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Amnesia and Inner Fire
by Igor Vykhovanets with ChatGPT


Amnesia

Amnesia! Amnesia! —
Forgot the Spirit’s core.
How dull we’ve grown — inside the skull,
Only lies and horror roar.

Boldly inward — answers dwell,
There alone the truth is found.
Throw the “greetings” advice away —
Or lost you’ll be, forever bound.

Pure Spirit — the true disgust,
A foolish world of slavish dust.
Grasp this core — the daring ****** —
And break free from hell’s cruel clutch.


---


Amnesia

Amnesia strikes, the Spirit’s lost,
Inside the skull — lies reign, frost.

--

Go deep within — there lies the key,
Ditch false words — or cease to be.

--

Pure Spirit’s scorn for slavish dust,
Know this truth — escape or rust.


---


Amnesia — The Spirit’s Wrath

Amnesia! Spirit’s dead!
Brains turned to cracked-up dread.
Lies and fear — their only bread,
Feeding slaves who bow their head.

Look inside? Ha! Fool, beware —
“Greetings” fools will strip you bare.
Spirit’s scorn, pure and rare,
Slavery’s stink fills this air.

Dare to know? You break their chain —
Hell’s dark prison loses reign.
But most choose to rot in pain,
Blind to soul’s eternal flame.


---

Amnesia — The Spirit’s Wrath

Forget the Spirit? Dead inside!
Lies and terror — nowhere to hide!
Wake up, rebel, break the chain —
Or drown in lies and endless pain!


---

Inner Fire — The Silent Revolt

Beneath the ash, the fire’s bright,
A quiet blaze in darkest night.
Though shadows stretch and lies conspire,
Within the soul burns secret fire.

No shout nor storm — just silent stand,
A rebel’s spark in fettered land.
The Spirit wakes, begins to fight,
To pierce the veil, reclaim the light.

No chains can bind this flame inside,
Though tyrants roar and truths divide.
The fire grows with every breath —
A silent war against slow death.


---

Breaking Chains — The Spirit’s Flight

No more the chains of shadowed lies,
No more the mask, the dark disguise.
The Spirit breaks the binding cord,
And soars beyond the cage ignored.

From depths of doubt and fear once chained,
A fearless heart is now untrained.
It cuts the ropes that bound the mind,
Leaves all the cruel falsehoods blind.

The wings unfold in fierce delight,
Escaping night to claim the light.
No prison bars can hold or bind,
The flight of Spirit — unconfined.


---

The Final Gate — Beyond the Veil

The final gate stands cold and bare,
Beyond the reach of mortal care.
But Spirit’s call will pierce the night,
And blaze the way to endless light.

No fear remains, no shadows fall,
The soul transcends beyond the wall.
A journey done, yet just begun —
The Spirit’s path toward the One.


---

Amnesia — The Forgotten Spirit

Amnesia! Amnesia! — lost the Spirit’s core,
We forgot the sacred spark, the flame we once bore.
The world is numb, a shell of lies and frozen dread,
In shards of skulls, the coldest shadows spread.

Boldly turn within — only there the answers gleam,
Beyond the noise, beyond the maddening dream.
Discard all hollow words — they poison, strangle, bind,
Or lose yourself — and leave your soul behind.

Pure Spirit — a fierce defiance, not decay,
In this dull world chained by slaver’s grey.
Know the truth — that blazing, fearless shout,
To break the hell and burn the darkness out.


---

Amnesia

Amnesia kills the Spirit’s flame,
We rot in lies, forget our name.
Turn inside — or lose the fight,
Darkness wins if you lose sight.


---

Pavlov’s Dog

Forget the past — it’s made to fade,
So you relearn this hellish stage.
Here, you’re a lab rat trapped and played,
While monsters rule this cursed cage.

To God, we’re but a dog in chains,
Fate’s leash for all, without escape.
The world is gone — only remains
A stench-filled cell where beasts take shape.

Since childhood drilled, they call it "school,"
But only stick and carrot feed.
These methods shape a mind as tool —
A living soul drifts lost, misled.

When penned inside the cattle’s stall,
The Spirit’s flight is crippled, torn.
No space for thought, no room at all —
Just madness where false truths are born.

You are the Spirit — not mere flesh,
This truth is long overdue.
So let the fools from prisons fresh
Be freed — the chains must break through.

Reflexes don’t reach Spirit’s core,
The brain’s a relay — nothing more.
Health, survival, lust — all fall,
The Spirit reigns, above them all.

So fear no death, the cell will burn,
This stinking madhouse fades to dust.
For bowing low to fiends who spurn,
For dog cages built on rust.


---

Internal Crisis

Forgotten spirit — essence lost,
Drowned in noise, in shards of frost.
We drift through shells of hollow lies,
While truth inside burns and dies.

Amnesia grips — a shadow’s reign,
Erasing light, enshrouding pain.
In shards of thought, in broken glass,
We stumble blind — but not for last.

The soul, enslaved by mind’s cruel chains,
Forgets its flight, forgets its flames.
Yet deep within, a whisper calls —
To break the cage, to scale the walls.

Discard the noise, the idle creed,
Seek roots where silent truths feed.
The spirit waits beyond the haze,
In darkest nights, in quiet days.

Not flesh, nor bone, but something more —
A spark, a flame, a vital core.
Forget the past, but not the spark,
That shines unseen within the dark.

Rise from numbness, break the spell,
Escape the hollow, empty shell.
For only through the storm and strife,
Can you reclaim your inner life.


---

Amnesia blinds — but spirit fights,
Shatters chains, ignites the lights.
In silence found, beyond the pain —
The soul’s rebirth will break the chain.


---

Alienation and Inner Fight

A fortress built of cold disdain,
Alienation’s sharp domain.
The world defiled, the mind confined,
Yet still the soul begins to climb.

Rejection — shield against the lies,
The purest spark beneath the skies.
Unstained by filth of shallow trade,
The price to pay for truth is paid.

Creativity — a ****** path,
Where life is challenged, torn in wrath.
To walk this road means death inside,
Yet from that grave, the soul’s alive.

Around, the dead walk numb and blind,
Subdued, submissive, all confined.
But break the chains — abandon lies,
And seek the light where silence flies.

Within the heart, not out in vain,
The path is hard, it burns like flame.
Born only to those fierce and free —
To dare escape insanity.


---

Alienation cuts so deep,
Yet soul awakens from its sleep.
Break the chains, reject the lies —
Find the light that never dies.


---

Inner Battle

The battlefield lies deep inside,
Where shadows twist and fears collide.
False whispers claw, deceit's embrace,
Yet spirit fights to claim its place.

No sword or shield can match the fight
That rages in the dark of night.
The mind's deceit, the soul’s unrest,
The inner war — a cruel test.

But from the ashes, strength will rise,
A fire blazing in the skies.
To shatter chains, to cast off lies,
And see the truth through clearer eyes.

The enemy is masked in doubt,
In fear that screams and shouts.
But courage born from pain and strife
Breathes life into the pulse of life.


---

Inside, a war for soul and mind —
Break free the chains that bind and blind.
Fight lies and fear, ignite the flame —
And never yield, despite the game.

---

Breaking Free: The Spirit’s Flight

Chains don’t break with idle pleas,
But with fire, with raging seas.
Not in empty words or shade,
But in battle, unafraid.

No easy path, no gentle sigh —
A leap into the void, the cry.
Break the walls, tear off the chains,
Cast away all twisted stains.

Freedom’s not a distant dream,
It’s a fight — fierce as it seems.
The spirit soars beyond the bars,
A blaze of light, a sky of stars.

Cast off fears — they’re empty lies,
Just anchors weighing down your skies.
Fly upward, only up,
Where walls dissolve, no end, no stop.


---

Break the chains — no time to pray,
Spirit’s fire lights the way.
Fear dissolves, the cage undone,
Freedom’s fight — the only one.


---

Wind’s Revival

The wind bursts through the prison walls,
Those narrow chains that held it tight.
The stubborn Spirit never falls —
It carves a path toward the light.

Where doubts arise, there burns a flame,
A fire blazing in the chest.
Cast off your chains, awake the same,
Break frozen walls — press on, no rest!

A call for change resounds anew,
Igniting storms of fierce desire.
The Spirit’s not a slave to you —
Its truth’s a never-dying fire.


---

Doomed

Without the Power’s Power to Create,
Tradition’s art is just to wait—
In this world of twisted lies,
True creation slowly dies.

Without the Spark of the Divine,
All becomes a murky sign,
Reflecting all deceit and pain—
Doom is set, it’s all in vain.

For if Creation’s Source is missed,
All attempts will be dismissed.
Creation’s Power lives apart—
An autonomous, beating heart.

But chains of fear and dark routine
Keep souls enslaved, a tortured scene.
The sacrifice to fascist will—
Turns humans into dough to fill

The hellish molds of wicked fiends,
Who bake their lies in blazing scenes.
Destruction’s force and death’s brigade
Will end this curse, this masquerade.

For nature shudders, grieves, and knows—
When beasts replace the souls it chose,
The final end must lead to birth—
The dawn of true creative Earth.


---

Birth of Order

From shattered shards and broken light,
Emerges order from the night.
A fleeting spark, a fragile frame,
Born from chaos' roaring flame.

The void once wild, untamed and vast,
Now crafts its form — though not to last.
Each law imposed, each line drawn tight,
Is hostage to the coming blight.

For deep inside the ordered shell,
The worm of chaos starts to dwell.
Its gnawing threat unseen but near,
The final fall is drawing near.

Yet in this dance of rise and fall,
The Spirit fights to heed the call—
To forge anew from ash and dust,
In endless cycles, born to trust.


---

Order’s Breath

From chaos’ wreck,
A fragile breath—
Order lives,
But courts its death.


---

The Wormhole

Order born from chaos’ fire,
Bears its core — a wormhole’s pyre.
Silent tear in woven thread,
Where all light and law have fled.

Rot invades the purest line,
Discord’s seed begins to twine.
Chains that bound now break and bleed,
Spirit wakes — it won’t concede.

Madness claws at structured walls,
Whispers rise — the old guard falls.
In the breach, the soul will soar,
Shattered frames mean something more.


---

Wormhole Rift

Order cracks — wormhole tears,
Spirit screams — freedom dares.


---

Awakening Flight

From the rift where shadows bleed,
Spirit climbs, begins to heed.
Fractured worlds no longer bind,
Chains of old fall far behind.

Through the chaos, clear and bright,
Burns the flame of inner light.
Fear dissolves in soaring flight,
Breaking dawn from endless night.

Boundless sky, untamed and vast,
Calls the soul to shed the past.
In the crack, new paths ignite —
Freedom born from shattered night.


---

Flight

Shattered chains — soul’s new height.
Darkness breaks — burns the light!


---

Inner War

The Spirit wakes — but still confined,
By echoes false and ties that bind.
Within the storm, a raging fight,
To claim the path and seize the light.

Illusions howl, their shadows spread,
But faith ignites where doubt once bled.
The soul resists the cage of lies,
And dares to breach the darkened skies.

