cycles of life and fall under the same precept of cardinal laterality, acclaiming a God who he flowed and created the North whether he lives or agonizes, but if he wants to revive he will have to come to his threshold of quantum departure "The Garden of Gethsemane" to be projected with the timeline of the regressive line of parapsychology after 1820, in the Spanish Revolution of this same work. This demarcation has intertextuality in coordinates of time-history, to make this unpublished Gethsemane map the timelessness of archaic civilizations, which have applauded and venerated all cycles of life and fall under the same precept of cardinal laterality, acclaiming a God who he flowed and created the North whether he lives or agonizes, but if he wants to revive he will have to come to his threshold of quantum departure "The Garden of Gethsemane" to be projected with the timeline of the regressive line of parapsychology after 1820, in the Spanish Revolution of this same work. This demarcation has intertextuality in coordinates of time-history, to make this unpublished Gethsemane map the timelessness of archaic civilizations, which have applauded and venerated all cycles of life and fall under the same precept of cardinal laterality, acclaiming a God who he flowed and created the North whether he lives or agonizes, but if he wants to revive he will have to come to his threshold of quantum departure "The Garden of Gethsemane"



Gaugamela

Palace of the Camelids

The roosters of Persepolis sing again. Its disloyal resonances and deadly gloom came from seventy kilometers from the Iranian city of Shiraz, province of Fars, near the place where the Pulwar River empties into the Kur (Kyrus). The Rooster specters came mounted on the houses of the twelve Giga Camels..., recovered from the remaining six. They came to withdraw to take the path to Jaffa. The House of Camels began as preservatives of the immunity required to be in accordance with the sanitary ellipticals and adaptation to the exit of Judah. They were bound for the hemicycle of the Lepidoptera consorts united with the specter camels Giga and the Early Birds that will give the first row in the game of the Primogen, after seven weeks in Judah. Knowing that the phylogeny of Animalia is of wide versatility of this super being of the desert Animalia that will agree on the departure of all and repatriation of the hexagonal Primogen except King David who will enter the Celestial cenotaph in Jerusalem escorted by the Cherubim. From Tel Gomel came reverberations of sonorizations of the last metallic rattles of swords and howls of Macedonian infantrymen colliding with each other with their pernicious weapons. While these screams reverberate like an anvil falling at ninety degrees on hailed pieces of perspective of the Achaemenides..., their families already had to say goodbye to their family plains, since many lost their souls cracked from inhaled mutilating curses. Today a miraculous event would occur from the high sky a Dorus Hetairoi would fall that came flaming with fire. And from the northwest side, a Sarissa spear fell that intercepted in the immediate vicinity of Joshua's stone-forming neat Cross lit with the brightest star. It was nothing less than the vehement fire of Meshuva that brought with it drops of water from the Jordan with the Image of the Baptist, to make the hierarchical gravitation on the ponies of the Camels that at this point had all the dominance of the plague of the sufferings that They could cause a great impact on the twelve camels due to an endemic outbreak as a result of some leprosy in the surrounding area, causing higher contagions to those who ride them. The panorama was one of total rhetoric consonant with Tel Gomel, "Gaugamela Palace of the Camels". This paradox came to resent the reciprocity of magnificence of these camelids in the perfect analogy with Gethsemane, for this purpose to agree with the ghosts of Shiraz shortly before the great battle of Gaugamela began in 332 BC. C. equating the lands arranged before the plantar areas where these divine species continued to bring the sense of war around sensitized, converted into battering rams of mustangs crossing the auscultated portals of the Garden in an agony of interlude. Over the soft roar of Tel Gomel came maidens in white tulle with semi-cross dresses, serene and chaste from the plain of the Palace of India were the wives who married the commanders of Alexander the Great. They were from the war lineage that also came to concelebrate the farewell of the Animalia and Hexagonal Primogeniture. Today the seven miracles come together in a perfect line of the Apeiron, which of all things identifies this first principle with the "indefinite" or "unlimited." Considering that the constitutive principle of things was the Apeiron, which is neither water, nor earth, nor fire, nor air; It has no concrete form, it is infinite. The cosmos is born, develops, and perishes within that "ápeiron" in Gethsemane. This existential infinity of the beginning of the world is born from this feat in Gethsemane, affirming that only this immaterial element nor any other of the so-called elements will bring the ápeiron nature of the Garden in flames of love from which all the heavens and elements that are in them are generated in Gethsemane renewed towards the infinity of love of Joshua. Now, starting from where there is a rebirth for things, reconstructive destruction is also produced there, giving rise to needs; in fact, they pay each other by blaming and retributing for their injustice according to the disposition of time speaking of these things in rather pastoral terms, these maidens come in their feathered chariots from Sisellas of Tel Gomel for the blessed ones who club the underground of Tel Gomel and Bumodos, among cosmic rinsings of the Apeiron of the Messiah beyond its origin in the Kafersuseh (many births under a single great multivalent spirit among thousands of stables of origin and powers of Dimensional Beams, where the master lord worships from the trapeze hanging from beam to beam). The fireflies, bumblebees, bees, and wasps, resemble the profiles of the hollows and hills that were hidden before the figure of all this nascent profane world, more grandiloquent than migrating and fitting the engineering of the great beams that support the structural sky predominantly on supine and flexion. The World, after decompressing, dragged the linear orographic cords of Gethsemane, puncturing the cords of the rocks and its messianic average lithosphere, in this way it opened twisting in the inertia that toward the rock puckered a fist of guidelines that distilled in later moments and of adaptation of the inertia to adapt with the dynamics of the Aramaic emerging from the mouth of all the olive trees Bern after yawn and slime of trapped dust. Vernarth says: "With my Xiphos I will establish life beyond the burning of wounds, come worms to snack on your meat Hoplites, come now..."I am Hetairoi..." and I usually die several times over the worst pains in the jaws of ambrosia with Hestia but I do not tolerate that others suffer pain beyond my control. In the minutes that the horns of the wind besiege, the living Garden of the jailer will be freed from us, constrained to uncover the insidious and opaque sphere of solitary confinement, that deprives us of knowledge even being embarrassed about the same death and not attentive to it that blooms on the plethoric thorns of Saracen alcohol" On gigantic dimensions, the insects copulate the shadows directed on the shadows of the Giant Camels thus beginning the departure of the Aramaic Huerto converted into the new palace of the Animalia, despite contending pretense of pollen on each particle of the Mashiach's concretions now on the platform of the Palace of the Camelids and on the Holy hummus of the Garden of Gethsemane. The Apostle Saint John says: "anxious urges to go to the other side of the evocation and have to look at other tree species with water from the universe that irrigates the world in the swamp"... He appears sitting on his golden Petrobus cloud with Raeder... Raeder says: "I will go with miraculous airs and terrified of themselves of our own miracles, bathed in the water from the flow and from the head of Petrobus, we will supply water where there is none, but he has no mention, only the instinct of those who need him. I have to hang myself from his Jade Ferrules that carry his web-footed legs. Now is the time to continue at some point in the line of the twelve ungulates after these seven weeks in Judah" Eurydice intervenes: "I will get on the camels and talk with them about why the line that leads us will never separate from Gethsemane. We know that we have to return from Jaffa to Limassol to remove the Mariano gold medallion that was bathed in the bottom, and that Procorus awaits us immersed in the aroma of the Garden. I keep a crack in my heart where a Bern Olive tree grows, and that of its sprouts that are populating the houses of Skalá and the heights of Patmos" King David: "I will proclaim over the baptismal airs, and that the ghosts of Shiraz will raise Olive trees from the balusters of the avenues of Berna, to raise the props of passageways that lead to the heights of Agamemnon creating the kingdom of Mycenae in mythology that will propitiate the sovereignty of all of Argos. This was ingested all of a sudden in the triad of the Hebrew, Aramaic, and Hellenic worldview, to triumph over the excess of external knowledge that they had and will have to be kept in my cenotaph full of wandering aromatic weevils" Etréstles states: "the emanations of the Sun and progression of other suns will always be the adjective that will make us be part of every particle of land here in the Garden, Messolonghi, Limassol, Rhodes, and Patmos.

Also after this episode appears Campaspe, one of Alexander the Great's concubines. She came on behalf of all the maidens and concubines who were betrothed to their commanders in India. The beauty of this noblewoman is renowned. Campaspe says: "We were all going to be Sovereigns, but the face of expiration was always in front of the Commanders of Alexander the Great. The outfits we wore were only black and had scents from Palacios de Gaugamela. The cold that is born from another leads me to possess those of others that are not the ones that bring me here. I was given into the hands of a painter who portrayed me but the true meaning of the warm mustard lands of Gaugamela is in the heat of the wasteful pleasure of the solitude of spaces, there is no greater striking and curative good than the one that has come from Vernarth to Tel Gomel, paraphrasing the sensuality and sadness that continues to manifest here in the hovering hoofed hands of the ghosts of Shiraz, bringing to greater confusion to unite all the forces of the world for all the blood that has not been emancipated or renamed" The gray mist of the Garden on gum resin mourns, the insects moan the test of the triangulated pollen that Campaspe disseminates in its nascent genome, and the twelve camels begin to turn on themselves along with their insulting long and prolonged snores. The hillsides snort in procreation in the whistles of the fresh air disputing the attire of the Bern Olive Trees that ebb from the elongated bands of their white dresses *******. The Mashiach was leaving between the gray strips of naked nubiles. The weevils followed him out of the caves of the previous character of Golgotha, and the Lepidoptera emitted voices in ancient Aramaic similar to the event of Bethany in the hands of Lazarus contracted to immortalities in the shreds of his shroud turning green in the hardened olives in an epitaph never chanted. Gethsemane became a mezzanine scale of Persian architecture, but of a channel of the affront of a high premium measure, Mashiach in each of the four wings of the Lepidoptera and Cherubim, frolicking in the emulsion of the phrases exuded by the aerial rounds of the insects that were compressing the new cycle of language, together with the candle overflowing with pearlescent matches running through the thin flannels of the Mashiach's farewell together with the foamy secretion of the Olive Tree and with the dominant beam of Kafersesuh. Vernarth and the Apostle close their eyes already mounted on the camelids, they take a slow walk on the mezzanine that suggested walking through rocks and desert lands. Everyone was already mounted on each of the Giga camels, leaving Gethsemane flooded with insects, birds, and blades, clouds of Pollen over the fumaroles of the quantum.



Paraps  ***

Ghosts from Shiraz to Jaffa

VII part -Mashiach of Judah Miracle VIII

They leave Jerusalem with the mountebanks of Shiraz, they were ghosts of the plectrum, the wine, the roses, and the fireflies sleight the path of the twelve camels until the intersection with the Cenotaph where King David will stay with the Cherubs of Kafersesuh. They were Epi ghosts that basked in the footsteps of the camelids. They went in the cessations of the bent nails and plants of the areas of the marquee of the other four ghosts that accompanied him. They were tightrope walkers with water wheels of wheel balances with tutelary ropes, some with a stilt of opprobrium from the monetary wealth of Judas Iscariot and the last propelled by a caper that governed all the others on the wings of the Fireflies. Removed from the road that leads to the Kidron valley falls on them all two thousand five hundred years with clay tablets from Persepolis, they were phonetized with the plaintive nightmare of the tortuous poem of Tirazis; which is currently Shiraz in this way these ghosts escorted the Hexagonal Primogen, they were exiled from their ghostly cities for not paying the tribute of obedience to destroy and rebuild. When they began to be with them in the cove, the acrobat ghosts were seething with the desire to prevent everyone from being saddened by the party from the orchard that was falling further and further behind their footsteps, dancing with their pirouettes along the way, telling little stories in their ears. of the travelers. which is currently Shiraz in this way these ghosts escorted the Hexagonal Primogen, they were exiled from their ghostly cities for not paying the tribute of obedience to destroy and rebuild. When they began to be with them in the cove, the acrobat ghosts were seething with the desire to prevent everyone from being saddened by the party from the orchard that was falling further and further behind their footsteps, dancing with their pirouettes along the way, telling little stories in their ears. of the travelers. which is currently Shiraz in this way these ghosts escorted the Hexagonal Primogen, they were exiled from their ghostly cities for not paying the tribute of obedience to destroy and rebuild. When they began to be with them in the cove, the acrobat ghosts were seething with the desire to prevent everyone from being saddened by the party from the orchard that was falling further and further behind their footsteps, dancing with their pirouettes along the way, telling little stories in their ears. of the travelers.