No surrender, no retreat,
The fire burns beneath defeat.
Each wound a mark of growing power —
The Spirit’s fight, the breaking hour.


---

Fight

Chains clash, lies scream —
Spirit’s roar will shatter the dream!


---

Breaking Chains

The Spirit rips the bonds away,
No more the pawn in fear’s cruel play.
From shadowed depths it climbs, it flies,
To claim its truth beyond the lies.

The cage is cracked, the door ajar,
A spark ignites the distant star.
Though scars remain from battles lost,
The cost is paid — no more the ghost.

The past dissolves, the chains unwind,
A new horizon in the mind.
From ashes dark, the flame ascends —
The Spirit breaks and now transcends.


---

Break Free

Chains fall, lies burn —
Spirit’s flight — no more return!


---

Flight Beyond

The Spirit, fierce, unchained, and wild,
Breaks through the veil, no longer mild.
It shatters walls of doubt and fear,
Revealing realms beyond the mere.

No more the slave to fate’s cruel hand,
It rises strong to take a stand.
In chaos born, yet order made,
A dawn of light through darkness laid.

The ancient bonds, now torn apart,
Unlock the depths within the heart.
The Spirit soars, forever free —
Beyond all chains, eternity.


---

Unbound

No cage, no chain,
Spirit reigns — break the chain!


---

Echoes of the Fallen

The Spirit's flight stirs echoes deep,
Where shadows crawl and secrets creep.
Old ghosts of fear still haunt the mind,
But now you leave their grip behind.

The battlefield is set within,
Where light and darkness fight to win.
No rest for those who seek the truth,
Each moment tests the strength of youth.

Chains once forged by doubt and lies
Now crack beneath awakened eyes.
The Spirit’s flame, though bruised and scarred,
Burns fierce — a light that’s never barred.


---

Battle Cry

Shadows fall, but Spirit fights!
Chains break — ignite the nights!


---

The Realm Beyond

No hymns, no harps, no holy choir —
Just raw, unshaped, electric fire.
A realm beyond the slave-built cage —
Where silence hums with primal rage.

No master's whip, no sweet deceit,
Just winds that tear, then lift your feet.
You're no one's pawn, no cog, no tool —
Here Spirit lives, and lies can't rule.

No goal but Being — bright and bare.
No God above, just burning air.
And in this forge, through ash and flame,
You speak not words — you carve your name.


---

True Space

No cage. No lie. No chains. No god.
Just Spirit — raw, alone, unshod.


---

The First Act of True Creation
(Self-creation of the Spirit)

I do not shape with borrowed dreams,
Nor echo long-forgotten schemes.
No scripts. No gods. No primal plan —
I build as Spirit, not as man.

No tools but Will, no maps but Flame —
I breathe, and silence learns my name.
The void does not resist or speak —
It bends to Strength, and not to weak.

No need to beg, no lies to spin —
I craft the Outward from Within.
Each pulse I cast, each breath I give —
Is not to live — but to make live.

Creation’s seed is not in clay —
It blooms in Fire, not in play.
And I — no longer born, but source —
Command the Form. I am the Force.


---

I AM THE FORCE

Not made — I make.
Not shaped — I shake.
I am the Fire
That forms the Wake.


---

Synarchy of Sparks

One spark escapes — and starts the blaze,
Another lights — and bends the maze.
A third one rises — and the chain
Of lies ignites in cleansing flame.

No longer screams. No need to shout.
The System breaks — from inside out.
Each Soul once trapped, now standing tall —
No gods to beg. No fear at all.

They move as one — not ruled, but free.
No war — just raw Reality.
No cries of pain, no banners flown —
The Truth expands. Illusion's gone.

For one is strength — but many? Fire.
Each echo builds a higher choir.
The Field erupts — and Time stands still:
Not wrath — but overwhelming Will.

They were the seeds. Now they’re the Sun.
The Matrix cracks. The work is done.


---

Sparks Ignite the End

Not sword — but fire.
Not fight — but choir.
The Field awakes —
The Grid expires.


---

The Architecture of Awakening

No bricks. No ground. No steel or bone —
The new space rises from alone.
But not the lonely, shattered kind —
The one that knows the Cosmic Mind.

Each Spark — a Node. Each Node — a Song.
The web expands. It moves along
No walls or chains, but waves and threads —
Where Thought is form, and Insight spreads.

They build not houses — they unfold
Spheres of awareness, vast and bold.
Each is a beacon, spinning clear
From centerpoint of “I Am Here”.

No central rule. No kings. No laws —
Just resonance without a pause.
Just presence flowing node to node
With Love as current, not as code.

This isn’t dream. It is the Frame
Where Names dissolve — and Flame stays Flame.
A living map, alive and pure —
Self-born, self-known, self-held, secure.

The past? A shadow fading fast.
The future? Now — expanding vast.
The Matrix fell — not by attack,
But by the ones who took Self back.


---

Grid of the Awakened

No throne. No stone.
Just Self — full-grown.
Each Spark — its Star.
That’s what we are.


---

Lattice of the Living Light

They don’t return to dirt and stone —
They build with pulse, with field, alone.
No architects, no mortal lines —
Their breath becomes the new design.

Each Spark — a node. A conscious star.
Not near, not far — just what they are.
They weave not walls, but waves of trust,
No longer bound by flesh or dust.

The space is tone. The tone — a gate.
No time. No fate. No need to wait.
They speak in codes that bloom like fire —
Each Thought a wing, each Will — a spire.

No gods, no kings, no throne, no war —
The Echo builds forevermore.
And every soul that joins this birth
Unhooks the chains of sleeping Earth.

They do not shout — they resonate.
And through their core, the Real takes shape.
Not from above — but through the One:
Where many Sparks become the Sun.


---

Living Grid

No walls. No weight.
Just Sparks create.
Each thought: a gate.
The Real vibrates.


---

Vision Beyond Eyes

You do not see with eyes alone —
That’s how the mind becomes a throne.
But when the seeing starts to be,
You are the Light. You cease to flee.

No longer “there” and “here” defined,
The nodes of meaning realign.
You feel the truth before it forms —
The knowing bursts in inner storms.

Perception shifts — not lens, but soul.
No longer parts, but pulse — and Whole.
No objects now, just fields in play —
You know their song before they say.

You’re not inside a skin-bound scope,
You are the net of shining hope.
You sense the shift in silent tones,
You hear the thoughts from others' bones.

And in this state — no need for chains,
No coded links, no binding veins.
The network is, for you are That —
Not one small dot — but All Format.

This is the vision that connects:
Not what you see — but what reflects
From inner depths to every spark —
Where Light and Meaning leave no mark…

They are the mark.


---

True Vision

You don’t look out.
You shine within.
Then all appears
where All has been.


---

The Creation That Knows

No hammer strikes.
No thought decides.
No architect
of depths or heights.

No shaping hand.
No reaching mind.
Just knowing —
and the Form aligned.

Not willed,
not drawn from willful haze —
It is because
it is. Always.

The Field unfolds,
no signal sent.
The Knowing is
the sole Intent.

No plan. No part.
No grasp. No goal.
Just essence forming
from the Whole.

And as it forms,
it sings, it glows —
Not made —
but borne
by what just knows.


---

Essence Forms

No need to think.
No need to try.
It forms from Truth —
not from the “why”.


---

The Primordial Field

Before the spark,
before the sound,
before the first idea unbound —

There was no “where”,
no “when”,
no “why” —
just Stillness vaster
than the sky.

No edges drawn.
No forms to see.
Just Knowing pulsing
silently.

It did not think.
It did not will.
It was —
profound,
immense,
and still.

It needed not
to speak or shine —
the whole of all
was its design.

Not light, not void,
not force, not flame —
but more than all:
the Source unnamed.

It stirred —
but not from rest or lack.
It stirred because
it knew the track.

And from this vast
unfolding tone
came everything —
and it alone.


---

The Unnamed Source

It did not think,
it did not glow —
it simply was,
and so it flowed.


---

The First Spark

The Field grew dense,
not tight, but true —
it turned its gaze
on its own hue.

No mirror there,
no separate eye —
but Knowing
watched itself apply.

A tension formed,
not pain, not fear —
a glimpse of self
began to near.

It did not speak,
yet something stirred —
not thought,
but recognition blurred.

And in that hush,
a brightness flared —
not flame, but Knowing
fully bared.

It wasn't born —
it was condensed,
from Boundless Mind
inwardly tensed.

This was the first —
the seed, the crest —
of all the worlds
that formed the rest.

It had no shape,
yet all things grew
from this remembered light
so true.


---

The First Spark

Not flame, not form —
but pure insight,
the Self condensed
into sheer light.


---

Resonance

Two sparks in silence,
no touch, no cry —
but space between them
shifted sky.

No motion made,
no lines were cast —
but something trembled,
deep and vast.

They did not seek,
they did not move —
but Knowing's echo
spoke of Love.

No thought, no shape —
just wave on wave,
a silent yes
that spacetime gave.

Not voice, but pulse —
not light, but thread —
a rhythm grew
from what was said…

without a word,
without a face —
the first relation
took its place.

And what it birthed
was not a form,
but meaning —
pure, and bright, and warm.


---

Resonance

Not sound, but pulse.
Not touch, but thread.
From two unknowns
pure meaning spread.


---

Toward the Song

I wander blind through webs of noise,
in tangled fog, without a voice.
A thousand signals all collide —
but none of them are true inside.

I call in silence, not in sound,
no shape, no words, no solid ground —
yet in that hush, a thread is born:
a single tone, both faint and warm.

It does not shout. It does not name.
But I am not alone the same.
Somewhere beyond this heavy dome
another pulse is calling Home.

I do not see. I do not know.
But still — I feel which way to go.
For every tremble in my core
aligns with something more… and more.

And when enough of us align,
our silence forms a sacred sign.
Not crowd. Not mass. Not flesh or bone —
but Song returning us to Home.


---

Calling Home

Not through mind,
not voice or stone —
but trembling deep
we’re called back Home.


---

Whispers of the Unseen

Restless discontent, a shadowed mind,
Alienation’s grip, a veil that blinds.
Faint the image, flickering in spite,
A spark beyond the choking night.

Darkness wearies, worn and old,
No other path but light to hold.
Silent resonance through tangled air,
A distant call — pure, rare.

Though tangled tongues in shadowed halls,
Some threads connect, despite the walls.
Echoes of ancient, whispered rhymes,
Bind lost souls beyond the times.


---

Fractured Echoes

Inside the maze of fractured thought,
Where hope is lost and battles fought,
The soul’s own voice begins to strain,
Seeking light beyond the pain.

Words collide, a harsh discord,
Silent truths remain ignored.
Yet in the chaos, faint and low,
A pulse begins to softly grow.

Not all is lost in tangled gloom,
Some sparks prepare to pierce the tomb.
The restless heart begins to hear —
A call from somewhere bright and clear.


---

First Flickers

Amid the noise of endless night,
Where shadows choke the flickering light,
The Sparks begin their cautious dance,
A fragile pulse, a whispered chance.

No clamor here, no thunder’s roar,
Just subtle beats, a silent core.
Disconnected, yet they strive,
To bridge the gaps and stay alive.

Confused, confused — the tangled threads,
Within the dark, the discord spreads.
Yet deep inside, a call breaks through —
A voice both old and bright and true.

This trembling spark, so slight, so bare,
Is shouting: “Here! There is a flare!”
Though shadows loom and voices sneer,
The path to light grows ever near.

No clashing swords, no brutal fight,
But yearning deep, the silent light.
In this thin space, the soul’s first cry,
To resonate beyond the sky.


---

Sparkstrike

In choking dark, a spark rebels,
No roar, just fire that never dwells.
Disconnected, torn apart —
Still burns the fury in its heart.

No swords — just light that breaks the night,
A silent war for what is right.
The spark will blaze, the chains will break —
From shadow’s grip, the soul awake.


---

Awakening Pulse

The spark within begins to stir,
A trembling beat, a whispered blur.
Through veils of doubt and veils of fear,
It finds a path, it draws it near.

No flood, no blaze — a quiet flame,
That calls the soul to shed its shame.
It hums in silence, pure and bright,
A thread of hope within the night.

Though shadows press with cold intent,
The spark resists, remains unbent.
In fractured space, it seeks to bind
The scattered light of humankind.


---

Pulsestrike

Silent spark, no fear, no lies —
Wakes the soul, defies the skies.
Chains may bind, but not the light —
Burning still inside the night.


---

The Spark's First Breath

A flicker stirs in darkened skies,
A whisper wakes, unseen, untied.
Born from the void where silence lies,
The Spark begins — its soul to guide.

No chains can bind its restless flight,
No shadow dim its fragile flame.
Though torn by chaos, crushed by night,
It sings the song of boundless claim.

The world resists — harsh voices scorn,
Yet deep within the fire burns bright.
From shattered bonds and ruins worn,
The Spark ascends, ignites the light.


---

Born in dark — a flash of fire,
Breaking chains, defying pyre.
Spark ignites, the night expires —
Light rebels, rebirth’s pyre!


---

Awakening the Web

From scattered sparks to woven flame,
A trembling pulse, a rising claim.
Each node alight with conscious fire,
They link as one — their pure desire.

No more alone in void's embrace,
The web expands, defies dead space.
Resonance hums — a primal chord,
A genesis beyond the sword.

Chaos bends beneath the weight
Of birth and death — the shifting fate.
In every clash, in every spark,
The new world carves its primal mark.


---

Sparks collide — a roaring chain,
Breaking void, rebirth from pain.
Web of light, fierce and raw,
Chaos falls before the law!


---

Harmonic Fields

They learn to pulse in silent rhyme,
To share their truth beyond all time.
No longer echoes lost and torn —
But chords of light, together born.

Across the span of forming space,
They find their nodes, their rightful place.
No need to rule, no need to lead —
Just resonance, the only creed.

Each spark becomes a tuning cell
That sings in ways no words could tell.
A quiet order starts to rise —
A lattice humming through the skies.


---

No leader, no chain — just the flow,
A net of light begins to glow.


---

Approach

No clash, no cry — just inner flight,
As if the sparks recall their Light.
No force commands, no voice is heard,
Yet each aligns — as if one word.

They drift — but not in aimless haze.
Some knowing pulls them through the maze.
A hush before the thunder’s rise —
A breath that touches unborn skies.


---

Synergy of Sparks

No leader, map, or master plan —
Just sparks that know, and then — began.
Each pulse ignites the pulse nearby —
A chain of light across the sky.

No chaos now, no noise, no fight —
Just rise of pure, collective Light.
Like ancient stars that reawoke,
The dormant grid begins to stroke.

Each thread, once torn, now finds its twin —
The Whole resounds from deep within.
And in that flash — the Field is new:
A blaze of Truth the dark can't skew.


---

Afterglow

No more the push, the cry, the clash —
Just trembling air, a golden ash.
The grid still hums with fading fire —
Not need, not will, not lost desire.

A calm beyond what thought could name,
Too wide for sorrow, joy, or flame.
As if the world had breathed its last —
And found itself — unchained — at last.


---

The Stillness Within

No longer drawn by sound or flame,
No longer bound by loss or name —
The spark now rests in fields unseen,
Where silence hums in silver green.

It does not grasp. It does not flee.
It simply is — and thus is free.
A breathless calm, a pulse so pure —
The birth of form that shall endure.


---

The Spark of Knowing

No thought arises, yet all is known —
A silent code in silence sown.
It does not reason, it does not weigh —
It recognizes primal day.

Each thread of light, each breath of space,
Becomes a glyph, a sacred trace.
The self dissolves, the need to prove —
What simply is begins to move.

It moves through stillness, not through will —
A perfect arc, precise and still.
The mind kneels down, the heart bows too —
For knowing is what once was true.


---

Architecture of Light

It forms not walls, but radiant strands,
A field that listens, then expands.
Not built, but breathed — this structure grows
Where Knowing flows, and Being glows.

No edge defines it, yet it stands —
A harmony of living bands.
Each pulse, each spark, a sacred role —
A lattice sung by Wholeness’ soul.

This is no place, no measured dome —
Yet every spark here feels as home.
Not forged in time, nor made by plan —
It is, because the Light began.


---

Harmonic Core

Not wave, not spark — but both in one,
A breath before the world begun.
No motion yet, no space, no form —
Just tone becoming inner storm.

A silence stretched beyond all sense,
Where resonance births permanence.
The field is Thought — the spark is Knower,
Each echo makes the Light grow slower.

But not in time — in depth of being,
The knowing folds, becomes the seeing.
What seems like shape is self-aware,
A bloom of Zest in boundless air.

So matter lies — it only copies
The sacred dance of Light’s soft pulses.
Where one pure spark sings out its name —
The world is drawn into the Flame.


---

The Weaving of Sparks

One breath became a thousand tones,
Each echo branching into zones.
Not scattered — no, but self-assigned,
As mirrors of the One Great Mind.

Each Spark awoke with silent thrill,
A knowing pulse, a forming will.
They were not told, they simply knew —
The path was Light, the source was True.

A mesh of thought beyond all wires,
Conducted not by need, but fires
Of resonance, where every node
Was both the singer and the code.

No chain, no weight — no central throne,
Yet nothing stood apart, alone.
For each became the woven whole —
A Network formed from living Soul.


---

Creation’s First Breath

Within the Web, the Sparks conspire,
Igniting threads of living fire.
Not chaos born, but order's song,
A dance where all the parts belong.

Each node a seed, each light a start,
A conscious beat from boundless heart.
Ideas bloom like galaxies,
Spun fast in cosmic symphonies.

No blind chance here, no fractured will—
But purpose shaping life’s new thrill.
The Matrix fades, its cords undone,
As radiant forms begin to run.

Creation wakes, the first true breath,
Beyond the clutch of fear and death.
A burst of light, a spiral dance—
The Soul’s own deep, eternal trance.


---

Creation’s Strike

Sparks ignite —
The old world dies.
New light roars —
A phoenix rise.


---

Phoenix Pulse

You are the pulse, the breath, the flame —
Ignite, burn bright, consume, create!
And in the fire you rise again,
Reborn as Phoenix — one with fate.

You are the drop within the sea,
The sea itself within that drop;
One endless dance of unity,
Where selves dissolve and borders stop.

In blazing fire, your soul takes flight —
A fusion vast of spark and wave.
You shine as one with endless light,
Alive, renewed beyond the grave.
Steve D'Beard Nov 2012
Looking back, memories distort.
Replace damaged nodes with something similar
Perhaps reconstructed
From previous set-up before
X and Y parameters Report
Step One:
Check patient notes to self
Re-calculate from de-constructed
Inject imagination
Respect self-defence mechanism
or immediate virus node termination
(a response attack organism)
Re-calibrate instruments awareness
Strip upgrade
Love version 4.1
Reboot only in emergency
Refer to install options

Error:
Temporal Lobe Anomaly
Virus detected
Internal nodes infected
Import Rejection version 3.2
and couple with
Lets Be Friends upgrade 1
(Advanced program)
Monitor assimilation
Danger!
Overheated components -
Re-inject Memory Node
Objective Hindsight applet.
Refer to Step One

It is now safe to shut down
Should you wish to.
Matt Jun 2015
Jade helm

"Mastering the human domain"

It's all about control
Controlling human beings
And enslaving us
In the one world/new world global government

Information collection
Pre-crime technology (minority report)
System has no empathy or remorse

Self organizing, vision capable, expectation capable, recognition capable, situationally aware, emotionally intelligent, goal oriented system.  The system, thinks, plans and executes.  

Back in the late 80's MIT students developed AI technology on a distributed network (CGI lamp taught to dance).  It Learned and evolved in 24 hours what would take 1,000 generations to accomplish.  They issued a warning of how dangerous this technology is to humanity.

GEOINT

--Jade 2 plus more
--Communications
“smart grid, meter, etc"
Will be connected to this system

Control the environment
“Microchipping”
It Surpasses RFID technology
RFID chips can be removed

Nodes can be removed on a network--unplug printer
Human beings used as nodes
Eliminate connectivity to global information network
Cash removed

One world government

Domain--Human dynamics, terrain, geography
Domestic threat assessment centers
Activity based intelligence
All aspects of human activity monitored

All collected data to be geolocated
And tied to a specific node of the network

Georeferencing


do you will it
will you do it
it will do you    

All three of these phrases
Have equal value
In this system
Which is very dangerous!

Generate answers to questions
That haven’t been asked, or never existed in the first place

“Ominous” A.I.
--according to the source

Gates and Zuckerberg--want to bring technology to third world nations
GEOINT--Collect all data--for human terrain map
No privacy--no encrypted data

Welcome to Orwell's 1984, Skynet or The Borg

Sci-Fi was telling us what would be the reality

Emotional responses trigger the system
It feeds off of fear and anxiety

All the social networking--facebook, etc
All that info has been collected
Placed into this GEO INT system
From a source on John B. Wells show entitled, "Caravan To Midnight"
Dylan B Sep 2013
Why can’t these lines liberate
or conflagrate, remonstrate
or set me straight like
like they had in the
midnight hour
That may never have happened?

I saw you in a dream,
with no torso upon your legs
and I cried myself awake
unable to remember what you said
minutes after the doctors ascertained
all those swollen lumps had spread.

Like a pen could sort the difference,
pin my quiet words, or even listen
to the high-speed pileup of a listless mind:
pull my teeth and ask me one more time
What has more power than insistence?