Hydro Saltimbanqui: "I come from Roknabad (also known as Aub-e Rokní), an underground canal that brings spring water to the city from a mountain ten kilometers northeast of Shiraz. Here I have to mend propellers and water ropes to do my acrobatics on the water with general songs from the poems of the Poet Hafiz. When we bite our tongues we repair it with the verses of Hafiz's Koran, there are three hundred creeds, three hundred hectares to irrigate with my wheel the sadness of those who cannot have the gifts of the rivalry of Black Mount and White Mount to overestimate the vividness of the caravan that trembles with uncertain doubts on the way to Jaffa" Saltimbanqui de Báscula utters: "We are Epi ghosts, greened in reverie with tutelary ropes to jump through the trapeze of photometric units of the heavy Almería of the highest Mirror of the Sea. Here we look from the same that will be boarded on the barge that will take them back to Limassol. Curiously, the same ship from Lepanto that sleeps in the swaying of the sea and arms of Anaximander in a new awakening from the lethargy of superstring theorizing, here is the intrinsic speculation of science since this is not only purely empirical research." Anaximander says: "First..., we do not have the agreement that string theory is not ultimately correct and in the future in some verifiable way. Second, we propose a purpose of the order of string theory that is necessary for science and its importance going even beyond the scientific to also project on the metaphysical and the religious, right here in this order of greater what to do attached to the string that leads me to Patmos. Saltimabanqui de Báscula responds: "metaphysical and religious legitimacy, here we are making knots in the tow rope that will inaugurate a new masonry in the verifiable futuristic gaze. Here is the original fiction of continuing to raise the necks of the ants above our optics. We will jump over these two ropes but we will fall on intervals of physical placental caves that were born from the neo-embryo in the Twelve Caves of Gethsemane in a late primordial germinal process. The micro phonetic vibrations will have to raise us above the hunger to continue and leave King David in his cenotaph gored on his hips by the Cherubim marking his holy horns that are confused by the blunting of the cuneiform scratches of his epigram. Between theoretical magic and exotically as associativity of substance causally of poetic song and multiverse, believing in the ghosts of Shiraz, such dreams injected to sublimate Aeneids that lamented in the stones of the bottom, even being independent of their material origin. Multi universes, multi paraphrase for those who have to adorn the word "Rosa with the noble long dress of him to the cliff of Ebdara when Vernarth acclaims his brother Etréstles, he comes with the Charioteer from Messolonghi. Rested and resolved to head for Tel Gomel, He comes with his horse Kanti to keep him company on this crusade. Kanti braved the Cliffs of Crete, and was subservient to Markos Botsaris, 1821 (Royal Hero of the Liberation of Greece in the Turkish Invasion, Koumeterium Messolonghi-Xlibris USA), until in the afternoon he approached from a herd of beautiful stallions to the. This was heard by Etréstles and he seized His horse to have more than a Life from His company, more than a lost lost aroma of His natural mother to reach the indicated one who treasures it". The ghosts attribute quantitative passages before leaving King David, and then proceeding to Jaffa and getting ahead of the ship back to Cyprus; Limassol. They were all hyperkinetic bowls leveraged by the terrain that went on the **** of the histrionic mountebank presaging contours of the temporary filigree that each one made them smile at the carriage with oxidizing wheels, still being immaterial beings but alive in their vapors of portent wading the serous bile that they emerged from the glasses in their allegories. They did not stop their footsteps or their phonetic figures undulating over the caravan that had already passed Jerusalem. The areas, volumes, and lengths were fully covered by the Ghosts of Shiraz, the mountebanks ran along the banks of Ramallah and it was winter, the city received them with winds and inclement weather from the southwest alternating with cold and dry winds from the northeast. The mountebanks went like master geometers to condone the fuss of the caravan by devising a dodexagesimal system. (Twelve Centuries of Ultra Nocturnal Geometry, and Shipwrecks in the Lighthouse of Alexandria).Positioning the number 12 as a base, to measure the times and angles that they needed to avoid the voluminous rains that lashed the caravan. Incredibly, the volumetric position of the plantar legs of the camels seemed like wheels that turned without stopping at any anti-circumferential radius, turning some clouds into a wicket that enclosed them like a quadrilateral of the flock of God in the high semicircle of the waters that pretended to fall as axiomatic staffs in the beard of Euclid tempering his elemental construction. The linear position of each of those who were mounted was a perfect ergonometric based on the Muladhara pressing four purple petals on pressing Vernarth's Achilles heel that was dimensioning the triangulation of Ramallah with the lichens that were housed in his sword Xiphos at the apex jet that carried the dodexagesimal cartography. In the same position, it seemed the Apostle Saint John carried the rosary in his left hand in geometry that stretched across his nose and feet in a thirsty adonis triangle of one hundred and twenty degrees of the sextant widening his spectrum to align with this Primogen. This is how the stars and planets are positioned in celestial spheres with the gravitation of the Olivos Bern revolutionizing curved and flat equations that intuited to go beyond the crossed pirouettes that the mountebanks did all along the road, even further than those on the withered oil road purposely unquestionable systems that the Ghosts of Shiraz intended to establish. Ghosts of Shiraz; These Persian Epi ghosts started from the axiom and ideal abstract entities relating models of austerity and lyricism that fluctuated in the lines and planes of movement of the clouds, with the counterpoint of the plantars of the Gigas leaving marks in the sand like Morse point, Vernarth diluted his bones to settle them near the tarsus and accommodate it at the end of the vertebra of the Muladhara (Chakra of 4 petals) making a sub-technical geometric function to preserve the plasmas of darkness that were also diluted to arrive at night near Jaffa in the surroundings of the isometric fire existing in each one and in two dimensions..., but being born from a common one. Raeder and Petrobus had their rims floating full of dusty and dense mania on their faces with rubber from shards that had been released from one of the stunts of one of the mountebanks when colliding with the basic postulates of the Ghosts of Shiraz, deducting spaces that undulated like snakes. within the isometric fire that dazzled them with white-hot humor of the last drops of the Shemesh codifying in absolute intuitive measure, more distant from any dimension that is Consciousness destroying planes and spaces that multiplied each other as members of another geometric conscious dimension. Arriving at the Ben Shemen crossing, everyone suffers collective hypnosis, the ghosts manage to embodied in each of the components of the Birthright but omit a great factor. They relegated the Hexagonality of the genetics of this caravan, the ghosts not knowing how to calculate the area once they were being intracorporeal within the members, thus having to leave before the last dislocated Shemesh ray threw the ashes of the Gehenna, for this supposed reason of leaving them condemned to recycle the human species for the purpose of reproducing sacred human beings, but being servile to whims beyond the immortality of the miscalculation that led them to Karim Khan's citadel, surprised with their image of thick stone walls and circular towers in the heart of Shiraz. This gave them a warrior aspect contrary to their fame and history: this was a city famous for two thousand years for its culture, with its gardens and its poets, now if in a plot by this beautiful odalisque trick that attracted the guide of the ecstatic and bilocated ghosts, in a bad moment of extradition towards a bad context of epi ghosts not yet defined in foci of apprentices boasting of laurels of weak and doubtful ideas that still swarmed within his white heart, trying to reach Vernarth's as a former Hetairoi commander, today turned into mystical servile. In such a way they are complicated as "Sufi" ghosts, being, in reality, the genetic spectrum of the double ax that carries the double-cut of today..., of the sacrament of Medea in Abdera. Pro says a ghost from Shiraz (embarrassed): "The Universe is a sea that longs for dry shores, without sea, and without other wet longings..., no possible maiden could Try to dry it with her hands of stars... Who calms the crying of the Universe ...even so..., a simile remains floating like a verse among his dreams" "How can I make of my dreams another dimension of the universe if he is silent and does not make me float in his sea...how can I make it possible for the points of his stars to fill the spaces that have revealed him...and that have made circular shores without a sea between fogs" "I walk alone and nobody sees me... I do not wake up in candles that smile and accompany me... between days that turn into mornings on the shores of the solitude of the universe, that nobody embraces him..." "Now the days tremble with almost falling on themselves, they come out alive from their own loneliness of satiety and fullness... of whoever appreciates them in the mist... being able to surrender in attentions in Ben Shemen".

Creating a sequence that bends the heads of the ghosts filling translucent physiognomies between a cold past and super frozen future, from a classic mechanic that from now on would depend on dice thrown by the Third Ghost of time. Here a relativism would be opened to those who want to see the past in the orchard in an unstable particulate present, leaving far from the splitting of both parts of the archetype of today as a subdivided clash of several times that allowed the remaining phantasmagorical specters to be integrated, taking over history on a plural axial axis that prevailed in the time of a supposed number line from a vector aligning itself towards the compass of distance, that shines between both hemispheres of the north and of the minutes that go to the right and the solid-gaseous seconds that almost burst in the walls of their own liberated beings. The four Shiraz ghosts had time differentials before this event with the caravan verifying the simultaneous strut between the two pairs of ghosts between four dissimilar but idyllic ones that made them here at this point be ignored and annulled between two relative nomenclatures of physical structure. The durability and classification of these micro-times of the epi-ghosts would make the database that Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth will accumulate with their eyes closed, each surpassing himself in the debatable areas that concern estimating the occupation of physical spaces in some of them at their consent so that one of them could embark to Limassol. This simultaneous and relativistic multi-active line encloses events and quadratures of spaces in the cinematographic space of parapsychological regression, such a link of physical images slowed down in evolutionary and cognitive memory, passing from the conduit of memorizing events to expectations and their set of absolute figures not pigeonholed but if approaching the universe in prehensile scales of those who value them. present and future more as a pattern of departure to the unique future "today" by space of spaces. This unified three-dimensionality would mark the mathematical space of the attempts towards the future of the adjoining camelids of the ghosts of Shiraz for ownership of time among all with a single identity that cries out for an unequivocal will to rearm, although the winds of the partition that separates The word of God and the believing observer towards the ***** with a believer from a historical past in obscurantism, leaving and entering a new world whose notion is to spend connected and handcuffed in dependent systematization with great causes, although the static feels isolated from the dynamic, asking it to unite with the ghosts and the others, even though they are inferior forces under the line of the generous gaze and parallelisms of the attentive viewer that suggests more openness received, delegating circumstances to all physical, emotional, spectral dimensions and mental-spiritual, flexing the hierarchical emotional states of night and day. They all fall asleep embraced in quilts and lamb saddlebags, making it possible for them to approach the Ghosts and sleep next to them, embracing each other with strength decanted from some frames that hang from their masks, showing the vibration of being favorite children of the Mashiach, absorbed in the Kidron Valley. Quadrupled and cloistered in self-consciousness scattered like an iceberg behind the submissive thoughts that aspire to be tied to more invaluable time. Our Abba has us more tied to an absolutist past and future, looking at his calendar divided in such a way that the day that strikes the shadows of an incisive past always fits so that it always smiles at us in the best light signal of who and with whom repair damage of varied wounds that travel through the times of times always hurt, to and from borders of a remote anachronistic. The ghosts are always tetra fast they are marginalized to the sound of greater acuity, fleeing in Rishon Lezion to wake up a little further from the rays of the stationary Sun that from now on always surfaced in the degraded eyes of the mountebank prowling around the fairs of those who know how to wait, to make a treat under the pretext of Faith and hope that exempts the Cardinal turned into a flower decorated in white. Shvil of the Angels; The fast epi phantom tetras were emaciated they lost their north and could not walk, they were energized by the radiosities of the earth that rules over those who lent divine graces if their feet rested on the tapestry of those who threw their footsteps at them in winter now near Jaffa. The Shvil Angels were angels who were on the route that cordons off the pilgrimage of Vernarth and Saint John the Apostle, they were full of flowery Bernese Olive Trees that served as floral arcades at the entrance to this thousand-year-old port. They were three, when they walked, they always spread out so fast that they seemed to be six but they ended up averaging the quantum of three for each of the components of the Birthright, which from today would be the great circumcision event of the Universe, to make it part of that one day they will have to dissipate the rhombuses of the fragmented beams of light on the way to the sky so high, in the name of the phrases that never tire of looking eternally at the incautious years, which belong to our father through Exo galaxies in the total company of invisibility and cautious time relativity. This beautiful Semitic sea shore indicates and invites us to reach its salty Hebrew waters of Yofi, reinforcing the phonetics that runs madly through the border hills with their hearts in their hands when foreigners appear in the name of plausive phylogeny. That brings them a bearable piece of the farmhouse from the Universal flood, for this is that the ancient Canaanites have to receive them with the table served to entertain them with winter flowers in Jaffa. The Hellenistic tradition relates the name to Iopeia, which is Cassiopeia herself, mother of Andromeda. After Pliny the Elder the name is connected with Joppa who was the daughter of ******, god of the wind. Where Vernarth locked his shield Áspis Skoilé to shine in the bilges of the Eurydice under the pentagons of his shield's bronze layer whenever he approached the Dodecanese when the Auriga descended from Andromeda on the back of an oarsman battered by storms away from his home galaxy. Thousands of years BC its merchants glorified themselves with their baskets full of goods and merchandise for its inhabitants who today pretended to be pharaohs who contributed to the marine corners along the coast that today seemed to open with more new waters reborn from the capers of the swells founding thus the omens of embarking to attack and submit to the omens of sovereignty between Judah and Hellenic lands, to work with noble trees in their armories and utensils of which they traversed an honorable part after the maintenance of the emblem of the last portion of Alexander's libertarian triumph pole Magnus on the Phoenicians at Tyre. gazelle) in Joppa (Jaffa) and later how near this city he has a vision in which Yahveh told him that one should not distinguish between Jews and Gentiles while ordering the removal of ritual food restrictions (kosher) followed by the Jews. The Shvil of the angels distanced themselves from the appetite of this station without reaching them and not making them drink salt water from Jaffa, so they resorted to Petrobus, which a few meters before reaching the port summoned a large number of Dodecanese Pelicans who were waiting for them in great celestial flocks that hovered happily over the sky welcoming them. The pelicans levitate from a risky juggling act on the caravan and headed out to sea collecting saltwater, then they went through the initiatory path of Shvil and reconvert the salty water into sweet with hazelnuts so that they would have holy water to insolate it and serve it in canteens of the temple guards of the Canaanites who were waiting for them to distract them, making them believe that they were other Syriac lands as in those of Asherah that in this act perhaps it would be good for them to sponsor the Hexagonal Primogeniture. But the trails of angels confederated before the noisy crowds and Ptolemaic lemurs that scrambled into the empty spaces that remained. After this grave siege, Vernarth shouted to heaven with the force of Phalangist tradition himself, and hailed heaven for the good of freeing them from their definitive income to Jaffa summoning the Hypastists; elite warriors, and spearmen so that they would hem the portal at her Jaffa entrance for others who were never from nowhere and out of nowhere, only blocking her from her perfect theological heritage and memorial conservation plan upon return from Judah exit, to embark with destiny through the sulfurous ponto that will scald them in temporary waters towards the Cyclades and then to the Dodecanese, succeeding in inhabiting them wherever they were and whoever arrived with foreign promise. At nightfall in its first nubile shadows, the Shvil appears to them with these three angels dressed in ivory white, each one with a book in each hand and in the other a candelabrum giving signs of ultra-interpretive catechesis, allying itself with silica in combination behind the vision of the charms of propagated knowledge. Earth and sky in the second angel washing off the Semitic dew of Jaffa anguished with teachings of sleeping well and waking up, to walk in the lands that wish to seize the senses of those who are called not to be oppressed, behind bars of the morbid and illiterate Panavision of angles of hasty entertainment of the angels when they were called by the Regent Angel, simply relaying information easy to take to their hearts in faint powers and paradisiacal punishments, before falling into a thorny forest plowing their tongues into furrows of afflicted human charges and then earnestly redeem them with the judicious power of Hashem. Vernarth agonizes over the matter of seeing them so tender and so fragile allowing her to gently row towards him. Finally, these three rules of the Shvil Hanael are presented; "talking to them about hindrances stuck in the literary cabal of grateful fulfillments for all". Vernarth alludes to a desensitized subject and is also far from any Sub Yogic disciplinary doctrine. This led him to stand behind San Juan, frightened protecting himself from everything around him, he was seeing in front of the upper left side that Zebedee was, San Juan's own father calling him! Saint John the Apostle says: "Justice allows us at this time to alleviate ignorance if the riddles allow us to only seek the answer, Hashem will not be here..., it will only be an emotional catharsis due to a Shivil or merely ideological passage, which moves our prayers without sense taking us definitively to the coffers that are rearmed one after one after the mistake. We are faithfully interpreted by them but we detest our regencies with the Eschaton when we all try to follow its light of resounding density towards the sky, prophesying to follow it without getting lost in It..., held on its glossary shoulder. On the claws that are released from the dazed angelic prey correcting its wavering vision, unraveling the living presence of damnations or salvations in Eden with your bare feet or hell with no departure time "Inexplicably some Praetorian soldiers of Domitian appear, who would be restricting the departure of the triacontero bound for Limassol, curiously they were the same ghosts of Shiraz that continued to represent such a bad event, just like when he was expelled to Patmos by Domitian in 95 BC, of size was the hubbub produced by the Shvil angels with impracticable ideologies, who opposed such spectral imagery, in such a way that they replaced their figure with that of another fellow Hellenic who wanted to embark for Patmos, the other members were fully incorporated into the ship that cavorted on pirouettes as it carried them proudly to a new ocean. Around the last drops that jumped in Jaffa on the coastal rocks, others appeared when the last divided and scattered drops were going to shine the navigation temples, thus it is possible to board the same ship that brought them from the beginning of arrival from Limassol to Judah, which transited from Lepanto. They reappear in the plenipotentiary chapel offering a ceremony that would return the messianic hindrance to the Angels of Shiraz, to return to their former positions within the itineraries of biblical characters that tend to become adulterated in the game of the loss of consciousness of the Escaton, probably requiring that everyone has to make pilgrimage routes for all humanity confined and liberated by themselves. The Saltimbanqui finally manage to jump on the boat to sail to the Dodecanese but the Shvil of the Angels remained where other celebrities will require them to redirect them to the Shvil Escaton.