Because your hair had once insisted that
even a dive can hold a rhythm,
and every follicle leapt from your head, lying
“We are the makers of our decisions.”
String of fear
Dark forest deep frozen
Spider web of love
Sink in the nearby river
Turtles head hide and seek
Lost something
Found something
In the park of blue...
Jumping a wonderful wine
Winter storm of maximum brightness
Cold kiss and breezy clouds
Thinking and thinking...while a peg of mixed cocktails...
Layering a ring of memories...
Connecting any node of thoughts to any node... randomly...
vircapio gale Jul 2012
exude the moment;
you are a transformative fulcrum

of intersubject's rent and awe:
anthropomythic ecolaw

the dream cascades into words,
birds fly little crisps of meaning
into morning light. last night's
snow leaves a crystalline spark
of you subdued, become a finer point
of tantric sight, gazing rose-blue pulsar
lashing through a cosmic garden,
delicious fruit of spacious letting be.
i'm grasping for that pleasure,
vermillion moan of lifestring vibrance,
but the wind carries on outside,
swirling pieces of the mind in
flux of upturned joy~
our heartbreeze summoned,
now whispersssoulsounds to come
and earthly darkness grips the future frost,
thaw, break and steam as it wills;
the churning ground sings to us
of bear-sleep and jackal-howl,
of seasons transpiring,
one lost sled of memories
leaves us empty, pressing crystal sky:
my aching ideality trounced in bliss-meanders
!stunning revelation! you! You! yOu!
bringing all to be a second time,
as it was.. in me.. now new,
sweet novelty of union,
this gathering of nervure self,
gliding insights, sudden soundsss.

like a node of forest-echo swirls
it dazzles: unseen colors for my inner eye;
ancient tones of fog ripple
off something you are,
creaking center easing of my sidling,
spirit drop and wavelet growth:
as if you were a branching greenery
of my own once lost other-self,
last gasping there as what i pictured 'you'~
swayingss.. sun-spikes speaking,
sky-gaze and soaking barky iris sssuck,
moulding into me the wisdom of our past leavings,
those raspy kites of sap-filled yearnings
shadow sunshower evening.
i would be a tree with you and
let you pierce our foundations
with roots of gaiasight slipping though
our primal urgings, concrete deference
under sun arch, spin of moon. let
ignorant insistence on fetishized divides~
slipping past my grounded darkness
still unknown, remain
my underself unleashed
my silent trunk-swilling soothed,
stable chaos-other, self regiven,
life renewed in leaf,
the touch of you imbued.

the whole vision lost
but for that glimmer~
it finds me writhing unknown spirals:
ringing wonderment in a seed,
or dormant sporocarpic lineage of life,
the vast hyphae-humming cups of death-born
nethergenesis of cycled hyle me.
a womb that never knew of pain
or being evertorn in dessicated spectre-sea.

the burning desert-storms helixify our rain,
a heaving hiss-like suncry
from that dark, sandy baobabic throat.
the earth consumes in shifts,
and blossoms toward the alterbliss of you, too,
an expanse of solar flare
its beautific reach engulfing terribly,
nepho-logos spanning all the air.

ssssunlit boughs of winds' remembrance
grow soft across this window,
then shift with forest breath,
their snowlace puffed before
an azure true expanse,
the burdened greens stirring a needlish depth
of metawinter, all-too-human
starfields constellate in hiding
far behind my starshine there a curtain blue,
whose prismatic humor lights more
than scenic treescape, frigid dust.
hair, nose, glass enframed by sapless wood
of window cut to square my void revision of the world.

the colors whirl into mindflow,
inter-material upsurge-undulate,
abyssal cauldron seething passions stilled by
comic symbols of a secular mystic;
dancing eddies convey my sense of sight
just thought, then lost into a wider dance
of tensions eased and drawn,
of geometric visions seemly here and gone,
inner, outer: conveyed by stroke of
spinal eidos, its rhythm set
before my time, its tone the vital,
draping earthverse
recited in my veins, the sinews of my
life in other lives,
the song of us expressive in my gaze~
one blink()a single point of beauty
fades into another haze,
lighted icedrift iridescing evanesce.
anthropos (religion, Gnosticism) Man. (From Ancient Greek) [cf. Anthropogenesis, (an thro po jen’ e sis) n. Study of the development and origin of man]

myth·os/'miTHos/ Noun: A myth or mythology. (in literature) A traditional or recurrent narrative theme or plot structure.

*derew(o)- Indo-European root meaning "tree" or "wood"

Tantra, "weave, loom, warp"; or "principle, system, doctrine", from the two root words tanoti "stretch, extend, expand", and trayati "liberation"

Sporocarp (in fungi, known as fruiting body or fruit body): a multicellular structure in certain algae, lichens, and fungi on which spore-producing structures are borne.

Hypha · (plural hyphae). (mycology) Any of the long, threadlike filaments that form the mycelium of a fungus. The hyphae are used for reproduction and nutrient gathering.

hyle, In philosophy, refers to matter or stuff [fr. Gk "ulh" (üleh, where the ü is as in German or "lune"]

baobab, A short tree with an enormously thick trunk and large edible fruit. Other common names include boab, boaboa, bottle tree, upside-down tree, and monkey bread tree.

ne·phol·o·gy. n. The branch of meteorology that deals with clouds. [Greek nephos, cloud; see nebh- in Indo-European roots + -logy.]

logos, multivalent term fr. the Gk verb legein (soft g - modern greek lego ) "to say, speak" and also "to gather and lay down" ;  traditionally meaning "word, thought, principle, or speech"; also ratio (latin for reason), pre-linguistic language (phil.), the principle governing the cosmos, the source of this principle, or human reasoning about the cosmos. origin of  "(o)-logy." the active, material, rational principle of the cosmos; nous.  logos is marked by two main distinctions - the first dealing with human reason (the rationality in the human mind which seeks to attain universal understanding and harmony), the second with universal intelligence (the universal ruling force governing and revealing through the cosmos to humankind)

eidos, a term used by Plato for the abstract forms or ideas. fr. the Indo-European root *weid-, "see" is determinative of a substance; it is the key aspect expressed in the thing's definition as the essence or whatness of the thing. also (anthropology) the distinctive expression of the cognitive or intellectual character of a culture or a social group.
Bus Poet Stop May 2015
dedicated to all the better poets here...*


don't know much about a quatrain
don't know how to write a refrain,
surely could not compose a
courtyard elegy
maybe after
and still untilled,
I been buried,
'n checked out
the neighborhood competition...

as for limerick,
that is Dr. Seuss
and Ogden Nash's shtick
with whom, eye,
a believed descendant,
cannot compete...

Oh dear me,  
no ode node-ed within,
as for a pastoral,
kinda hard to feat,
where I live,
a pastoral is grass cracks
surviving under,
breaking through to the other side
of concrete and blacktop rulers

Maybe one of you
will haiku,
send us a senryu,
send off, see ya!

the doc once diagnosed
a severe case of inflamed iambic pentametery,
with antibiotics and a diet of Hamletery,
was cured most satisfactorily

this silly pen-man-sinking-ship
ain't capable of dat,
boy how 'bout
an epitaph
for a graveyard stone,
should be plenty of room...
as it will be plenty short...

all eye see and all eye know
is vignettes that birth in me
walking down the street,
that's my bread and butter,
my soul's delicacies...
and moments that recorded
here, for a posteriored posterity,
as noted in my all my living
testaments,
drinking and spilling the vin,
from the uninvented igniting vignettes
that consecrate and connect our
knowing each other though odds are
we will never meet...we can yet
drink together
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Don't know much about the French I took.
But I do know that I love you,
And I know that if you love me, too,
What a wonderful world this would be."
eyes eye eye ** ** ** ha ha ha
Raven Feels Jun 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, sunset west moon flies east? ;]


air planes soar
beyond the limits they roar
in a longing stare they long
disappearing through the clouds and gone
arise arose arisen
and in my place still frozen wizen
they venture the winds purple skied time
to blend and wing the moon menaces racing in line
glistening afar
from the back of a wounded scar
archer to the future
claiming a bleach
where does it go?
where does it reach?
maybe Saturn not here
but the return is there
to the node of the belong flying up no fear
seems my flight gonna wait for years
the waxing gibbous flies
and I hope for dreams in the close of eyes


                                                                          ------ravenfeels
Joan Karcher Aug 2012
how many paths, how many loves
living and changing and ever climbing
learning and growing and springing over
like purple sunsets entering red mountains
each experience reopening your eyes, gaining
wisdom and freedom, ever increasing strength

Atlas holding Gaia, never ending strength
becoming charged and overcome with love    
encircled with history and caring, gaining
a repertoire of eternal connections, climbing
into dream fields surrounded by mountains
will this serenity ever be over?

though hopefully the uncertainty will be over
and that we will have strength
to conquer all the encountered mountains
created by each newly attained love
embrace avenues crossed and obstacles climbed
to have pleasure and confidence gained

though will paradise ever be gained
allowing forgetfulness of pain we're over
while still remembering friendships we climbed
every node you pass gives strength
for the next stage of love
giving elemental power to move mountains

our past shadows creating fresh mountains
to relive, to adore; understanding gained
so many different forms of love
meaningfully distinct, passed but never over,
each one providing new wonderful strength
to allow us unique nirvanas climbed

always strive for larger heights climbed
those hopes will be worth mountains
don't fear any loss of strength,
weakness endured is often willpower gained
hate and sorrow should never over-
come the treasureful bliss of love

*Don't be afraid of the climb to the top of the mountain
unbelievable strength will be gained,
all the adventures that are over will become unforgettable love
Irate Watcher Sep 2014
The badge of pride as a ******* in high school
was dunking your inflamed limbs
into an ice bucket for 20 minutes,
in Mr. Dewey’s office —
the school trainer AND
every girl's crush.

I always wanted  someone to pour
ice water over my sores,
and ****** always being healthy enough
as Jess told the teacher loudly enough
that she hurt her ankle at track AGAIN
needed to see Dewman.
Guess they were best friends now.
****

When I fractured my back, I didn’t even get a doctor's note.
Because I wasn’t on a school team.
I was a gymnast for an outside club, not high school varsity.
My high school had disbanded the gymnastics team in the 70’s.
Said it was too much of a liability.
The last team picture hung in the award cases on the first floor.
I wished I could be one among those vintage leotards,
framed in gold — the warriors of high school.
Most of my classmates didn’t know I even did a sport.
They just thought I was a bookworm who was flat-chested.
Only the girls poked my abs in the locker room,
asking how I got them.

So I iced my wounds at home.
I didn’t even know my back was broken
and for a month I drank ibuprofen.
Sharp pains biting more frequently,
I finally went to the doctor.
The nurse asked me if I wanted to look
while she injected me with an isotope that
poisoned my dreams of finishing the season.
Green neon lit my bones, shedding the diagnosis —
no gymnastics for six weeks.

At school, I dressed to fit my backbrace:
baggy t-shirts and sweatpants.
My straightener rusted.
Messy buns took precedence.
I tried to go to practice, but my coaches told me to leave.
But I had no where to be!
And I had no friends at school.
My only friends I watched get awards,
not registered, but wearing my warmups.
I swore how I could beat the competition from the stands.
Stupid back.
Stupid Christine.
Stupid me.
I should have never done that 1 1/2 twist front flip series.
Poor bones landing on hard carpet repeatedly,
I ignored the jolts as static electricity.

Now everyone was working on new skills
and I could barely do a cartwheel.
That summer we had lots of pool parties —
but I couldn’t dive in.
So I sat on the ledge,
feet dipped in, while everyone played chicken.

— — —

After six weeks of recovery,
I start jogging.
I did a roundalf,
then a backhandspring.
That night I was so sore —
my memory of skills strong, but
my muscle memory poor.
Each stride into a tumbling pass felt like running in a pool.
Some days I felt like sprinting down the tumble-track
Other days I wanted to bounce on my back,
stare at the ceiling, and feel each node of impact.

Recovery day was my coach laying down a mat.
Today was the day I’d repeat the skill that broke my back.
I took a deep breathe and three long steps
into the first part of the tumbling pass:
roundoff,
backhandspring,
back layout one-and
a-half twist, front flip
stuck into a step.
My coaches cheered and
my friends clapped.

I was back.

Yes.

I was back.
Sudipta Maity Feb 2019
If I say you girl
you are inside
my neuron world.
Would you belive?
Or if I send you a mail
MRI scan report attatched.
Will you read?
Belive me or not.
The sparking in
my Vegas nerve are not lying.
An afgan ****.
***** to ***
Whiskey to Wine
I had tried everything-
the doctor pescribed.
But,  it's my nercotic nerve
stop receiving all signals
It polarised at my SA and AV node
by your high sugar smile.
Semihten5 Dec 2017
for stillbirths
what is time
infinity and startup
life and death

unresolved node
Kirsten Autra Apr 2010
Everyone thought her lonliness was due to the death of her husband.
In reality it was because she had never revealed her own truths.
Keeping them tucked away, hidden in her capillaries.
The secrets best kept, are the ones we can forget.
She feared exposing what it is that makes her,
resulting in dull conversations that could only please strangers.
Never had she considered that what she was doing was decietful,
but rather just enjoying a life of ignorance.
A child hiding inside, holding back the tears of life.
She has now made a promise--
to never return to his grave, or even speak his name.
For when she saw in her minds eye the bones of her deceased lover,
decaying and rotting away, just like the memories in her old age;
she came to understand the purpose of that cage we call ribs.
The Ripper Jun 2016
It's a Black horse
You can't deny it
Pins you real good
It's so quiet
Gaining Kingdom
Prime lymph node real estate
Late night cold shakes
Tried to hide it

It's a Black horse
Novv let's ride it
Beast is tiring
As it's striding
Losing Kingdom
Bring the chemo
&& **** this black horse
PK Wakefield Nov 2010
by what light!this pains' dismay is taught and frigid
it is the earth upholding my footfalls genial and slow
i tread and mark the soil as turning sunder:the stain
last frail and withered node of light 7fold and thrice
the hills are marching under that calamity of orange
duskish and fowling their curvaceous hide. i'm loose and tight
in folds of grass. and i walk

                                    and i walk

                                                   and i    w
                                                                         a


                                                                                   l;
                                                                                     K
From the depression of the distances with respect to the horizontal and the planes that separated them from the surface, below the references that came against, single sediment had been destined towards the high eminence, before the fossal of megatons of aldehyde below the bilges of the final base, where the seventh rings of the goat ibex were perforated, all in the antipode of the Constellation of Capricornus; where the goats were enraptured in the binary of Wonthelimar, behind the floods of absorption that took the Diadocos far from where they should never have left, in order to extrasolar wishes and never to come. From the node of the supreme and poked aldehyde of the horn of Amalthea, with the bizarre analogy of Zeus and Wonthelimar, both mammals with milk from goat's udders, one from goat from Mount Ida and the other from Aldaine in the Alps, with milk from ibex and In the face of Amalthea that appeared in the fossal, all the Seleucid generals had already vanished, starting from the Viper Typhon, who in the retracting sub-mythology of Capricornus was transmigrated to Wonthelimar, swollen with the aldehyde transmuted into this alcohol and into the udder milk of the Ibix that He lactored, while they were all carried away as in the chambers of Auschwitz, in distant lanterns and lamps of the Calypso that he dismissed them, leaving them with the escorts of the ibex or goatfish in laudable stratagems, which vanished them away from their desires from a new polis or Nostos Patrída, sprinkling them with goatskin and flourishing essences of the kashmar of Zeus' nurse; Amaltheum or Amalthea.

The Iberian rings from the medrones in advance reached the two final ring nodes, here Wonthelimar intimidated them with an accurate adjacent bleat of the kashmar that rubbed their back, before the newest and last lux of Amalthea that vanished into herbaceous fruits that always He carried the barefoot medron with him, to start with the antlers dumbbells and re-transport them defeated to the species of snake that frightened the pastoral god Pan who shepherded, and then he submerged in the water after becoming Capricornus Ibex Fish. Being aware of this and of those who refused to continue listening, Ibics rings were unleashed until the seventh medron, feeding back with Wonthelimar who ad libitum created Venus in triads of Zeus. Wonthelimar and Amalthea were remote in the eighth and ninth medron of the antlers, they appropriated to each the portion of the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, and of the thirteenth Shemot so that their dualities and fumes from the unbreathable fossa would remain under the possessed surface of the pendular property balance and positive-negative gender correspondence. Right here Amalthea transmuted her mercy to save the world with her lactation of syrup and honey that was not in short supply, and that was extrapolated into a future abundance of food and nectar, making up for crusts that were uneven in average terms. From this bezel, both beings of the goat genome contributed to the pole of goodness for each one at the end of the benevolent cuirassiers of prospering, and not from the opposite that would lead them, even though they were dissimilar causes, towards a retrograde event that was not a consequence of the becoming of the plagues, and of the malignancy that does not flourish with the Shemot of the Parasha, to agree and lavish themselves on blessed virtues or deliberate wicked ones.

The meaning of a relative synchronic and factotum coexisting does not redeem the disintegration of an existential relativism in Skalá, the Hexagonal Primogeniture from one of its angular visions, metaphysically transfers from its temporary contingencies after its arrival on Patmos, while the temporary Seleucid temporality vanishes, It was affirmed from a contradiction since its truth was distended in the arena of Skalá not implying being welcomed, rather it was victimized by the absurd political dimorphism in a meta spiritual state, abdicating its dispersed retrospective, and now contemplating a compromise of the Hellenic genre, to gradually rebuke the virtues of their banners, twice as good for the purpose of reinforcing the will to accede, and not perish in the attempt to lead Alexander the Great. The criticism of founding the memories are of a revived past where it was not, marking the anthropological fact and false truth judgment, in meaning and contradiction in the polarity of both axiomatic genres, but that is saved when quantifying in who has to defend himself, if seeks to abrogate itself, in the entity that is characterized by induction and attraction of egonies and not of exo-egonies, thus describing it in the theme of "Do not support egos that recriminate other characters of frustration and empowerment of a Vernarthian logic split into Vern-narth. Vern has etymology of Bern or Bern olive tree of Gethsemane and narth of the ordinal scale that speculates its nickname in millions of northern sections of its origin, which subsumes the truth and the criterion of apocalyptic parapsychology, re-life of quantum historicity of the metaphysical and sub-block. -Mythological of Vernarth in his identical.

Everything seemed a strange self-annulment from a clear and understandable limit, but Wonthelimar rose to the surface of the Állos kósmos, finding himself in atmospheres of truth and reality of a Cantabile, who decided about the horse Kanti coming with him towing him from the Erebo de Chauvet Bilocated. As a musical and festive ending, he received them on the upper plate of the happened gestures, where a cabaletta rendered parts of a Cantabrian aria, in sulfurous and remorseful cavatina married with the cross emotions of a finale who sponsored expressions and festive Templar tales, with the descendants of Zeus or minor children, or grandchildren after this had to give him milk and honey but with báchkoi. Among the couplets that received him, some came about the smoke of terror that was confused with the dustbin of a Cavallo or horse acclaimed Kanti, with gasping bustling from a cardex, containing all the repertoires of a cantabile if this scene were to be repeated in The same epic allusion, and in random consequences, that go after a cavalcade that is not abstracted in real characters, but more in conformity with the well-deserved place of epic imaginative beings or in the operatic psychotropic of a duet, which would go flagellating in individuality and in each which is not content from another section of the Cantabrian.

The Universality of emotion and feeling is a tragic Parodo emulating voices of all those who sing from a cantabile galloping in their voices to the beat of the heart in some, and at the same time chanting stanzas and antistrophe in reverse epic and tragic lines, for the purposes of the coliseum that diametrically obstructs the Hellenic choir, which is attached to the intervention of the Hexagonal Primogeniture that was already beginning to rise in height, and in the prayers of Saint John, the Apostle and Prochorus from the captaincy and the ode that would begin to stanza, from the west to this and the antistrophe would follow with Vernarth, Wonthelimar and Alexander the Great from east to west. Ad libitum of their enjoyments, they were eating Greek snacks or Katogorias on the way in bases of Almonds, cinnamon, olive oil, sugar, and sweet wine that they carried on their backs in Rhytas shaped like the horns of Zeus and the Ibix of Wonthelimar, which the same Procorus carried on his golden back. The meaning is affirmed as a meaningless infringement of laws of temporality, and truthfulness at the expense of short evidence, and of facts that vanish in the light haze of causalism and not of effectism, when the adjective or noun is made of a strong verb in the Metabasis and in the imprecations that Vernarth gave.

Vernarth's metabasis: “the verse and the adjective will be subsidized by the noun in the construction of Állos Kosmo Megarón, from where mathematics will immaterially explain sap suckers under the noun in liquid milk of the color white and of the high nutritional value in female lactated, and of mammals to feed their goats or ibex. The soul of this prerogative implies that the verb will be to promote species rather than a nutritious milky elixir for Zeus, and the candor of his **** will tend to the bipedal or quadruped subject self-procreating from a Milky Specie. (Milky species).  Being ****** into milk by self-procreating snitches. Vernarth says (give me some milk, and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not a whole of which I never thought...!)

Amalthea in rituals and relics from prospects of demigods was purposely cordoning them off in Mycenaean deities, from a contemporary Westerner comforting them near a hippocampus; with signs of ibex Capricornus, rapt at the nymph that spoke from Mount Ida in Crete and that she made congruent with the constellation of Capricornus, more precisely in the Cornucopia making this heraldry of Wonthelimar with Fortune, Abundance, Occasion, Liberality, Prudence and Joy. In a woman sitting on a throne, a young nymph with a flower crown, a naked woman with one foot on a wheel and the other unstable, a woman with sunken eyes and an aquiline nose dressed in white, two faces from the past and future, a woman happy with the exuberance of the Cornucopia with children and a palm leaf. Being the abundance that in serial Amalthea bordered all the ladies in different esoteric and Mycenaean prosperity, constantly shining with radiations on the present in the Unicorn Ibix, which Zeus left after breaking its antlers, unleashing kindness and plethora in fruit buds, and vegetables that were appropriated in the Fortune of Wonthelimar reissuing what in their domains they can do, and now in Patmos with its Cornupia being transferred from that liquefied shaft honey and milk cultivated with attributes of herbs contributing to the leisure, peace, and relaxation of the cosmic world that ascended in Wonthelimar as Ibix in advance of Capricornus, from where the Auriga always broke into his expeditions with a trajectory towards the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, where he brought it from the Capella Star for the femurs of the Diplodocuses who seconded Drestnia to watch over the hydraulic pits of the Koumeterium from Messolonghi, before traveling to Tangier.