Paraps XXXI

Second Hijra to Patmos

VIII part -Judah's conclusion

What can be perceived by the Universe of Judah would be in a Universal Eye of photochemistry within the phosphorescence of the spectrum of the Jaffa bay that magnetized the visible sprinkling electricity, within the visible field of the photon in the same bay, which is responsible for elementary particle guarantor of quantum manifestations of the electromagnetic phenomenon. Carrying electromagnetic radiation of gamma rays over the entire atmosphere of Jaffa, X-rays, ultraviolet light, visible light, infrared light, microwaves, and radio waves, causing the ellipsis of Radio Moscow on October 29, 1929, right there presenting itself from the future to the present before hijra to Patmos.

Ellipsis Radio Moscow 1929 – Parapsychological Radio Regression:

"Radio Moscow went on the air on October 29, 1929. And this, its first broadcast in a foreign language, would be in Greek to be heard by everyone in Jaffa. Radio Moscow bulletins expressed great unease over the recent rise to power of the dictator Adolf ****** in Germany during the 1930s. An unintelligible visionary fumble of daphnomancy was considered, predicting the persecution of the Hebrews and extermination of themselves for which Saint John Apostle immediately tuned in common with Vernarth the instant he was hit by this radio wave of number twenty, nine of Jaffa's exit edict. The visible fantasy of this would make the audio listeners uncomfortable towards the behavior of certain intermittent swings that made the natural light of Jaffa intermingled with luminescence, with the waves and photons in presumptuous duality to dominate Vernarth's behavior when invaded by this flash of prophetic invasion. The Apostle's observation spheres made it faster to climb and try to sustain this invasive radio wave that crossed time thousands of years from the year 1929 to the year 165 AD. C. approximately that it traveled with a great speed of infinite wave to a great percentage of microseconds. All this information alerted the native son of Capernaum, worrying too much about this ethnopolitical situation. Here the microwave was refracted, undergoing a change in direction that collided with the ship, in its floating basal portion, due to the fact that this wave propagated at different speeds considering that the medium in which they were moving was clearly wood, but propelled by a large transmission vehicle through the winding water to the massive hull. Doing and plotting what would make them move immediately to go to Cyprus; Limassol. The speed of the radial wave was parked on the sails and that of the hull due to the chromatics of the water that lightened its refraction through the facets of the sails, and the cap bizarrely acted as an exponential concave angle propeller motor and overheated. A quick brawling radio wave appears in Vernarth's tongue; Says Vernarth: "Anti-Semitism is a matter of ******* benefiting from slavery and vast insubstantial ethnic resources, not allowing to relate the advance of ancient and primitive civil social immigrations that migrate to sociopolitical statuses, already pampered since their arrival in the Rhineland during the Roman Empire. The Jewish community prospered until the end of the 11th century after the First Crusade, having to go through a long stormy period marked by massacres, accusations of ritual crimes, various extortion, and expulsions. Their legal status was degraded and Jews were prohibited from exercising most trades. In the 18th century, Enlightenment philosophers such as Moses Mendelssohn were outraged by this miserable condition and launched a campaign to denounce it. However, the road that led them to Emancipation was long and lasted nearly a century, after which the Jewish community was integrated into society. Their assimilation allowed an economic and intellectual success that aroused suspicion in certain sectors, also giving rise to anti-Semitism with the coming to power of Adolf ******'s oligarch in 1933, putting the Jews on the margin of German society. Extensive persecution was followed by deportation and then extermination during World War II. After the war, the Jewish community slowly reconstituted itself thanks to the support of the German federal government." This time enchanting with lamb's blood coined on its cornices to sprout them for all those who had to endure the enigma of departure towards the straight desert as a property of the radio waves exhibited here as a dogmatic whole dusting in the geometric regime, which testifies to a whole "That the Robe of the Savior shakes all the structures of critical-political thought and brilliance of race." Producing objective intellectual blood, which would join the Social Christian party in Germany in 1930. But every elementary thesis would promulgate the emphasis on the centrality of social democracy, of bringing to Patmos a great task of dividing by time by traversing the timeline providing Joshua's solid One-Dimensional Beams at Kafersesuh, for the protectorate of the holocaust and sacrifice and introduce premises of emancipation and abolition of the subterfuge of marginalized social fields, devoid of interethnic social guarantees and the heel of Semitic roots. This natural property is excepted by the breed of San Juan Apóstol; Zebedee's son consists of carrying this to the most informative substantiality up to Patmos to keep them organized. From this dialectical propagation, great shadows arose, interposing opacities that showed many Jews falling into concentration camps at the exact moment of expropriation of their real estate. Naked bodies can be seen only with dark shadows with small signs of imperturbability on their cut faces, staying in the gloom of Conviction, with some photos of their children in relative proximity to the deadly impression of last death rattles and undermined fading pointed expressions, appearing in the rictus of their wives with narrow condemnatory anguish falling on them from the same Cell of the stormy Escaton, that transcended under semiotic history; the resurrection of the dead, divine judgment, heaven and eternal happiness with God or damnation and hell. Here is a perfect archetypal case of the disconcerting radio wave pouring novelty and satisfaction before the curiosity of the listeners, but it was a "newest Revelation at the same time, being objectivity for the cell of San Juan and for the immanent protectorate", which designates the dimension mundane and temporal opposed to transcendence. Because many Christians have become incapable of conceiving the "other world" as a consistent, real reality, and have transferred to this world the hope of a full and happy life. In this "immanentization" evangelical theologies of prosperity incur both, which see in the Christian faith as the means to achieve material well-being, Vernarth closes a blind when they were already walking on the magnetized corvettes of the sea, without feeling how the sea besieged them,...saying himself: "I keep looking through the hole of my ignorance, and I manage to see the dictators in monochrome displaying their diffraction banners lights, a key to ethnic oppression "in black and white" and the turned ones going through the crack in the trails of the Hebrews with their suitcases and belongings, lost and surrendering to laments united to the Messiah. In holistic combined, centered to the extent of a third screen produced in alternative light and dark bands, in the Lepanto nave when everyone learned vox populi about the radio phenomenon in non-transistorized tubes in frank romance with the old age of their practices. End Ellipsis Radial Radio Moscow. The phenomenon of interferences of a natural nature continues, bringing joy to their ruined hearts, they all sang Christian songs that made vertical lines appear on their faces between both melted cheeks. Leaving them incidence of fasting light to signal as thrones of lighthouses that illuminate the skies of the Messiah's seas, putting themselves before them millions of light-years from the side that now they could see him. The angles disperse and affect the light of the Messiah of the Our Father at twilight, falling on the others like the same conclusive Gethsemane leaf of the Bern Olive Tree. Flowing the light on the matter that sheltered the ship to Limassol, industrial energy was constituted in all the directions of the superficial optics, generating reflections in weak interferences that oscillated like immobile remnants of radio waves still active. This phenomenon made Brisehal appear from the bottom of the sea; the giant of Dasht-e-Lut, approaching to protect Vernarth and the Hexagonal Birthright. Generating a dynamic global hetero internal light in the navigation radius of the ship, in a more parsimonious speed than in a more relative one, frustrated to try to synchronize the flashes of the Xiphos sword of Vertnath Hoplite that allowed him to use it as a sextant, to arrive at the Cypriot destination. In this void of energy by another replaced, a speed imprint of the same void arises with lengths of movement of underwater waves caused by the giant Brisehal, to displace them in washings of the Adonis in accordance with the Sword of their master Vernarth ephebe. Dispersing evaporated droplets from the desert of Dash-e-Lut that remained in the cloacal zones of his ears polarizing defensive crystals from the hyperactive environment, and in force of the Phalangists scourged in Gaugamela who still writhed on the diaphanous immaterial land that continued in heated conflict, until the coexistence of the oppressor ceases. The parallel rotated worlds follow each other unrotated, being disturbed in another dimension mediated by the aware consciousness, which lacks any neutral rationality. They would be only attempts going through crystals of the Faith..., mastering projectile salutes of malevolent brotherhood, immersed in a maximum intensity of breakage and crystalloid rupture, which flows from the Messiah's lens in angles of subaquatic darkness. All of this atmosphere self-absorbs, leaving divine rabbi light tele-transferred into stored energy reaction levels, whose capacity would exceed one billion cubic meters due to the rupture between the chemical bonds caused by radiant energy, dissociating molecules by the effect of sublime light from serious sounds of immanence, and redefining itself as the interaction between one or more cells of mass of light against a molecule nomad target. Also appropriate for the extreme radicalization that marine plants would suffer, which also sailed expelled from the disturbed radical seabed of Jaffa.