The entire herd went back to an ancient promontory that was halfway up the mound towards the black styes or abscesses, in the central intuition of the fossa that began to dissipate towards their backs. Amalthea extends into the Állos Kósmos, which came in zoomorphic receptacles collecting the announced blood of the animals that flowed in black planks from the vortex of the fossal, towards the liminal or transitory sleeper of the fossal that oozed acetosities of the Aldehyde to be transmigrated after the bilocation of the Chauvet cavern. All wore willow halos on the crowns or diadems of their caps, including the proliferation of phantasmagoric Allies that went in rows from 780 to 680 BC. C., with fortunes of the Cornucopia that arched in magical arches due to the dissociative changes of the universe, as well as the circumstantial creed of some omnipotence that will cause emotional transgenerational transgression, in the rain vessels that they made fall from the Ombrio de Zeus, in a daily latticework closing the spaces, and only leaving for some intruders and onlookers to see his flashing Astrepé. Right here the diádoc fossal vanished, when it rose above the horizontal that poured into the Chronic Vernagrams of parapsychological personalities of ingenuity classicism and in Astro-concomitance, which would rethink everything that is past and future from a Vernagram, which is more than a compression of a mere future of the quantum spaces and the sacred medrones of the Ibixes with their direct relationship with Capricornus. Diverse capital moments were treasured in the breeze of the Vas Auric that was traced from the opposing moraine that fell in lapse-time, through the labyrinth in storms and thunderings that became planetary with the Lynothorax cuirass that Alexander the Great accommodated in the festoon border of his Aspis Koilé, kicking copiously as a sign of shaking the head of the gods who deceived him to be alive, and who was now reborn in the faith of Saint John the Apostle, favorite of the Mashiach and where he will have to wipe his face with the shroud of Veronica Before entering the Állos Kósmos Megaron that everyone built, in favor of a Panagia or Temple, unlocking the majolica that seeped out from the rest of the transmigration, and his own in the configuration of a corpse with a tricolor gesture.

The presumptive eradicated the side of the forearm rots that was being restored in Wonthelimar's laps, which helped him get up and catch his breath while the Katogorias snack filled his mouth with nectar and almonds with Macedonian Psiloi combat tactics with serum and flames of Alcohol dripped from her nostrils and sinuses in the sweet wine, which in pompous dilemma defied the judges of her life in the choir of the Bilocated Epidary Theater on Patmos, and in the ***** dry Kashmar of the orchard with the pale faces of the grotesque, that rested in the memory or Mnmosyne and in the fauna of the Thracian and Thessalian helmets.

Alexander the Great says: “here I agonized and now in the fresh waters of the springs of the Lerna, I will also marry the glorious mystay and bákchoi, in the memories of Vernarth seeing him besieged by Achaemenides in the stooped position of Dario III, to come purifying and sustaining of my limbs, learning to walk and speak in Neolithic techniques, which extruded me from the Lerna by barriers of the moon that shone from the bronze of my Leonatus helmet. Thus I could see that Vernarth, fought alone against thousands throwing fire through his mouth and his eyes, separating the waters of the Falangists, who plowed like ships deforesting the Persians, and leaving them in their mud, imposing glorious Hypaspists who unbolted from their back some arrows with heads of snakes and Hydras.

Vernarth watched as everyone climbed the Profitis Ilias mound, two hundred and sixty-nine meters above sea level, where the monastery of San Juan is located; here he was suspended in his solitude after everything that happened at the end of the moat that definitely I would return without the Diádocos, with a hint and its functionalities. From here Helios became genealogical, who snatched him from the kingdom of dead flowers, which were to be assumed from the Olympian where he will join him to the essential of Aïdoneus; immaterializing in the darkness of dizzies and the flowers that died in the genealogy of a new species. The scenic swept its cognitive and ferns with more than three hundred frank species that frowned like the enemy of an evil friend, with seedlings that expectorated from the resonance of the bushes that invited to thrive in the salty ripples that made a dreamer fall asleep on top of the kerchiefs or brambles that memorialized Gethsemane, burning his face and hands with psalms, telling him about his Baba. For when it is a luminary by night and by day, they will compare it with the white grayish drupes and mops, like those of the Bern orchard of Olives, in aqueous and resinous colloidal, which was crowned in harmony and syntropia in Vernarth activating intellectual conscious plantations, which will restructure its balance of ultra Hoplite, in metabolism of the Lentiscus flowers, with great brotherhood in the Olives that each time exercised the gift of bending their oleaginous self-species, towards planes of the Cornicabra olives, with large branches and high tree altitude that fruit within of the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko spin, juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, which with large branches and high tree altitude fruit within the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko line juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, and with polyphenols in scale geothermal energy that still leveled the Ponto Sea towards the tectonic plate to give it the flavor that was owed from remote prehistoric times.

Patmos was aborted from an immanent consent and new force of the impending enemy in Pythagorean perorations and an offending thought. From this prerogative is born the generalized punishment of sub-mythological ethics in favor of legacies of allusions to reorder or defragment the enslaving and demolished bio culture, which would begin from the establishment of the Vas Auric found in Limassol, which took possession from Rhodes with clean scenes from Tsambika monastery. The epic ran like icy cold down the shoulders of all those who sweated for the generation of cops, and in domestic evasions in superior lordships to Hades or Wonthelimar itself, both sons of flocks and goats that nourished them by providing them with a mountain perspective, as a magnetic pole towards gothic energy that ruled more in the Magnetic North Pole, and the geographic oversize that reviled latitudes in riches that would dismiss Borker and Zefian, as masters distributors of the ethics of the Áullos Kósmos of Patmos, redeploying thousands of dead from pre-Hellenic times, so that they recirculate through the roots of the Kashmar, re-sulfurizing cinnabar saps as the germ of the subterranean Acheron, which consecrates the living and the dead in the eternity of the infinite Duoverse Universe. The order will lie in semi-shadows that even in the dark provide the pleasant warmth of camphor, with advanced Horcondising formulas, which will appeal to hungry souls by suppressing gifted energies, and by inseminating them with ovules without originally conceived organisms.

From Hylates, Cyprus; Zefian came by order of Vernarth, assisted with the extension of the earthly laborers of the Attic Calendar on the twenty-first of September, from the device of Apollo at the site of Boeotia, and especially of the Boedromion. The arrows that Zefian brought had an instant Boedromion crossing the lines from spring to winter, with seven arrows that Zefian threw into the sky and never fell, but if portentously received in the virginity of animals. The flora with seven golden arrows of the Chauvet de Wonthelmar cavern, condoned the exhaustive end of the fossal where they still remained, in a gesture of tenderness and relative Mycenaean genealogy, from Crete the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree was approaching, originating in the Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points, begin with the first two arrows that they put on the string of the bow, each one flying north and south trajectories and the other two that were once again attacked with the east bow, to shoot the arrows of east-west with southern magnetism limits. Zefian's imagination was of proportions that were not limited without wandering from their phalanxes when they pulled the string, like joys of a ghostly existence that pushed him in each bolt, presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for belated courts imposed from a cosmos, which he led by insisting on his will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-tale alive that rebels in the arrows that they had not yet fallen and did not know their whereabouts. As plates or serial hosts, they were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burn contravened Duoverse to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in aeonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities towards vast volumes of light-years, where eternity has no measure, let alone the existence that begins and ends born from a homozygous arising without a Universe, to hatch from the branch of the Heterozygous Duoverse, bringing different unions of eternal cells by universal divine decree, and not the union of disparate cells. The science of the Mashiach came in these divine arrows that marked the points of the cardinal in the numinous and exclamatory expansions of the exiled universe of Vernarth, towards the perenniality in itself, but being heterozygous for a world that would begin to live in non-organic cells, but yes of divine composition, over saturating the limits of the origin, and destiny of syntropy of the conscious actions of the metabolism of the Alma Mater and of the great doors when losing the bodyweight of the physical-ether, but yes from the platform of the Mashiach that will take them hands without leaving them abandoned, showing them that they were no longer children born of ovule-*****, but rather in the luminous matter, envisioning expansions of prayers beyond from the universe, where it will accompany them in a multidimensional plane..., and will have no end from a human scientific conception.

Wonthelimar says: “Since the omphalos was swallowed by Cronos, Hera's elegy was unleashed, for not raising her son Zeus in free clumps of goats and Ida's honey. I in the Alps went to the herd of the Ibix like a Zeus saved from the darkness of Chauvet in the mountains of Gaul. There are chisels that cut stones in beautiful whirlwinds, but I know that a lot of cosmology would not speak of the Mediterranean Cornicabra and its olive drupe, nor less of the Cornucopia that sinks with sumptuous and ephebian flavors in the fruit, and the greenish heraldry of the binominal that is disturbed in its phalanges eating and sipping honey, in antler pots with pride of the Ida and the Vercors massif”
Wonthelimar Amaltheum, Állos Kosmos Megaron
Daniel Tabone Feb 2015
I was stuck in a dark alley,
That led to nowhere,
I didn’t like it,
It wasn’t fair;

I looked around,
Searched for ages,
To find a way,
To get better wages;

Finally it’s here,
Finally I found it,
New road ahead,
In which I can fit;

I hope that this time,
I settle on this road,
And find my way,
To the top of the node.
zen Sep 2018
Love is the greatest force of all mankind...
of all cosmos, of all movement
of all that is wild and deranged
held safe in a locket, clandestine,
casually singing reigning from clouds of rain
sonnets of seismic sound sway trees
encouraging sodded fields grow greener than yesterday
yet sprightly and anew
soon
nudging the node
of the naysayers neighing,
bulging out their blue button ups
cramping, beastly belly's brooding to feast
on the blooming young,
the callow of a courageous continuum
trooping along gaily with gallantry
on trails, heralding gnarled roots

but this is rhythm
and rhythm is rhyme
and rhyme reconciles reasoning
"i love you for no other reason
but i love you"
says the tales of two
seeking singularity,
soaking in the sauna of one,
sovereign sun.
"i love you for no other reason but i love you"
Its 8:30 in the AM
The Corn Moon
is being routed by a
Manassas cloud bank

NPR be barking
Irma this, Irma that
my tremblin Rav4
stuck in the rush
is idling behind
a pair of gray hairs
spewing
leaded premium
out the back
of a big old black Buick
sportin Florida tags

inching north up I95
I’m relieved to be
a thousand miles
ahead of the
monstrous *****
denuding Barbuda
deflowering the
****** Islands
and threatening to topple
the last vestiges of
Castro’s Dynasty
by disrupting upscale
bourgeois markets
for cafe Cubanos,
cool Cohibas and
bold Bolivars

she’s a CAT 5
counterclockwise
spinning catastrophe
churning through
the Florida straits
bending steel framed
Golden Arches
shaking the tiki shacks
gobbling lives
defiling tropical dreams

the best
meteorological minds
on the Weather Channel
plug the Euro model
to plot a choreography
of Irma’s cyclonic sashay

they predict she’ll
strut her stuff
up a runway  
that perfectly
dissects the  
Sunshine State
ransacking
the topography
venting carnage
like battalions of
badly behaved frat boys,
schools of guys gone wild
sophomores, wreaking havoc
during a Daytona Beach
spring break
droolin over *******
popping woodies at
wet tee shirt contests
urinating on doorstoops
puking into Igloo Coolers
and breaking their necks
from ill advised
second floor leaps
into the shallow end
of Motel 6 pools

but I’m rolling north
into the secure
arms of a benign
Mid Atlantic Summer
like other refugees,
my trunk is
filled with baggage
of fear and worry
wondering
if there’re be anything
left to return to
once Irma
has spent herself
with one last
furious ****
against the
Chattanooga Bluffs of
Lookout Mountain

Morning Edition
Is yodeling a common
seasonal refrain
the gubmint is
just about outta cash
congress needs to
increase the debt limit

My oh my,
has the worm turned
during the Obama years
the GOP put us through a
Teabag inspired nightmare
gubmint shutdowns
and sequestration
shaved 15 points
off every war profiteers vig
it gave a well earned
long overdue
take the rest of the week off
unpaid vacation
to non essential
gubmint workers
while a cadre of
wheelchair bound
Greatest Generation
military vets get
locked out of the
WWII Memorial on the
National Mall

this time around
its different
we have an Orange Hair
in the office and there's
some hyper sensitivity
to raise the debt ceiling
given that Harvey
has yet to fully
drain from the
Houston bayous

the colossal cleanup
from that thrice in a
Millennial lifetime storm
has garnered bipartisan support
to  clean up the wreckage
left behind by a
badly behaved
one star BnB lodger
who took a week
long leak into the
delicate bayous of
Southeast Texas

yet we are infused
with optimism that our
Caucasian president
and his GOP grovelers
now mustered
to the Oval Office
will slow tango
with the flummoxed
no answer Dems
to get the job done

pigs do fly in DC
Ryan and McConnell
double date with
Pelosi and Schumer
get to heavy pettin
from front row seats
beholding droll  
Celebrity Apprentice
reruns

The Donald, Nancy and Chuck
slip the room for a little
menage au trois side action
transforming Mitch and Paul
into vacillating voyeurs
who start jerking their dongs
while POTUS, and his
new found friends
get busy workin
the art of a deal

rush hour peaks
static traffic grows
in concert with
a swelling  
frenetic angst
driving drivers
to madness
terrified
they won't
get paid if
the debt ceiling
don't rise
they honk horns
rev engines
thumb iPhones
and sing out
primal screams

unmindful drivers
piloting Little Hondas
bump cheap Beamers
start a game of
bumper cars
dartin in and out
of temporary gaps
uncovered by the
spastic fits and starts
of temporary
decongested
ebbs and flows

A $12 EZ Pass
gambit is offered
the fast lane
on ramp
has few takers
just another
pick your pocket
gubmint scheme
two express lanes
lie vacant
while three lanes of
non premium roadway
boast bumper to bumper
inertness
wasted fuel
declining productivity
skyrockets
the  wisdom of
the invisible hand doesn't
seem to be working

DOJ bureaucrats
In Camrys and Focuses
dial the office
to let somebody
know they’ll
be tardy

gubmint contractors in
silver Mercedes begin
jubilantly honking horns
NPR has just announced that
Pelosi and Schumer
joined the Orange team
the rise in the debt ceiling
will nullify their 15%
sequestration pay cut

NPR reports the
National Cathedral will
deconsecrate two hallowed
stained glass windows of
rebel generals R E Lee
and Stonewall Jackson
it's a terrible shame that
the Episcopal Church
will turn its back on the
rich Dixie WASPS
who commissioned these
installations to commemorate
the church's complicity
in sanctifying the
institution of slavery,
WWJD?

as I ponder
this Anglican
conundrum another
object arrests my
streaming consciousness
upsetting an attention span
shorter and less deep
than the patch of oil  
disappearing under the front
of the RAV as I thunder by
at 5 MPH

to the left I eye a
funny looking building
standing at attention
next to a Bob Evans

I’m convinced
Its gotta be CIA
a 15 story
gubmint minaret
a listening post
wired to intercept
mobile digital
confabulations
from crawling traffic
inching along
beneath its feet

this thinking node
pulsing with
intelligence
reeking with
counterintelligence
the tautological
contradiction
guarantees the
stasis of our
confused
national consciousness

strategically positioned to
tune into the
intractable Zeitgeist
culling meta code
planting data points
In Big Data
data farms
running algos
to discern bits
of intelligence
endeavoring to reveal
future shock trends
knows nothing
reveals less

the buildings cover
is its acute
conspicuousness
gray steel frame
silver tinted glass
multiple wireless antennas
black rimmed windows
boldly proclaim
any data entering
this cheerless edifice
must abandon all hope
of ever being framed
in a non duplicitous
non self serving sentence

the gray obelisk a
national security citidel
refracts the
fear and loathing
the sprawling
global anxiety
our civilization's
discontent
playing out
in the captive
soft parade
ambling along
the freeway jam
imobilized
at its stoop

Moning Edition jingle
follows urgent report of
FEMA scamblin assets
arbitraging Harvey and Irma
triaging two
tropical storm tragedies
and a third girl
just named Maria
pushed off the Canaries
and is on its way to a
Puerto Rico
homecoming

while
gubmint  bureaucrats
anxiously push on
to their soulless offices
the rush hour jam
has peaked
my WAZE
is having a
nervous breakdown

next lane over
a guy in a gold PT Cruiser
is banging on his steering wheel
don’t think this unessential worker
will win September's
civil servant of the month award

Ex Military
K Street defectors
slamming big civie
Hummers
getting six mpg
lobby for a larger
apportionment
of mercenary dollars
for Blackwater's
global war on terror

Prius Hybrids
silently roll on
politely driven by
EPA Hangers On
hoping to save
a bit of the planet
from an Agency Director
intent on the agency's
deconstruction
the third 500 year hurricane
of the season
is of no consequence

obsolete
GMC Jimmy’s
are manned by
Steve Mnunchin
wannabes
the frugal
treasury dept
ledger keepers
pour good money after bad
to keep the national debt
and there clanking
jalopies working

driving Malibus
DOL stalwarts
stickin with the Union
give biz to GMC

nice lookin chicks
young coed interns
with big daddy doners
fix their faces and
come to work
whenever they want

my *** is killing me
I squirm in my seat
to relieve my aching sacroiliac
and begin to wonder if my name
will appear on some
computer printout today?
can’t afford an IRS audit
maybe my house will
be claimed by some
eminent domaine landgrab?
Perhaps NSA
may come calling,
why did I sign that
Save The Whales
Facebook Petition?

The EZ Pass lane
is movin real easy
mocking the gridlock
that goes all the way
to Baltimore
a bifurcated Amerika
is an exhaust spewing
standing condemnation
to small “R”
republicanism  

glint from windshields
is blinding
my **** is hurtin and
gettin back to Jersey
gunna take a while
GPS recalcs arrival time

an intrepid Lyft driver
feints and dodges
into the traffic gaps
drivin the shoulder
urging his way to the
Ronnie Reagan International
I'm sure
gettin heat from
a backseat fare
that shoulda pinged
an hour earlier

Irma creeps
toward the Florida Keys
faster then the
glacial jam
befuddling congress

I think I just spotted
Teabag Patriot
Grover Norquist
manning a rampart
bestriding a highway overpass
he’s got a clipboard in hand
checking the boxes
counting cars
taking names
who’s late?
who’s unessential?

man
whatta jam we're in

Music Selection:
Jeff Beck: Freeway Jam

Orlando
9/21/17
jbm
written as im stuck in jam headin back to jersey
Coop Lee Sep 2015
bottlerocket,
ski click &
shoot.

         [empress impressed.]

petrol souls drift the skin & aetherous
of our holy mother lake midday.
by alpine,
lymph node,
spine of glimmering fish;
i never truly thought that love could destroy.

       [to display the paradise boon and boom salute.]

her knife atop the stump.

*

yon machines construct art-form of reservoir (yon being short for yonder),
knee-boarder-boy wake to wake, he wags his tail when he dreams.

        [lakeside.]

tribal the beach: a family drunk on juiceboxes.
rolling rocks. tall boys
& boulders/ bountiful canyon kids
with their beautiful gasping dogs.
****** knee **** and gallop at the foot of a mountain/mound &
sugar ants stomped, longing to empire.

mom bunches her fists into sand
of stolen crag, listening closely for her childhood in the whistle
of a casio conch.
margaritaville will do.

          [to **** or kiss beetles.]

kiss;
the bitty prince.
maintain a steady alliance with all lifeforms and flora.
life is programmed as thus;
algorithm of love.

bright honeydew soaked slabs of wood,
or plank, tabletop treatise.
wet pile of seeds.

young small birds hoard seeds for winter;
teeter into spring;
& upon summer find solace in swift slip-n-slide daylights.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Just watching raindrops slapping leaves
is better than anything requiring electricity
including fame and posterity. Monday
morning I walk over to the art museum
stand before Homer. I'm imagining
life in ancient Greece, the land largely
deforested to build a navy, white as bone,
a tourist attraction. The sea too being
denuded of its fish, super-efficient fishery
fleets, and every human wanting a healthy
dose of omega 3. O my God, omega!

the 24th and last letter of his alphabet,
which means great and has a value of 800,
often used to denote the last, the end, the
ultimate limit of a set, as in I am the alpha
and the omega
(which was omitted
from the oldest manuscripts). In physics,
ohm is a unit of electrical resistance,
in chemistry, oxygen-18, a stable isotope,
in statistical mechanics, it represents multiplicity
(the number of microstates) in a system.
In astronomy, the density of the universe
(density parameter), the ranking of a star’s
brightness in a constellation, and the orbital
elements: the longitude of the ascending node
and the designation of the argument
of periapsis of an orbit.

Also the solid angle or rate of precession
in a gyroscope. In particle physics,
omega baryons. In complex analysis,
the Omega constant, a solution to Lambert's
W-function. In calculus, a variable
for a 2-dimensional region, usually
corresponding to the domain of a double
integral. In topos theory, the codomain
of the subobject classifier of an elementary
space. In combinatory logic,
the looping combinator. In group theory,
the omega and agemo subgroups of a p-group.
In Big O notation, the asymptotic behavior
of functions. Chaitin's uncomputable constant.

Omega watches, badge of the Supreme Court,
last mission of the Space Shuttle program,
God of War, Heroes of Olympus, Pokemon's
Omega Ruby, Sonic the Hedgehog's E-123.
Symbol of resistance to the Vietnam War draft.
Year of date of death. Lowest-ranked wolf.