Hellenic Existential Hypnosis

Arriving at the central retention of the Aegean Sea between parallels 36-38 of latitude and meridians 24-26 of longitude belonging to the periphery of the South Aegean, an abduction of an amnesic trace of the Alexandrian magnetic period occurs, which made them realize the that they had deviated from the Limassol-Cyprus destination, having to turn degrees to redirect to Limassol. This was exercised and subdued by the Alexandrian period that in its immanent chronology sought to remake an existentialist stance, which descended from the limits chained by the depressive effect of the aura after their death of his sister Cleopatra. This whitish aristocratic parapet of Zeus invaded them not auditing to govern the schizophrenic supply, having to redirect the course to the other side of the Cyclades. Sovereignly Vernarth takes the helm with great Greek breath, creating shields of redemption in arts and sciences of the Hetairoi aristocracy, under meso-urban science-politics replaced by Christian devotion, making the Hellenic language a romantic Aramaic in the potential to prevail the existentialism of the hypnotizing oneiric dream of a silly banquet served by the hordes in all the slopes that transported them between the enigmatic underworld of Panhellenic language, and with re culturization of ephemeral uncrossed lines that subtracted their dramas of disturbing knowledge depriving them of the neuro-motor and adjective of the main return value for the origin of the reconquest of the Triacontero in Limassol. This Hypnosis brought consequences of the Leagues called Diádochos 'successors' of the ancient generals of Alexander the Great, and of the sons of the general hegemons (called epigones,) that at the unexpected death of Alexander the Great in 323 a. C. distributed their empire, disputing power and hegemony over their brothers with various pacts and six wars that lasted twenty years. A political system was then established until the start of the Roman Empire in the eastern Mediterranean in the early 2nd century BC. C. Prone to this contingency, Vernarth turns to Hypnos and one of the thousand children he had with Pasítea, who urged them to cohesion this Hellenic Inertia, quantitatively making the immortality of the image of Alexander the Great to bring each of the ex faithful commanders thus refounding Vernarth his Hellenistic Encyclical, for the purpose of escorting them to Limassol and protecting the lineages and infants who were in their puberty in Greece asleep soon to be an Agoge, after great war campaigns and abandoned agreements as an example of the snowy lineage in his Mother Olympia, and Sister Thessaloniki and children waiting passionately for him. And also in the Empire of Sudpichi-Chile, Luccica with the court of her familiar stoic resistance ingests the opiates until her Vernarth takes her in those arms, from her own and imaginative marshland lagoon gathered at the Itheoi Gods. The disintegration of Macedonia and Greece into subregions catapulted again the appearance of Clovis who says...: the river Lethe in the underworld liquefies your memories, and cleanses your mind permanently. That is the branch of a poplar tree from the underworld, from my father Hypnos. "Lete is not a place where you want to go swimming... but if you change the rudder for your honorable mind". This achieves that one of the sons, among thousands of Pasítea, committed himself to Clovis, to dissipate this existentialist contingency, claiming the appeal of family reunion and imperishable Hellenic constituent ancestry, under the hypnotic and hegemonic phenomenon that polished banners and panoplies in Greece, Macedonia, and Asia Minor. As a subsidiary exception, they will satisfy what was reissued by Ptolemy, one of Alexander's childhood companions of whom some authors venture to say that he was the illegitimate son of Philip II. He wisely quickly seized Egypt and hastened to create an enduring state by declining imperial ambitions that he considered unrealistic. He was one of the main opponents of the imperial cause thus becoming one of the founders of the Hellenistic world. Unusually, the commanders of Alexander incontinent to his excessive dipsomania of glorious hierarchical power, demystified Hetairoi's harangue, generating in it a Hypnotic counter-conception, making these sedative steps to delegate the religious Vóreios Dei..., which had only known how to redirect itself later in the classic tonnage Gaugamela of his great Hoplite Commander Vernarth. This grayish super mass of uncontrolled winds and increased lightning proto idolatrous forms salivated in the same Hellenistic family, whose postulate was to multiply the family over its geopolitical dominations in other nations, unifying them as a family geo-clan rather than in the seas that do not divide the water-land, Rather, they unite moralistic and cultural hydro-parental resources of the world that is a concomitant part of "The devouring cyclone of mythological dignitary entities, and other races that flee from the honest chronogram of historicity and its reconstructive past-present." Square meters of great cyclops mouths were floating in the air, it inspired Vernarth to make the green grass of the sea reborn like plankton that made a compulsive propensity to exalt Chloé's presence; being an Epi Phantom that always sparkled among the nebulosity as a reserve of Universal Consciousness, geo-measuring the Hellenic consciousness with a black bandage over his eyes, so as not to sully more sprouts of green chlorophyll and photochemical mass of the phenomenon, amassing only Cyclops electrogenic beasts that had to burn on the bolts and runaway embers of dissident light to leave in some memorable way, or beg some Sanctus to do his bidding wandering into acquiring the square feet of tiny, almost unidentifiable beasts that appeared simulating the viscous green water of the river Lethe in the contracted underworld. The existential holistic in the ship produced depressive lags, lack of self-esteem, and factors of loss of the ego, therefore each one who pointed with his index, distended from some silos in the hands of opiates that would denigrate the oneiric in those who tried to flee from their own collective weeds..., fleeing from himself, stagnating and freezing in stretches of dreams of gross loneliness and indelible fantasy..., what the extravagant hypnosis sought to occupy in them with its decrees of mortality is a beyond adulterated in some benevolent indications and psychic reactive alertness. When the soft brilliance of the same flash was shown on the faces of Alexander the Great and Vernarth in the six wars that took place with the Diadocos without flashes for twenty years..., only in twenty seconds would Alexander the Great appear on the deck of the Lepanto ship, dressed in a crimson red costume, covering his Hellenic silhouette up to his allegorical half-torso. From here he urged them to culminate the hypnosis in a deep world in an unbreathable statue of colloquial rhapsody..., pay attention to this... everything continues normally, and Vernarth leaves the helm to honor him with a hoplite Khaire and as a congener of Christian Shvil, so philanthropic and deferential as was Ptolemy, and Vernarth himself in Tel Gomel and Bumodos herding greenish glosses to open them towards the new Magno-theological empire. Metaphysical of the profile of the wise dervish that appeared in Limassol as a sapphire rosary entangling itself in physiognomies and rises of hope in the average Gen, when approaching the latent peninsula of Eurydice's gold medallion. Judah was suspended in the Giant Ungulates munching on the bags of herbs that thickened in their Palestinian snouts, the sphinxes of the birds continued to grow with their wings to shelter blasphemies from their prophets, and Judah wailing in the intraosseous of those who traveled leaving Judah, but never departing from the Aramaic cells of Gethsemane lost from Hellenic Existential Hypnosis.

Vas Auric conceived himself judicious before Spílaiaus when observing that Vernarth was leaning towards a practical meeting of a feared Hellenic crisis based on omnipresence, and all the material-immaterial face that is bloodily arranged in ****** foundations stipulating its very Submythological constitution. All that was a trend within the similar horizon that should be imposed with the appearance of Wonthelimar; as a direct seer of practice continuing the pre-ontological process, and why not say it of someone who does not even think and totally excludes himself from its composition or being part of... rather being a ration of the subjective segment and correction similar to the god Spilaiaus articulating its dynamism under the predominance of the concept of the sapphic verse where it puts knowledge at risk, and speculate on each component of the Itheoi gods, possessing themselves within the torrent of theology under ethical evaluation, differing from the mythical leitmotif, as dissipator of contention and beings that think organically of the material ethereal substrate. Vernarth silently concurs and prepares to postulate the anti-ethical Submythological existence; tending to demystify their Ethos or Conduct, aspiring to envision structures of undervaluation of the same, and flaunt visions of what originates from superior and then yearn for the hierarchy that is not imposed, but rather is a consequence of subsistence apparatuses that put essay its longevity and validity in sevenths, missing four to reach Sapphic foundations, and scaling Mythologies that could facilitate being under the position of the Demiurge or poet cultist of verses, perhaps superior to the crimping of any system when a judgment of true root or incautious origin is put. All this Hellenic atmosphere relied on the ethos links between Vernarth and his lord Spílaiaus, after rearranging pre-ontological (vorontologischeas Heidegger says) knowing his skill and tenfolds as he conforms to the ascending tenth of the eleventh of the sapphic. After this, Wonthelimar would appear to be the object of transcendental challenges and interpretations of the world that give rise to the same thing after not being in Spílaiaus' speech with sapphic verses.

The statement of becoming will be the cause of the gods of the Itheoi after the physiognomy that will spoil the Vertical of Gaul in the very genesis of Wonthelimar. Undoubtedly there will be chilling events of axiomatic transfers and metempsychosis that will be elucidated from the helminths that Spílaiaus will spill through the bark of possession. This mysterious orphic enchantment will be billed by Wonthelimar from the separation of Valdaine emerging alienated over the mountains of Ardeche, transmigrating euphony and reduced justifications that were united with the Helminth reminiscent and reincarnated by Vernarth. Perhaps it was a verme-worm that was classified on his arm moth-eaten in elongated elder veins to parasites of certainly commendable colonies and vehement and lyrical idiomatic apogees. The balusters will continue to be amatory componential in Vernarth for being composed of Heidegger's plinth and imagining oral linkages with the patronage of his eternal mother Luccica who will awaken as always in all presumptive psychophysical and atoning Zionisms with eloquent perspectivism and millionth re-trance, consisting of the putrid ***** arm of his Abrahamic split physics, dissociating in his body, separating and alternating with the dexterous spiral Aorion bracelet existing between the armband of Sagittarius and Perseus, liquefying in indissoluble modular stratagems for three bodies, plus the one that accompanied them dealing with their posthumous individualities in triplets. Singular unconscious metempsychoses brought their dexterous arm picking him up repeatedly from the discursive hives of Wonthelimar, to convince them and tell them that they had not seen the Hexagonal Progeniture for some time, unimpeded that brought him from Ardeche in lasting ensembles and concerting grays senses looking at the valleys of Valdaine in pilgrimages towards the expectant Patmian plains. Its expiration was reborn from the appendages of the water lilies that were seized by embedded lumbar powers, and mentalized in related memories that subsist in digressive reincarnations and longings, re-advancing with revived intelligence to indoctrinate themselves with the elevation of an emetic absolutist consciousness free of greater breaths of judgment is constant waste and reciprocity of cabinets, which were started from an initial discipline already transmigrated,The transitory glow of Exomis hung over some stones that were close to the Perivrachiónio or metal armband that multiplied in the three brazils of Vernarth, Wonthelimar and finally Spílaiaus that was bordered by the Acacians and Nothofagus that were covered with water lilies and peduncles cordoning off the livestock, full of thrones to conquer them almost after having lost calculations of the plasma that was innovated from a Hetairoi by reformulating itself from an incendiary bullfighting essence to its deltoids by detonating hatred in its croaks. All this clairvoyance was veiled for the clothing of the Exomis that was automatically placed in transition when the leaves of the deciduous led him to temporize in Wonthelimar in tender attachments. Distorted would be achieved with ****** healings next to the brave tributary, leaving in the vanguard and with starts from all the carriages that took the condemned to Halicarnassus to be truncated together with infallible Canephores in disgrace to their executioners, browsing all the oak branches of the Wonthelimar joint that had been sheltering from its head, sticking to ancient ruts of souls in pain over the sleeping Nyons. the brawl symbiosis of the Megaron was exhibited with the "M" united with two inverted "Vs", Wonthelimar conceptualizing himself on the eve of early buildings and phobias fragmenting into numerous odes in Thessaly, which were already beginning to re-agglutinate attracted from a majestic image of Hellas, under the pretext of Hellenistic consummations as a vocational and primitive institute race of Alejandrino Magnus derived a few nautical miles to board towards Patmos. The ship crossed the sea conceptualizing itself as the most universal being that revived in the Triacontero, appearing among all the waters as a nubile surf that spoke to each other with words Mageireméno Kefáli Votánon, "Head cooked with herbs". Speaking in primitive erudition alternated and swells with forty feet in territorial Argonauts making similar corvettes like the Gulf of Tarnetino, possessing distant comparisons with sixty miles of the base that colonized Wonthelimar for new sources when encrypted in the Megaron. They persevere leading the Immaturas Polis that would be documented in Patmos and in town halls of the assembly with ****** ceased battles climbing to a great height from the cogitative of the Megarón temple and Theater of Epidaurus, under three shadows of adjoining water lilies and the Spilaion Apokalypseos.

As will be seen in this demonstrative synopsis of the hemicycle Theater of Epidaurus working in the stars for the nations of Asclepius together with Wonhtelimar, that is how migrated melodic sessions and Parapsychological palmistry sounded with burdensome marks of intervenors expectorated in vast when impelling on the Koilones and softened bleached bleachers where each one was shouting to all the winds the advent of all the auditoriums absent by past and future generations, acclaiming lives in salvific voices. Here Spilaiaus from his stomáchi or visceral will point out the stinging nettle that he will invariably scheme whenVernarth continues to weave the plot of transmigration to the CartesianUnderworld as an apocryphal late Aristotelianism, mechanizing the existential dualisms of Hades with formulas, psychotropic and geometric tricks, granting them permission to bequeath habeas corpus theologies, coexisting in the first instance with Etréstles de Kalavrita, who would establish the term of definitive transmigration of Alexander the Great so that the Diadochos andWonthelimar would contend the final and disciplinary action of revocation of the high arrest, trans humanizing the sovereign as a Macedonian next to the hexagonal Primogeniture finally very close to Saint John the Apostle andVernarth in the vicinity of the Megaron Spilaion Apokalypseos. Spílaiausinvokes: "Neolithic alloys, they corresponded to the Medea and Hypnos eras, among all of them being aerial, visionary and northern lights that traveled to my redoubt to sprinkle them in river waters on the night of Agios San Ioannis.From here the Kanthillana with Greco pilgrimage, portentous gusts where the wind is amazed when entering the concavity that is lost in nature of time and qualitative content, unusually being an organism of outburst and cytological drama together in trickery and radiocarbon tricks due to vicissitudes, and actions that have dated my radiation from the radioactive carbon in these caverns and insulted carbon spaces fourteen in more than fifty million radiometric years. From here, my Vernarth, everything becomes insignificant and all the levels of expression slide down the armband, differing three levels from where I have been able to hear the truth of your sound kingdom, which emits gestures that are neither music nor harmonious directions in any worldview where it should place everything that no one can perceive by the senses of nature more enormous than any resurrected mortal. This is how the Itheoi genres are a drastic irrationality that is responsible for restoring forgotten beings, almost Hellenistic humans who speak through languages ​​of their gaze, and museological splendors of which they only reprimand metaphysics as an understanding of the Void such as the Judaic Kli or Hellenic Kenosis, which goes evidencing immersion by transferring futile understanding and hermeneutic pontificate times of Kantillana and Olympus, Patmos and Horcondising. Thus all beings when referring to Vernarth will be nothing more or less than the same in the company of the science of a future that will eternally coexist with the constitutive past of an active present called "Submythology" everything that does not contain parental relationship in koilones and of his greek spiritual stratum, It will be kenósis and Kli of parental pairing with the significance of erratic mobilities in what is interpreted as sporadic mourning, given the universal change, therefore, atmospheric. In the second Trilogy, the Triacontero goes through the Othónes of Naupactus, to Limassol. The ship was attached to the Ziziphus of the Moshiach's crown back from Jaffa, Walking the deck of the ship getting exasperated to revisit Kourion. As the adrenaline subsided, he crashed the port side keeping them in retinas of spheres of fire that came out of the ponto, enlarging such crapulous spheres that they had traveled to the sea through the Kouris River, but been kidnapped by Brisehal who assaulted them and put them on his back esplanade to swim to the peninsula of the current Akrotiri where the ogre carried him as floating globules to inhabit the sands of Cyprus. A tremolo mortar and sinewy essences of the Falangist faction will be established. Together they walk through the arena with Brisehal, being able to observe that it was coming from above and from a great Alikantus glide to meet him. Now, this trilogy of distinguishedAnimalia superheroes was made up of who would escort him to listen to the legions of Greeks from Mycenae who besieged Kourion. When they walked along the edge of the beach, several artists crossed in front of them carrying Avant-grade instruments in their hands, accompanied by miners and forgers of goldsmiths. Everything says to prosper in the Aegean and Greece for a new Paraps ***- Forests of Hylates, Gold Medallion Second Hegira to Limassol. Spílaiaussensible in his necromantic arts would be immersed in an absolutist language of relatives to welcome Vernarth, shelter him, and feed him after Highs and Lows that commemorated all the possible truths and falsehoods that he had to avoid from the final Prolegomena or final speech of the Trilogy, aiming to be located in the highest part of the Kanthillana to face its Greco-American world lineage in wetlands or taigas that would move great cycles of the Caucasus with the Meltemi towards all the grasslands and steppes, bringing vast multitudes of gregarious Hoplites to live together by the floods of the Paleolithicstragglers, to go back to the sinister prehistory that is based mainly on the names of the towns with writing they gave to the "barbarians" who invaded them. Zeus-God (Jovis in genitive) that is, Zeùs patér in Greek, Jupiter in Latin, Dyauspita in Sanskrit. He is opposed to mere demons or secondary gods (Sanskrit devas, daeva Avesta, Lithuanian devas, Gallic Devo, Latin Deus-divi), who derive from the "luminous sky" (the day = dyu,dyo, dies, diei). He will make the sacrificial background of the coming euro-American scene, thus creating the liturgical syncretism of survival by venerating all those who dwell in soulless bodies in the latitudes of Kantillanaand Olympus. From this gregarious candling emanating primary physical forces of submithology; in which man (****) lived. Man is mortal (Marta-, martya- in Sanskrit), son of the Earth-Mother (Mata-prithivi in ​​Sanskrit, Gê-méter in greek). This dualism, only outlined at the level of the primitive into-Europeans, gains consciousness overtime when the mature age of evanescent humanity (Jaspers' Achsenzeit) is reached. In discrepancy of mythological root antagonism, it is bringing chronological and obituary rhythms that will live to delight us with their own gesture from Hellas and Anatoliamainly to Patmos and Horcondising, Sudpichi, Chile. The conductive cycle will have a great impact on Spílaiaus, dimensioning itself in Aristotle, regenerating the first signs of infra spelean humanism in cultures that have nowhere to lodge their vast parallel heritage in more than a distant pre-classical and classic threshold, procreating the only dissolute world striving aggressively in Vernarth Hellenic's Trilogy II.
Messiah of Judah
SMOKE of the fields in spring is one,
Smoke of the leaves in autumn another.
Smoke of a steel-mill roof or a battleship funnel,
They all go up in a line with a smokestack,
Or they twist ... in the slow twist ... of the wind.
  
If the north wind comes they run to the south.
If the west wind comes they run to the east.
  By this sign
  all smokes
  know each other.
Smoke of the fields in spring and leaves in autumn,
Smoke of the finished steel, chilled and blue,
By the oath of work they swear: "I know you."
  
Hunted and hissed from the center
Deep down long ago when God made us over,
Deep down are the cinders we came from-
You and I and our heads of smoke.
  
Some of the smokes God dropped on the job
Cross on the sky and count our years
And sing in the secrets of our numbers;
Sing their dawns and sing their evenings,
Sing an old log-fire song:
  
You may put the damper up,
You may put the damper down,
The smoke goes up the chimney just the same.
  
Smoke of a city sunset skyline,
Smoke of a country dusk horizon-
  They cross on the sky and count our years.
  
Smoke of a brick-red dust
  Winds on a spiral
  Out of the stacks
For a hidden and glimpsing moon.
This, said the bar-iron shed to the blooming mill,
This is the slang of coal and steel.
The day-gang hands it to the night-gang,
The night-gang hands it back.
  
Stammer at the slang of this-
Let us understand half of it.
  In the rolling mills and sheet mills,
  In the harr and boom of the blast fires,
  The smoke changes its shadow
  And men change their shadow;
  A ******, a ***, a bohunk changes.
  
  A bar of steel-it is only
Smoke at the heart of it, smoke and the blood of a man.
A runner of fire ran in it, ran out, ran somewhere else,
And left-smoke and the blood of a man
And the finished steel, chilled and blue.
  
So fire runs in, runs out, runs somewhere else again,
And the bar of steel is a gun, a wheel, a nail, a shovel,
A rudder under the sea, a steering-gear in the sky;
And always dark in the heart and through it,
  Smoke and the blood of a man.
Pittsburg, Youngstown, Gary-they make their steel with men.
  
In the blood of men and the ink of chimneys
The smoke nights write their oaths:
Smoke into steel and blood into steel;
Homestead, Braddock, Birmingham, they make their steel with men.
Smoke and blood is the mix of steel.
  
  The birdmen drone
  in the blue; it is steel
  a motor sings and zooms.
  
Steel barb-wire around The Works.
Steel guns in the holsters of the guards at the gates of The Works.
Steel ore-boats bring the loads clawed from the earth by steel, lifted and lugged by arms of steel, sung on its way by the clanking clam-shells.
The runners now, the handlers now, are steel; they dig and clutch and haul; they hoist their automatic knuckles from job to job; they are steel making steel.
Fire and dust and air fight in the furnaces; the pour is timed, the billets wriggle; the clinkers are dumped:
Liners on the sea, skyscrapers on the land; diving steel in the sea, climbing steel in the sky.
  
Finders in the dark, you Steve with a dinner bucket, you Steve clumping in the dusk on the sidewalks with an evening paper for the woman and kids, you Steve with your head wondering where we all end up-
Finders in the dark, Steve: I hook my arm in cinder sleeves; we go down the street together; it is all the same to us; you Steve and the rest of us end on the same stars; we all wear a hat in hell together, in hell or heaven.
  
Smoke nights now, Steve.
Smoke, smoke, lost in the sieves of yesterday;
Dumped again to the scoops and hooks today.
Smoke like the clocks and whistles, always.
  Smoke nights now.
  To-morrow something else.
  
Luck moons come and go:
Five men swim in a *** of red steel.
Their bones are kneaded into the bread of steel:
Their bones are knocked into coils and anvils
And the ******* plungers of sea-fighting turbines.
Look for them in the woven frame of a wireless station.
So ghosts hide in steel like heavy-armed men in mirrors.
Peepers, skulkers-they shadow-dance in laughing tombs.
They are always there and they never answer.
  
One of them said: "I like my job, the company is good to me, America is a wonderful country."
One: "Jesus, my bones ache; the company is a liar; this is a free country, like hell."
One: "I got a girl, a peach; we save up and go on a farm and raise pigs and be the boss ourselves."
And the others were roughneck singers a long ways from home.
Look for them back of a steel vault door.
  
They laugh at the cost.
They lift the birdmen into the blue.
It is steel a motor sings and zooms.
  
In the subway plugs and drums,
In the slow hydraulic drills, in gumbo or gravel,
Under dynamo shafts in the webs of armature spiders,
They shadow-dance and laugh at the cost.
  
The ovens light a red dome.
Spools of fire wind and wind.
Quadrangles of crimson sputter.
The lashes of dying maroon let down.
Fire and wind wash out the ****.
Forever the **** gets washed in fire and wind.
The anthem learned by the steel is:
  Do this or go hungry.
Look for our rust on a plow.
Listen to us in a threshing-engine razz.
Look at our job in the running wagon wheat.
  
Fire and wind wash at the ****.
Box-cars, clocks, steam-shovels, churns, pistons, boilers, scissors-
Oh, the sleeping **** from the mountains, the ****-heavy pig-iron will go down many roads.
Men will stab and shoot with it, and make butter and tunnel rivers, and mow hay in swaths, and slit hogs and skin beeves, and steer airplanes across North America, Europe, Asia, round the world.
  
Hacked from a hard rock country, broken and baked in mills and smelters, the rusty dust waits
Till the clean hard weave of its atoms cripples and blunts the drills chewing a hole in it.
The steel of its plinths and flanges is reckoned, O God, in one-millionth of an inch.
  
Once when I saw the curves of fire, the rough scarf women dancing,
Dancing out of the flues and smoke-stacks-flying hair of fire, flying feet upside down;
Buckets and baskets of fire exploding and chortling, fire running wild out of the steady and fastened ovens;
Sparks cracking a harr-harr-huff from a solar-plexus of rock-ribs of the earth taking a laugh for themselves;
Ears and noses of fire, gibbering gorilla arms of fire, gold mud-pies, gold bird-wings, red jackets riding purple mules, scarlet autocrats tumbling from the humps of camels, assassinated czars straddling vermillion balloons;
I saw then the fires flash one by one: good-by: then smoke, smoke;
And in the screens the great sisters of night and cool stars, sitting women arranging their hair,
Waiting in the sky, waiting with slow easy eyes, waiting and half-murmuring:
  "Since you know all
  and I know nothing,
  tell me what I dreamed last night."
  
Pearl cobwebs in the windy rain,
in only a flicker of wind,
are caught and lost and never known again.
  
A pool of moonshine comes and waits,
but never waits long: the wind picks up
loose gold like this and is gone.
  
A bar of steel sleeps and looks slant-eyed
on the pearl cobwebs, the pools of moonshine;
sleeps slant-eyed a million years,
sleeps with a coat of rust, a vest of moths,
a shirt of gathering sod and loam.
  
The wind never bothers ... a bar of steel.
The wind picks only .. pearl cobwebs .. pools of moonshine.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
i've stopped counting
the number of googlewhacks...
i can muster....

just another:

900.1k words millionth: 900.1k words millionth: 900.1k words millionth: 900.1k words millionth: 900.1k words millionth: 900.1k words millionth....

https://www.google.com/search?safe=active&client=firefox-b-d&ei=heQXXuHQOoHixgOBwqDgDQ&q=900.1k+words+millionth&oq=900.1k+words+millionth&gsl=psy-ab.3...7644.10875..11577...0.0..0.220.1722.0j11j1......0­....1..gws-wiz.......33i160j33i21.hQIZvTmJMTM&ved=0ahUKEwihpSVgfjmAhUBsXEKHQEhCNwQ4dUDCAo&uact=5
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
but have you noticed, have you noticed how  all mental health problems
stem form a seemingly aether virus that attacks the pronoun category;
i mean with proper justifiable schizoids you will not hear of the nouns
being ransacked for an equation that equates itself to misnomers;
it's all categorised negation of ease within the framework of pronouns.
it's strange that philosophers stress the pronouns so much these days
and those countless prior, but why do mental health diseases
attack the pronouns and not the nouns? they attack the verbs
thoroughly, but prior to the verbs exposing an illness
the pronouns are attacked, so that many considering the singularity
of expressing thought are ill because of being forced into a plural expression
of thought: "voices." i find it hard to understand, but it's the reality,
the aether virus attacks the pronoun
on the backdrop of a king's casual expression / use
of pronouns, when a king casually says
of himself as omni or multi with one and we respectively;
so why are pronouns so weak and nouns so strong
that a tree cannot be a misnomer attaché of timber
and rock not a pillar, or mountain as the verb: mountaineering?
the pronoun category is weak from day one,
because it suggests photographic duck animation on the lip pursed
into a quack quack, but if we constructed thought
without knowledge prior, eating the fruit of knowledge
rather than the fruit of thought, using the starting point
of the genesis metaphor, it's sometimes a no brainer
to have weak thinking and strength in knowing,
for if there was strength in thinking and weakness in knowing,
i'd be the one chiseling these words in the ice age on a cavern wall.
so, given, that diseases such as the famed premature dementia
attack the pronouns but not the nouns the schizoid one
will convene life with: pizza is pizza and sunshine ray down the drain
clock the millionth dead parting of grasshoppers in decimals -
while man unto man lusts one man's parting in decimals,
but should dire said, part man with integers, and insects with decimals!
but still, in the terminology of a cartesian understanding of illness,
in that segregational aspect of things "sorted,"
why are mental illnesses tattooed in a weak pronoun usage
compared to a strength in other grammatical categories?
why are not mental illnesses ******* the life out of the nouns?
the nouns are intact, the pronouns attacked,
and the verbs chess piece the pawn from the casually speaking clown king
into a beast imprisoned, for while the pronouns are attacked
and the nouns left intact, the attack on pronouns expresses itself
fully in verbs of the never existent tact: with such magic
as to claim knock knock on plank is the same as knock knock on veneer.
abecedarian Jul 2020
for all who understand perfectly why perfection can never be,
                            and Adriana Barreiros~**


                                              <>
Todays new millionth sunrise bids me stand,
observe the river traffic from my kitchen window,
accept that my takings are debts,
a few, even paid back,
yet, most still owed,
for the origins of all my poems,
are oddly and oddity old,
unoriginal, second, third handed
as I look through the eyes of the dead,
and yours too,
this my unoriginal,
original sin....
(pretending  I am a poet)
Pedro Tejada Jun 2010
From the ripple in a glass of water
to the sonic boom of this internal
Pompeii, the erosion
of her etymology is the only
sense of movement in her
dilated, cave-pupil eyes, those
two ghost towns spanning
and encircling all the way back,
stretched like an elastic blindfold
past the moment the first brick was laid,
perhaps her first vivid memory,
or anecdote, or first word uttered
in a Cuban slum.

There are mountains of tumbleweed
over the once thriving metropolis
that expanded towards America;
who threw herself into
the architecture of seven pillars,
borne from her land and
minerals. Gone are the
huts that housed her
knowledge of basic motor skills.

The women who once imagined
Mami and Mima as her birth
name now scrub off
the graffiti of her excrement;
they saw a swarm of pink moons
the day she told the same story
to every visitor that came
their way, each day then becoming
a missing surveillance tape, a sinkhole
dismantling the awareness
in her bones and stubborn will,
until she became
these dust-engulfed plains with
a daughter and granddaughter
archeological in their efforts
to chase down the remains
of a girl still breathing in
those eyes from time to time.

Every other ten-millionth blink of
the eye rides the silhouette of a post-infant girl
on the high tides of her quick visit,
looking in horror
as the nation of her life's nightmares,
heartaches, broken promises, romances,
spiritual breakthroughs, life-changing seconds
drowns with morbid unity en cien fuegos,
desperately attempting to assemble
the remnants of her psyche
past her cognitive bloodclots
with the awareness of one
who speaks no languages.

Gone is the moment
she first learned
to feed her several children
before the slip of sunset.

One of seven pillars remain intact,
the others long dismantled of their
stick and straw infrastructures.

One pillar remained,
housed her own colony
for nine months,
and now both descendants
travel the mind of their
greatest influence
with perplexed dedication,
caustic humor the decoy
for swarms of exhaustion
and asphyxiation
from the truthful atmosphere,
reveling in the seconds
of humanity lurking
in an abandoned etymology.
Martin Narrod May 2014
So I scuttled up, until I found a voice like Japan, I read him his rights, turned out the lights, and laid right back on the sand. They said, "Sir, he was much of a father to me, but we were labeled his kin, right in our family tree." "Oh wow", I said, with a gentle, smooth voice, he went missing last August, but now he wants back you boys?" "Oh yes, he sure is a feral man. We think that's why he dried up and flew to Japan." Right then, the two of them went silent just like two second story men, so I inquired, "What happened then?" "From Monday thru Sunday he took to prayer from the bible, and on every other weeknight he watched Japan's Top Model. He threw gallant parties to a harem of wives, he read each of their palms, and looked in their eyes; some time later, when everyone was about to leave, he'd turn on Happy End and start a wild ****." By this time I was tired, the sun began to set, I grew tired of my beach patch and yearned for my bed. Although soporific, I tried to be polite, I said, "Let's finish this conversation some other time." "Of course!", they said, "We're off to bed. We'll see that you'll do the same." Then they stood up quick, and reached down and picked up my chains. The beach we laid on was black top, asphalt and tar, the bed I craved was behind a row of private bars. The two of them, them both, were children of mine, because my memory is shot, this might've been their millionth time. i got locked up in a county that's dry as a beach, like Elizabethtown, Kentucky, where I was raised till 13. No one, not even the warden, knows really why I'm here, even some man from Cell Block Five, asked me last Sunday, why was I here. My beach perhaps, it's love at last, concrete, gravel, and stone- a 6' x 10' room with bars and a porcelain throne. It's mine I cry, each night I die, with glee, with smile, with rite. But it makes the other guys run at me, and try to start random fights. I don't remember the boat I took, but I remember the tour, going to Japan at Epcot Center since I'd never gone before.
JL Feb 2012
Lost
It is
Bigger and more incredible than the poet can imagine
Spider web nebula dripping purple blood dust
Twisting galaxies more numerous and ancient
Than the mind can comprehend
Storms rage on planets
Millions and billions
Of centuries away
The scream of devil winds
Are only a whisper on my ears
The ancients payed tribute to golden suns
Pulsing in the night sky
Calling them holes in Gods floor
Calling them angels
Each star a heaven
If they only knew of
Red dwarf death soaking moons in heat
Craters full of silence  upon the edge of a meteor
Negotiating through the black infinite
Until they impact with force enough
To split planets
Fingers
Of comets
Blonde and blue trails through the void
Sapphire moons reflect scarlet sunlight
Obsidian asteroids circle a glass planet
Phosphorus gysers shooting into orbit
The living heavens
Twisting about a central nucleus
Balanced and growing
Suns coming and going at a whim
Super nova tantrums
Are a flourescent brilliance
God making fireworks
Billions of planets
Some dead and dry
Scorched black by suns
That are millions of times brighter than our own
Maybe some planet
On the edge of a small galaxy of no cosmic importance
A young boy writes his own love poems
To a girl who has no idea of his longings
Planets untouched
With golden seas filled with gigantic  beasts
That warm themselves on volcanoes
Misty Jungles hanging with vines  
Maybe intelligent alien eyes open
To the light of twenty suns rising
Galaxy after shining galaxy in every shape imaginable
With every planet imaginable
Little neighborhoods
With little streets
Where tiny comets circle
The same planets year after year
Titanic hurricanes
Raging vortex
Tornadoes that can rip the crust of planets off
And toss them into deeper space
Yet...the United States says we need no space program
Because we have more important matters
Like taxes and guns and drugs and war
White people are more important than black people
My god is the real god
You are wrong
You are foolish
You aren't good enough
You don't deserve life
I am right
You are wrong
I am right
You are wrong

................................
For the rest of my life
I could soar at the speed of light-
And I would hardly break the golden bonds
Of our lone-quiet-minuscule-spinning Milky Way
One millionth billionth of a millisecond on a Sunday morning- the flaming lips
andrea hundt Oct 2013
"Why do we always end up here?"
I thought, as we sat down
At the same old bench
For the millionth time.

I thought about how we came here
In a mid-may storm,
My makeup washed away,
And I heard you really laugh for the first time,
So I smiled for the rest of the day.

I thought about the first time I heard the words
"I love you" slip off your lips,
And how you swore we would make it work.
My hair got messier than the words you couldn't say,
And I saw you shut me out for the first time,
But I kissed you anyway.

"Why do we always end up here?"
You ask, as we settle in
At the same old bench
For the millionth time.

I smiled to myself,
And I realized
"It's just a really good place to sit."
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
they never tell you about the seagulls and the pigeons, do they?
sure sure, they have the bees and the birds covered,
your #mama and your #papa - you overheard them doing the
piston orchestra and said: the sort of onomatopoeia that
sounds just like you, that silences the sort of: just like you.
but why not listen with covert  benignant anticipation -
i did think English was a rotten
tongue, but i think French is worse...
                                                        ­  endear you? sure:
                 they put these additions
to the encoding, but never, ever explain how it works...
if dialectical is gone then diacritical
remains...
                                          ­                               and it's there,
a pink ostrich doing the go-g'ah dance
imbecile pigeon: neck a strut and half
by half nearly hanging off a desecrated body that's in limbo
on the scaffold where Charles I met his first cousin ******
thanks to Ollie Cromwell.... none of the Versailles
i have you know....
                            there should be a Greek
                   Kn                  symbol....
             not K as in potassium... something more.
and i'd never hear ****** jesus' i'm
the mountain                            on the radio,
thank you advertisement.
               but that thing about Jihadist French?
well... it's here,
                               i thought the English
were bad with not using diacritical marks,
second in command? diacritics,
first in command? dialectics?
abandon the first, the second is hyenas' razor
sharp: bite and smile at the same time.
           no, i'm not joking...
i'm choking you.
                             this is what the Jihadist in France
saw...
                            main example? how diacritical marks
**** around the syllable laws...
             bypass them straight... past them...
             main example? they never teach this...
i was never taught this, i was taught this in
an anti-alphabet ruling - it's not atomic
(but it really is), hence it's compounded -
but it's really atomic,
               where are the ancient atomic scientists now?
nowhere.
                         all of this came from
a footnote from maldoror, by isidore ducasse -
i too thought about putting Uruguay on the map -
                    in the notes, the use of "accent",
yes, a revelation from on high -
                      look at the French, how they speak it:
aplatissement
                             apply diacritic revision
and cut off the excess: aplatissemą -
                             (humiliation) -
          if only the French, then only the French know
how to create dyslexia... excess spelling
where distinct phonetic units should exist -
they never teach you how diacritical marks change
the syllable cutting up, the butcher's or forensic's inquiry -
                 they never teach you the use of diacritical
marks like they might teach you punctuation markings -
                  they never do the science of liberated pause -
liberated i.e. understood -
                                    you're just given the fudge
and told... CHEW! CHEW! CHEW!
                                    they never tell you how to
cut-up words as they should be cut up..
                                   never did they say
colon = umlaut over u and means prolonged
   i.e. uu          or omega
                                        because never was the
current aesthetic questioned...
                             Dictator Blue, adherent of
the dictionary bible said: already said, rex, rex, ego rex.
                    but there's this thing going on
from above - on high -
                           and all they want is to understand...
                  even i would hate to be left out...
still from the notes from the book maldoror -
                s'arrêter à             (to dwell on /
                                     stress) -
ê (circumflex) is like the grave approach -
                 the circumflex is binding -
            i.e. the -er is optional, but a necessary
aesthetic for the form to be written, but not said -
meaning the sound units disappear -
                  hands on the joints, a book is closed -
ê represents this: s'arrêt
                                                         ­  (-er) -
                   saret -
                                            ugly, isn't it?
well, if you wrote             saret
                rather than      s'arrêter               you wouldn't
be looking at the Louvre -                again, even without
diacritical marks you don't say     Louvré -
                                          but Loùvre -
               so the ê
                                     binds the r and t
   and makes                  the   -er obsolete -
which is why French is worse than English:
it utilises diacritical marks
                                       for odd syllable intakes
and other surgeon oddities -
    to learn the proper use of diacritics (using French
as a canvas) is to learn syllables again, and again...
all over again... one might say:
at least the English do not use diacritical markings
and subconsciously are so thoroughly
accommodating to alien cultures...
                       and that's justifiable, they are the fathers
of globalisation... they use phonetic encoding
without diacritical markings to enshrine
a Bangladeshi English, as much as a German English...
   they are the propagators of accents -
even the Scots are speaking proudly about the
matter of fact...
                            so indeed, diacritical marks
are not only concerns for aesthetic reasons,
but is pronunciation markings within words,
                          not between words:
intra                     v.                inter                  (wording);
they never teach you how to extend a sentence
with a semi-colon (;), because they only managed
to tell you that means wink: ;) -
                          in the same way that they didn't tell
you that a colon is (a) making a list, but also
       (b) an emphasis - the alternative to italics.
they didn't! i know they didn't because they didn't
teach me this!             i had to learn it myself!
              which is why i find diacritics so fascinating
that dialectics and its abandonment can rot in hell...
at least i don't have to deal with nuanced opinions
or the discussion or the non-discussion of
                 opinions...
                                       i can look at something
and see the blatant pronunciation dynamics at work...
            not between words, but inside words...
French is the best to investigate...
                        maybe that's why the Jihadists are
attacking France, from sheer frustration at not being
given access to the cordiality of speech when
settling into their envisioned Caliphate misnomer -
                    but diacritical marks are precisely that:
and when amateurs teach they never bother explaining
the atoms, they just say: turkey! gobble up that frying pan!
and you do! you are never given the most basic units,
you're never told what the time-span between a
full dot (.) and a semi-colon (;) is...
                                        ****: you can run a mile or
100 metres in under 10 seconds, but when it comes
to an aesthetic pause you're told to start
the hyperventilation sequence or blame it on asthma
rather than
                                 what's actually the archaeology of
rhetoric - these are rhetorical symbols...
                                   and that's the foremost question
that needs a debate: how to make rhetorical puncture
symbols into aesthetic symbols -
                   how to steal from rhetoric and do a Robin
Hood for aesthetic? primarily because there are
punctuation signs above letters, or below letters -
                   < (more than)
                                 > (less than)
      and the circumflex and caron -
                                         tilde
  or approx. 5                              i.e. ~5...
            and the millionth additive to make decimals
shake...
                                you never get told this...
if i was told the basics of diacritical markings enabling
a smoother syllable dissection i'd probably speak German
fluently...
                       when i should have been given crumb-like
understanding of a language, i was given a whole
loaf of bread, for ***** sake; that ain't cool -
          teach me language from the basics,
on the promise of teaching me a language like i might
be taught penguin talk: on the promise of
an onomatopoeia deciphering: it sounds like this...
                   : + u = oo             onomatopoeia e.g.:
                       pool                    /                  pull -
yes, the quiet literal representation -
  but English can be ***** by this appropriation -
not utilising diacritical marks makes certain words
sound alike but be spelled differently,
            via the same methodology extending into
certain letters being pronounced as entire words;
e.g.                   why                                  &             y.
reason? missing diacritical marks.
             oh, and the most blatant form of Judaism
  given              y               h                    w               h
                   without Abraham, without Moses,
without circumcision         without Jesus...
                                                               choice is yours.
Keith W Fletcher Jan 2016
As I came through the door
Taps the cat  meowed at me
As she crisscrossed the floor space
Staying a foot ahead of me
Glancing into the big closet or tiny room
Whichever ... Dad called it his study
"Hey dad " I yelled at the back of his head
" His quick glance meant "hey buddy"
I noticed moms face on the computer screen
'Oh!"I snapped " mom ... Hey we miss you "
"I'm not talking to your crotch "she laughingly barked
"Sit down ... Move the camera or move your *** Trent"
I compromised by doing all three as dad took a break
The face of someone I truly loved sat there
Looking at me
From over  three thousand miles away.
Three thousand miles away!
"Hey baby " she said in her cooing voice " How are you?"
"Got a job at Dannerlans ... Part time" I proudly engaged
"Don't let it interfere with" ...she couldn't stop and she knew...
I guess my stupid grin finally clued her in as she trailed off
"Half a world away and I'm still mom I guess. Dad musta.."
"He did ... Same thing.. And I won't. But what are you...."
"Don't you dare Trent " mock rage crossed her  face
As a few octaves fell out of her voice and I already knew
Here it comes.....a tsunami all the way from Japan
Putting my nose right to the camera and pushing on
I repeated "tsunami mommy  tsunami mommy  san
What can you do about it . you're way over there and I'm..."
" Gonna get it so bad .. When I get home mister "
:You're gonna look end up looking just like your sister"
"Oh ....Kay...  "I haltingly bounced her words round my mind
"I DONT HAVE A SISTER."
"Exactly"
Then I saw it... Set up and now....
Confusion and pride had my ammunition... just the facts
Dad arrived at that second with a coke for me and his beer
"Did you hear her ?" I asked him
" threating to make me a girl"
As I gave up the chair I heard that cooing soft voice sorta ....
..........GR OO ooowl ?!? While still softly cooing  "oh no no no...
Too good for you Bud...Buuud...Buddy?   You'll just disa..pear!"
Dad laughed first - drawing me in as I reluctantly let go.
"Nice try dear.... but you lost it coming round the outside corner"
What do you mean outside corner ..it was right over but too low
"Bye mom"  I said "got some homework to do " they were merged
Gone now for three month and three more to go .poor dad
His staunch had wilted within forty eight hours of her departure
But let's all pretend that you
never noticed the droop -a bit sad
Poor poor  dad ... Poor poor dad  I chimed as I climbed the stairs
He won't make it another three months . .. Very easy
I  haltingly caught my words as the downer that they were
As I scooped the elegant Taps  from the floor " but they'll make it "
I whispered into her ear. "Won't they girl? "Her answer was a purr

I'm thinking of joining the red cross
That's good...gets you out and about....
In the ...nei..bor....
"Okay .. Whats yet to be told ...spill
"They asked me to run the admin office" She
So you'll have to travel for a while  that's ok" (He)
"The whole admin office for foreign.... "  She let it trail......
Allright so you come back weekends
Ain't that far....to... (He)
      .......... ...Japan ....(She)
Dad........didn't  have any words to say
And the staunch started peeling away...right then and there
The love they shared
Might be compared
To historic qualities
Romeo and Juliet  sans tragedy
Bogie and Bacall  for longevity
Tracy and Hepburn for loyalty
Burns and Allen for ..for the comedy
So I knew.. as..  anyone else who  
Saw him day to day decline
That she was on her way home
By seeing the force of nature
He suddenly became
A human dynamo in preparation
For the reunification.

I walked through the front door
Sharon at my side and lacey in tow
"Go tell your brother to get in here "
So she yelled out the front door
"Trenton Dean Robertson get in here!"
Sharon and I met eye to eye
Bossiest little Seven year old....
"TRENTON now!"  I  yelled  out
"You better do what sis said"
He was now ten and tended to wander about
"I'm here "he said as he appeared
"Come on sis I'll beat you in...."
The last bit muffled
As they closed the basement door
And descending down the stairs

We both glanced into the closet
For that's what it really was
Dad sitting at the computer
And mom was on the screen
So I toted my load of groceries
As Sharon leaned in to say" hi "
And once we had supper going
I went to mix a drink and as I passed by
Dad said "son come here
Your mom wants to talk to you "
Besides we've been chatting  forever!
Then he whispered "I gotta go to the loo"
"Hi mom "I said as he departed
Leaving me to warm the seat
I'm not talking to your crotch
She said for at least the millionth time
There on the screen was the face
Of someone that I loved
Who never made it home that year
The flight was destined for history
Crashing into the Himalayas
Taking everyone on board
And the staunch became so rigid
And reality was simply ignored
He handed me a coke and opened his beer
Before resuming his vigil at the computer screen
That was his reality....his fantasy... and his hex
Some might say an old adage to sum it up
"IS IT LIVE.....OR IS IT MEMOREX?"

AS I drifted from the room they were merged.







..
The Riot Began on a Sunday Evening
My dearest kin, how deceiving

shout, scream, taunt
Shout. Scream. Taunt.
SHOUT! SCREAM! TAUNT!

Ablaze with yells
Bank money, In-laws from hell
Little draw-backs, taxes of life
It kills them, it murders every night.

It grew and grew
Drizzle to Hurricane
Dazed, bruised embrace

I, myself, a teenage girl of sixteen,
I remained curled in the comforter, cotton was my security.
Laying down by the side of shadow
I whimper and wonder

My tiny boy, my tiny love,
He remains as lonely as I
The bedroom is far from escape

I may be used to walking the desert alone
But my little love, he remains unknown.

And for that first night, millionth life,
I rise.
My movement ripples nothing
But my conscience gaping
Death mission death mission death mission

I refuse to sink.
Pitter patter against the stony floor
My footsteps whisper, but they do not stir.
My dearest kin, how deceiving...

I slip into his life, desiring to sooth his mind
"My love, my love," I coo.
He responds without further ado.
"Geetika?"
I desire a cry when I hear this soft, soft, kitten-like
My boy, my boy, my boy.

I prepare to face PTSD
But all I face is a dream within a nightmare.
"Did you know I got thousand points on fruit ninja this evening?"

I blink.
And blink.
He hasn't noticed a single thing!

They say his specialty is his curse
But I am thanful,
Because he has not heard!

My boy, my boy!
He remains oblivious
My dreamer, my dreamer!
Out of touch of reality,
My little baby.

Numbers and points and games engulf his mind
So consumed
So unaware
But I AM SO THANKFUL!

He hadn't noticed a single thing, my boy my boy, my dreamer...
Have you ever
Truly, contemplated
The Void?
Have you?
Really?
Ever?

It's blackness
surrounds us
In all directions
Wrapped in its
Utter empty
Dark embrace

And we spiral down
within it
Like a lost soul
In a deep
Gravity well.

Around a yellow
Many-blessed star
Which itself
Circles the
Frigid centre
Of a Galaxy
A wide, Milky way
Saggittarian armed

Which itself
Is moving
Circling away
from a point
with its
Peers contained in
The Virgo cluster

Away, and away.
One day to unite
Violently
With Andromenda
2 million years
Of light away

Herself
In a collision
So vast,
the heavens will
Tremble
And worlds
Will spin
Off their axis'

And yet, this
Is as nothing
When compared
To the void.
The nothingness
The totality
Alpha - Omega
It watches us
Mutely
Waiting
Our turn
To return

It watches all its
Galactic children
As they
Run away
Gravity wise
Forever, eternally
From the point
At which they
Formed/born

Heat, energy
Perfect symmetry
Broken and
Shattered
Resulting
In the Void

That point
Is where the Void began
It's career of
Darkness and
Silence
Its airless cold presence
Embraces all

And ever since
Its......................
Nothingness has been
Increasing
Relentless
Light year upon
Light year

Yes, it is truth
Nothingness
Is the true nature
Of this Universe
God's creation
That we think
So mundane

The one we feel
Is packed with life,
Woods, hills, tree
Small towns
Pieces of paper

But we live in a special place
Places that are something
Are the exception
Not the rule
Which is no thing
We are so rare,
like a single teardrop
In a pacific ocean of
Nothing

Beyond here
Up there
Down there
Across there
It seems filled to
Brim with stars
Twinkle with promise
But be warned

All the stars and
Galaxies (red and blue)
Would not fill
A millionth of a
Percentile
Of the universal void.
It swallows them
All, entirely

Gently staring at us
Forever
From its dark
Black eye

Think on that
And then
Think again
And again
You cannot
Contain it
No thing
Can

The stars
And all the planets
Nebuli and holes
black and dark
Are as nothing
Human beings
Thought
Ephemeral
Taken whole

Compared to the real
Stuff of Universe
Which is void.

Think upon it
As much as you can
On a cloudness night
Stare into the sky
And realize
You are truly
looking into
Eternity

A void so utterly empty
That all things
that are, or will be
Mean no thing
To it, its deep
black heart
And complete
Perfect
emptiness

If you do not
Swoon with fear
And tremble
With excitement
At the reality of
This fact
Of your
true existence

And of
Your private
privililge
To glimpse
At this no thing

From a tiny
blue/white
rock-made ball
Of a home
Trapped in nothing
Then you have not
Truly
Contemplated
The reality of
The Void.........
Written on a dark night staring toward Orion, in a draft form
Martin Narrod May 2014
Something original. Of newer words, that originate from the pleasure and happiest of timeless incidents. The happenings, back of the park, near a set of restrooms, a pool of clear sea water and a purplish-red starfish. A sea cucumber. Trailing sea lions diving off of a cliff, a vertical display of rocks, moving a millionth of an inch each year. You caught me.  --------

I can't nail it. It happens to me when I sleep, it comes around me, over my shoulders and latches onto my breaths. I'm breathing and it creeps inside of me like a mealworm, I turn to look for it and it disappears again. It lives in a shadow but it is also a shadow of itself. An anomaly, a space for time and the tell of time, its hidden agenda, its positive nature, how it yields itself to prey, how it coos for a sweet smile, runs up to me in mid-day traffic, and kisses me, noon at military time.  ------  

The blessings come. All of them. Laid out on a table in red and white checkerboard, making the eggplant parm and the homemade vinaigrette. Peanut butter chocolate chip vegan cookies. A dandelion necklace that only fits around my wrist. It makes me weep some twenty years ago on a Playskool slide, orange, red, bright. I'm looking around my neck and still it's not there. Every where I want to be, every where I've gone and could go. I should go to California too but all of this...stuff, everywhere, under my legs, in my pockets, the closets tumbling high and low, I haven't had enough to change, and still I am wanting something else. You the same, my shoulders tell me stories, I listen and I fall asleep.  -----  

Sometimes my nerves grow quiet, my words grow- but then they just fall again, skittering in a lull plash of blue-green pond water. The bench I sewed to the ground. A tale of mirth and woe. I cannot call on you, you will not come. Sleeping beauty, blue eyes, blonde hair. I wrestle you in the day to day, the hour to hour. Minutes cannot go by. Pages that turn but I remember everything. My mind will never go.  -----  

Two pink letters in the post today. Maybe neatly placed for you. A fake-tattoo puffin, upper-left hand corner. My hands are empty, they have indecent memories, they write indelible superpowers. I can't go on. I run lake water over my ankles, slowly drift beneath arcing waves and cold grey skies. Half a day blue goes black, night comes and I whisper when the sky goes quiet. Nothing is as serious as this.   ------    


In a white box there are two pairs of shoes and a soft bear. The bear without the name. He doesn't speak to me so I leave him with the sea birds. Put them in a push cart and show them off, I take them here, I take them there. No one asks his name, where he's going, what he's going to do. ------------


Tuesday's are the worst. I count and count and count. I will never forget Tuesday's, twisting like a cuneiform jelly, fingernails spoiling me-meat, breaking the Styx crossing the river Rhine, there is nowhere that I will not go, only for me to cross time. To wait, I really hate waiting. Nothing comes between, I lie to a stranger and they fall in love instantly. I see you on Monday evenings and I want to kiss you gently, the sides of your neck, on the inside of your hand. Where do you go when all the shadows go? ----

Some of me is backwards. The waves shape the sky. A rabbit goes with a fire truck, a blueberry with a cephalopod. Back to the soft wood walls of the cotton luxe room. My legs have never felt so safe, you have never made my teeth so happy. In Russia you touch my face, I see you, a picture of you, any part of your eyes or the things you draw upon and I am instantly in love. I love you, a part of you, all of the parts of you, your soul is the only part of me disconnected. You are the happiest moments of my pleasure. You taste like Tahitian Vanilla and Acai berries. Gold grains hit our shins as we go like great wild horses through the alluvial plains. -----

I cannot count to you. There are no goddesses in numbers. I only have sleep, for you to look me square away into a bliss I have in a picture of the two of us, lost in our faces, our hands wandering each others knees. I sit across from you and I am not close enough. I go closer and I want to be inside of you, all across my limbs expanding our spiritual forms, intertwining in our skins. So I speak, I lay my words gently in front of you so you cross them as you walk our path, back from the sea into a narrow slumber. Sleep is the only place we all can play. You, me, her, her, and I.
Kelsey Aug 2014
Sometimes I tell myself that it's okay to feel this way,
that God gets tired too,
that sometimes He is the small child
slaving over a sewing machine
turning thread into warmth,
but not every sweater He makes
is made without a few loose strings,
or pockets sewn shut
or mismatched buttons.
My knees sink into the end of my bed
as I rest my elbows on my window sill.
I think as our hands face each other
and touch for the millionth time,
it's like a silent clap
that only the angels can here,
sometimes I apologize
to those resting in peace
for making their home sound more like
the ending of the movie
instead of the end of the book.
I greet God the same way
I greet your headstone.
I ask Him how He is,
why He only speaks in light,
and then I pretend to talk to Him,
when really I am talking to myself
or your headstone...again.
I say, "It's okay to feel this way.
I think it's okay to watch,
to write in depth about strangers,
I think it's okay to detach
yourself from the weight of existing.
Everyone around me built
themselves kingdoms,
they kept fire breathing dragons,
rolled out their drawbridges like red carpets
and I built myself a cardboard castle.
I built it on the highest hill
with a view of all of the kingdoms
and you know what?
I was alone,
but I had room to breathe
and sometimes that's all  you can ask for;
an empty room with a closed door
and open window.
I said grace at dinner earlier,
but I said it out of tradition,    
not out of genuine thankfulness.
So, thank you for the empty room
with the closed door and open window,
I know you're tired,
I hope you can respond when you get a chance."
Genevieve Mar 2017
Dear Principal brain dead
with a hollowed out head !
with tears coming home more often than not!
Your lame dead brain dead excuse to not move my daughter to a
gentle spoken teacher rather than always ready with attack mode 0n teacher!

Dearest Brain deadest one
unfortunately this is you principal Valentine!!!
With rage my volcanic anger stirs the teachers cauldron;
Most likely she hates us by now but I haven't anything to lose
I have to remove her yet another year cause last year you
chose to turn off your F'ing listening ears!!

Dearest Brainless heartless Principal of Errol Hassell
back up your staff 110% don't give in or buckle for last year
I gave them the stiff shoulder and now a 2nd time so lets see
just how far they will go this time around? Well Brainless  itch
you can bet we are not threw, still at work behind the scenes to get her out from under your reigns but your blocking it which I think is insane.

But not a shocker being you love to lie and state one liners to shut a parent down
but what you don't realize I am not the stoppin ' Kind ; So go inside your so called school and run it like the cavalier fool that you have become over time letting down children  repeatedly , Who is clearly having personality clashes with the teacher and it is absurd the words you spoke to us saying Kids talk and this and that for being the reason you will not just simply move her to the teacher~>~~>>>

We know she is comfortable with & this is not a matter of Hide the crime don't do the time !! This is a real legit matter! So take your falseness and leave us alone,
help us to leave it as well , Give us a push to get out of your hair but the truth is you don't want to have to supply a reason so local schools ban together to protect thee other so your @$$3$ are what matters most for you not risking your job for just another parent, Just another Student!!

Brain Dead Fool of a Principal who has zero!
She is cool calm an collected while destroying your hope
for your child's safety and this is no Joke.

So when a fellow teachers who reply or people who love family or friend who are  teachers too or they once had please take a step back and a try a realistic approach to thinking while reading my words as the reality of this grows & that there are Cruel teachers that live inside schools some young some old and weathered all they know now to do is Scold Scold Scold!!! Be gone with you little annoying student of mine' because I am angry at the whole class I will choose to pick on you this time! You have study hall for the millionth time!!!

Holding power whether for good reason or
Just to be a b
*ch to a kid to pay them back for what they did or didn't do!
This school sickens me also allowing kids to label themselves a pack of 4 boys
who go by "The smarties" for me this is repulsive to ignore causing in others a feeling of Less especially since the teacher gives them most of classtime privilege's and lets them boss the students around on what to do or simply they say to others
" Your not a Smartie!!"  already started age 9 is all such a vulnerable age and being let down by adult authoritative figure and choosing not to protect and be wise to show my girl she is cared about and not denied of her experiences??!!

Is this not enough for you to have instilled inferior fear inside my daughter? Cant you see you failed her and now she feels scared and weary of adults
not trusting and this is because of you
                                            Dearest Brain Dead Principal.
My girl is stuck in a rut right now because the principal refuses to simply move her to another class within the school, happened last year too when it was her first male teacher and he is a flippant man who enjoys being mean and on several attempts for things to change he argued with the parents instead of think of a solution!! I caught him in a few lies as well so last year the principal failed her after 3 meetings L8her!! So homeschooling we did attempt but I am not well enough disciplined. She took a chance at getting a very joy filled teacher and unfortunately we are in a Nightmare yet again!! the principal is acting like she is helping us to transfer but after 2 different tries the same line of max class full it feels like the principals are talking then backing them up by trying to force us into a corner but I am not that kind!!!! think twice!! I know the principal has let down other families as well; I just weep for the repeat misery they bring cause it is not just my child suffering in class this is happening too often than not! because this principal chooses to not believe the parents and cast us aside with some cheesy chintzzy lines!! So I wrote with information a poem this time to release my tensions and anxieties of plenty, I am everyday sick to my stomach until this is resolved I've got upset belly. This is truly sad. and they have broken my trust To think my girl gave it a go for the 2nd time and same freakin situation of a screaming teacher who never smiles and is always scowling at some one. anyone would get worn out from that and she is most likely a worn out vet teacher who needs to retire same with her last years brain dead Lawrence.  They need younger spirits to fill their schools!! Younger teachers who still have fresh passion to teach. and can find happiness from being around children!
Muhammad Ali Jul 2022
It’s the seventeenth of July
Another year passed by
As I am writing this today
I gaze up with my eye
there i see a beautiful sight
starlight gleaming, clouds flying high
among them shines my moon in the sky
it’s then when I drown in a dream
suddenly, by the breeze’s lullaby
I startle when I see the moon up high
startled for the moon were you my Gul
among all the stars you folded around
you shone the brightest, most beautiful
It’s the seventeenth of July
This year that passed by
is the best i’ve ever lived by
and the dream I saw in the reality of stars
is the life I’m living amidst all them dreams
This year that passed, it felt like a dream
for never did i ever imagine of finding my love
but now i have you and I’ll do better than try
to protect you always, Yes I’ll do it or die
You are my Gul, my most beautiful
with you in my life, my garden is full
your beauty my Fatima Gul is irrefutable
i’ve fallen for you for countless times
that what cannot be described in lines
since my love, you stepped into my life
I’m captured, captivated, mesmerized alive
I want you like the soil needs the rain
I want you like the stars want to shine
I want you like the rain wants to pour
I want you like the sun wants to warm
I want you to the millionth degree of infinity
I want you Always and forever
for we’re destined together
I’m yours alone with all that I am
with all the love instilled in me
I’m yours my love till eternity
you are my home and in you i reside
I entrust myself to you, in you in confide
My love I’m blessed by your existence
for every moment we spent together
for all the beautiful moments to live ahead
for all the memories we have and we’ll make
I’m happiest that I have you my love
I love you I love you I love you my Fatima Gul
I wish i could embrace you in my arms
I wish I could be with you today
Happiest birthday to you the love of my life
I love you till the millionth degree of eternity 💞

17th of July 2022
It was the birthday of the love of my life, She turned a beautiful 22, I pray for her to have a life that's strange to sorrows and family to happiness.
amrutha Aug 2014
Come to me, dear Harmony
Drown into me your ecstasy
Hold me, give your pain to me
Be my evening sky, I am your sea.
Come closer, my Destiny
Take me beyond this galaxy
The breeze sings, the moon glistens
Find in us the place we next meet.
Mara W Kayh Feb 2015
I'll never forget the way you looked
As you stood with your back to me
No defenses - no walls
Painting with such care
And so much love
as I peaked through the French doors.
You didn't hear me
as I opened the door
Because you have chosen to exit the world
Slowly
First by losing interest in hearing
And then in forgetting short term nonsense,
Preferring to live in the glorious past..
You were painting for me,
My once most picture perfect Mother.

Now with hat and shorts and torn shirt,
and not giving a care in the world
For how you appear
And I could see, in that moment,
Your immense love for me
And I knew it was there from the very beginning,
And that despite scars of our
mythical mother daughter battles,
it would never be lost
Or ever forgotten
And my heart broke
For the millionth time
Into millions of Pieces
For I understood then
That love between mother and daughter
is greater than
Time and life Itself.
My 85 year old mother was finishing a painting for me today..I was leaving her for my now not so new life in another country. I peaked into her studio, unnoticed, and saw her, at her most benign and least imposing..,she was unaware of my presence and the love I saw her putting into the painting left my heart shattered.
Benjamin Aptaker Feb 2012
Tormenting distance always a shadow
this separated feeling from reality and you
Tonight I put my life on repeat for the millionth time
and sit here dreaming without ever closing my eyes

In these visions, I see red burning sunsets
that never descend below horizon's edge
I see clusters of stars raining galaxy hail
vast nebula clouds, our oceans to sail
Justa Mom Jan 2015
Hell hath no fury like a toddler who wants it and wants it NOW
!

Screaming pulling and flailing…a reminder of how she was conceived in the first place.

Hell hath NO fury like a mother on her last straw!
So close to breaking that camels back
.

Though there feels like there is no other emotion as strong as fury when you are just…


You just can’t.

You need a minute. 


You collect yourself, or at least try, because who else is going to make that hamburger helper you despise so much?

You step back in the room scattered with death traps that play those oh too familiar songs
And the storm...has calmed.


You huff a sigh of epic proportions releasing the stress of the eternity that just passed,
(Which is equal to about 10-15 normal people minutes.)
 and she mimics you with the grin of innocence a hundred times over.
You sit there staring at this exuberant life form you’ve created and you can’t help but wonder if it’s all real. 


You notice, for the thousandth time how much she looks like you. 


You notice for the millionth time how much she means to you.


Hell hath no fury compared to her admiration and love for me…

And my love for her.
matilda shaye Jan 2015
END
you tasted like ******* and I tasted
like blue raspberry jolly ranchers
you tasted like what am I doing
and I'm sure I did too
you smiled and leaned in and
I put my fingers on your dimples
you pulled me on top and I forgot to think
I forgot that drugs that taste like
gasoline when they're "the real ****"
aren't flavors I'm supposed to enjoy
you kissed my nose and said it was
weird because you are so closed off
but I make you want to open up
I shook my head and pretended that
wasn't the millionth time I've heard that one
oh I make you want to throw away your past
and get close to someone again?
cool, write us a happy ending too
I woke up this morning exhausted
with matted hair and smudged makeup
I kissed your neck, kissed your neck,
kissed your neck....
your roommate said she liked me
and I kissed your neck again.
you are movement
you are time
you are start middle finish
you are finish line, winning by a second
you said you don't want to open up
then tell me why you're here?
tell me why you're looking at me like that
and kissing me like that
and holding me like that
tell me why you're touching me like that
your insides are ripping and
you're dying to crawl out
I can see it in your stare
you were not expected
frankly you weren't really wanted
but I put my fingers in your
dimples and I forgot to breathe
I always forget to breathe
you tasted like ******* I mean that literally
you tasted like this isn't a good idea
but I want it so bad and I mean that literally
you looked at me and said
"no like, if I'm doing this it's because I mean it"
I wanted to tell you same thing
but looking back I don't think
I would have meant it
Eleanor K Mar 2015
Potential is not made when you are a child,
Though, at that age, your elders will search for it.
Potential is made when you pick up a pen,
a pencil, a marker, a paintbrush,
For the first time,
Or for the millionth.

Perfection is nearly caught by a camera,
And never by the hand.
But, if paintings looked like a digital picture,
What would be the point of such expression?
If you are looking to draw with such precision,
Look and find another passion,
another hobby, another profession, another way to vent.
If you are looking to find yourself,
to find peace, to find wisdom, to find enjoyment,
Pick up your hand and take the tool.

The artist's style is found through mistake.
A style, is a lack of perfection,
to show the world through your eyes, to alter it.
What you don't understand,
You will toil over, stress over,
hate yourself over, be frustrated over.

Look away from your mistake for a moment.
What is left, is what is yours.
This will change slowly overtime,
As you become better at both strength
And weakness.
The battle between these two opponents,
Will guide your journey.
The art itself is only a mirror of reflection,
Showing all you have done, your past,
your struggles, your joys, your imperfections, your toils,
This is an artist's style.

Pick up your pen,
Your potential is now.
Kristen Jun 2014
There can be no millionth chance.
We’re not meant to be.


Forgiveness happened long ago,
But I believe that maybe,


We have too much past
To have a present
Mike West Oct 2012
What in the world is wrong with me?
Writing poems about gross stuff I see.
Like ***** matter and old underwear
Is there something odd up there?
Poems all about maggoty dog poo,
Popping pimples and what else did I do?
I wrote a poem about a piece of ****
And a guy blowing boogars in his soup
One about a pickled pig in a jar
Do I think this will make me a star?
About a guy who was stuck on a bus
Who had an accident and there was a fuss
I also wrote one about my pet cat
With tinsel in her ****. What's up with that?
I also have a poem about picking everything
from teeth to **** and finger licking
I wrote about an autopsy that happens when your dead
Is there a short circuit inside of my head?
You know I had to write about farting gas
And what happens when something else you pass.
And about a guy killing a bunch of birds
Just because one, in his eye, dropped a terd
About inflamed hemroids and rotten, spoiled meat
And a terd eating dog. That's not neat!
One about a boy not bathing for a month
I wonder if that wasn't my millionth.
I even have one about digging up old poo
And one about changing diapers. Oh eww!
I'm sure that soon there will be more to come
With the way my brain works and where I'm from
So 'til then I think I'll end this tirade
And hope you'll read the next mess made.

— The End —