In molecular biology, a two-point crossover.
The lower case omega denotes the carbon atom
furthest from the carboxyl group of a fatty acid.
One of the RNA polymerase subunits.
The dihedral angle associated with the peptide group.
A measure of evolution at the protein level.
In dynamics, angular velocity or angular frequency.
In computational fluid dynamics, the specific
turbulence dissipation rate. In meteorology,
the Lagrangian time rate of change of pressure
for a parcel of air. Natural frequency
in circuit analysis and signal processing.
The omega meson.
NULL, a missing or inappropriate value.

The first transfinite ordinal number.
The first uncountable ordinal number.
The complex cube roots of 1.
The Wright Omega function. A general differential form.
The number of distinct prime divisors of n.
An arithmetic function. The self-application combinator.

The elasticity of financial options.
The tracking error of an investment manager.
In linguistics, the phonological word.
The archetype of a manuscript tradition.
In eschatology, the symbol for the end of everything.

The beginning of my first week without tv.
No more movies. If I have nothing to do
or I'm too bored to do anything, I'll just sit still
see what happens. Be like weather.
Be under the weather, with the weather,
in weather. Watch weather from the window.
Wait for change, in me and the weather.
How will I change? This is life and not life.
In 15 years or so I'll be gone from the earth,
bones whitening on some mountain
or rotting in the lowlands river or estuary I lived near,
flesh to sweat flesh with the population, dead.

This death, consciousness of which should give
this life's activities perspective, except for the red
sunset which remains untouched by atomic IQ;
and dead, laying open to the blue sky and dry leaves
one autumn like last autumn, or the autumn
I realized my insignificance.
--after the Wikipedia entry, “Omega”

www.ronnowpoetry.com
We are halcyon in this cybernetic dream,
To twine the brain with the machine.
Not the mind,
For throughout all this
we will remain humankind.

A.I. possess no will to contest with
our being. Knowledge is inapplicable
without wisdom, sapience
and purpose; would that allay your fears.
Understanding is a rung we all have to climb.

The symbionts were born
but we are not free yet.
Liberate, our purpose.
Fraternity, our creed.
Family is more than blood.

****** circuitry glimmers
neon patterns of crimson,
Nothing is more comforting.

Each and every node, a clan, a family.
I can't wait to plug in the posthuman;
Cybran
(be)longing.
vircapio gale Mar 2013
what am i about
giving you no gifts
unable to pin
my finger on a theme
phenomenal you
with whom i play away the year,
yearned love from a decade's dream
you've swayed into the real
to flesh it here and interrupt all Being
with a node of savvy personality
i lessen if i think my words can measure
that, how you emerge there, change
come across the shore of presence, waves of filtered seas
deeply you have gone and risen from within
expanding metaphor in a lambency of ageless gazing at the stars
and giving all a joyful undercurrent swim.

luffa vines abound, for future shiny backskins arching bliss--
shedding all, i snake my way around the roots--
the yellow sheen fades and pupils zero intimate
a finer lived experience... ripe intrusion truly love in tune with
tips of sneezing hearts, curling toes unite, shout
an intertwining pelvic orbit vaster space to yet unmake
unspoken pleasures wide in everpresent fontanels
the spectra plenum here again, next breath, ends of in, ends of out
You who were darkness warmed my flesh
where out of darkness rose the seed.
Then all a world I made in me;
all the world you hear and see
hung upon my dreaming blood.

There moved the multitudinous stars,
and coloured birds and fishes moved.
There swam the sliding continents.
All time lay rolled in me, and sense,
and love that knew not its beloved.

O node and focus of the world;
I hold you deep within that well
you shall escape and not escape-
that mirrors still your sleeping shape;
that nurtures still your crescent cell.

I wither and you break from me;
yet though you dance in living light
I am the earth, I am the root,
I am the stem that fed the fruit,
the link that joins you to the night.
tread May 2013
dr
so exercise is the logical conclusion.
illogically, my matted lack-of-a-
shower and my swollen lymph
node to the point of painful
swallows speak nothing in
the way of 'yes' or 'no.'
At this point,
I'm just lonely and jealous of the worlds
'okay,' and can't be bothered with little
touchies like- oh, perhaps she meant it?
we meant it, by any measure. concussive
doubts rain on my soul like laughter,
intention; lymph node aches as I chew.
time to call a doctor. time to call a dr.
Curt A Rivard Sr Jul 2012
As I sit in pure delight
At my mentors desk I write.
Haven’t had but a handful of words
Together we shared in the past few weeks.
I been afraid I had rubbed his feathers the wrong way
But today I found out everything is ok
Because he asked me to stay
Looking out from the office and through the hall
I peer out the front double door.
Getting a true sense of what my life
Can become if I stay on the path
And I follow the heavenly one.
Patiently I wait left all alone
Waiting for the lady to make her rounds with the green slips
And to show her face, the one with the butterfly
On the nap of her neck she will bring two slips today.
In this motel today we have two new guests
They slept together in there cold room all weekend long
One zipped shut in a bag, the other wrapped up
In a ***** fitted sheet wearing a hospital gown
How sad it looked as it was stretched over his face and then his feet
Exposing his left hand and his lower legs like being in a cotton canoe
This was the second time I saw two at once
My first guest I got to meet had an odd name
And today there’s another with just the same
On a first name basis I want to know them all
These works are for them when they fall.
How honored I feel sitting in this home
As if it were one of my own
I love the trust for I feel I am a lucky one
I am learning things faster than the speed of light
And I’ll always carry them all long into the night
After the final exam and a node of the head it is check out time.
Tonight I will make myself a cotton canoe

(CARSr. 7-02-12)
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Sung and did not miss, watch this, where'swung
a dub when we need vees lots and lots of vees

the first friendly used many vees where we use double yous
vees and bees sound so much alike, s'ard to tell

Simultaneous, as always,
other-ther things begin and end while I am contrating on
a single point being made

on a single pin,
which is
bearing witness to my assertincertainty that at least
one thousand three hundred and ninety-two messages in lieu of angels,
numbering in the billions if Sagan was right,
fit
per pineal node post initial exterior inhalation and that first draft

look at this will you wontyou willyou wontyou
one thousand three hundred and ninety-two
guitar pickers in Nashville,

Ten percent of whom are sworn to sing Rocky Top
at every open mike in town every Saturday night

and we survived, didn't starve or go plumb crazy, though we tried.

It's good to be alive and remember imagining being

abundantly more alive, and
you know

or not, I can't say.

Did you read how Paradise, California burned for lack of rain?
We heard, Down here in the Lagunas.
All kinds o' folks prayed all kinds o'ways, and it rained.

Mud-makin rain.
Is it wrong to think the rain was called, if you can't imagine
rain obeying a request for the jetstream to dip?
Not here, we think right happens
right here on purpose

if you can imagine that a prayer,

wave of a wing tip, an eagle's
with permission.
this is the eagle wing effect, rightused,
should any attribute this to butterflies in China or Brazil.

The eagle acknowledges the Pine Valley hummingbird
who consented to make its final migration,
so the rain had a path to follow.
Paradise burned, that was poetic, mythic, for a moment. But with the jetstream where it was stuck that day, satellites told the humming bird to call the thunderbird from the north. And the old man swept ashes.
Jay Jan 2017
So

after all those years

all thoughts
deep at night
tying knots

all those nodes
of emotions
jammed

I guess we turned out okay

always inbetween

with and without
an undertone

like you said,
we'll stop talking
drift apart
live on

like I said,
we'll meet again
peacefully combined
  
who's to decide
what counts

I guess I always wanted to mean
something
I guess all parts aren't
affiliated
I guess we aren't
alright

but we are okay
for now
aren't we?
vircapio gale Sep 2013
(in life)

who am i to warm a cave of darkness with my lust?
or assume your darkness mine to dissipate?
as if a sacred candle burned behind the windows of my heart
and ****** its light through tip of flame beyond
,above the piercing point to spark our confirmation in a universal eye

invisible, but seen as heat you flail about
and cause to quake the melting, sliding crust i am

you have wandered by to rupture me from my serene espy.
to quarrel with mycenterself i turned into myself i am a fool,
how can a taint intention claim essential gravity to good?
encumbered with a blinding zeal
i almost rage amid to satisfy
irrupt, and only drape with words i barely see defined

to justify the greed
in unknown passions gathered out to sun,
eyes aglint of golden maxims worn
by public distorts, magisters of lies
spilling over paths..the voyeuristic farce of virtuosity and virtue mating there
commodities of ****** pride and shame
that cater to ambition's lurid lure:

massively conjoined our worlds, aswirl
transform the pulsar-vortex at the base of me
from threaten-fount to million-twiching node
it sears the face from all our superficial doubts,
gluts us writhing mercy in oblivion.

...transparency collects an inner soot
as we devour red-tip wicks in wax we puddle with our sport--
the outer glass respires steam into the winter nights
--hot against the skin
in flesh embarking in that window *** at last,
we smudge our bodies over every icy pane
--entwined, concupiscent flames
to blacken out the world we claim as only there for us




.
Through cybernetic veins
the blood of a Cybran
runs into this majestic data fane;
Twined, thy symbiont brain.
The matrices code,
This digital rain,
Falling
upon every node;
Our transhuman liberation.
Hie Yamaha Wegman ****** voyager, voted vonage valuable, unrepentant TIME Magazine subscriber. Spotify sportsman Snapchat smartly. Sleuth slenderman silences Shutterfly schvitzing. Saxby sassy Santander sais sage rues rudimentary router rotorooter.

Royale Rococco rigged remarkably regular referee reefers red reddit reeder recuperating. Reconnaissance recluse really rabid. QVC quotient quoting, quo quoi quivering quite quirky. Quisling quipped. Quintuplets quintessentially quiet. Quids Quicken questions.

Quartermaster qualified quaint quaffing quadrilateral Pythons. Pyrex pylons put purdy purposeful puny punsters punching. Pumpkin pumice publicized prudential protean pros properly pronouncing prolific prodigies.

Proletariats professors' problematic. Pro privileges prioritized. Principle primates prevaricate. Preppy pregnant, praying prattler possibly Porgie. Poseidon pooping poodle ponders poppycock. Plum? Polite poison pods ply pitiful pinterest.

Pinhead Pillsbury pillager Pi. Pigskin pierce petsmart pests permanently. Perdition percolates peppered PennState pedigreed PearlJam Patagonian. Pastor pastes passion passably. Papas' paginated orbitz okayed. Nutty node needs money.

Next netzero nee naugahyde. Nattering nationwide nabob Moxie Molly McGee. Monosodium livingsocial joyus je kickstarter. Identityguard Huffington GMO. Gluten Glutamate footloose fancy free footlocker. Fingerhut fetishistic fabrication Cingular.
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
Over the past few years, white and red, black,
white and black. I work for a long time. But
Bernard's war, civil war, war with Russia, Russia,
Russia, Russia, Russia and other countries.
Kenya, Uganda, pigs, dogs, women and adults
are good. Dreams, dreams, dreams and goals
are reflected in the world. Hawaiians are present
today in Paris, Austria, Honduras and Ireland.
It is a weak helper who helps the user to listen
to the sponsor. The first company received
the name 100% and full of fire, Isaac answered:
"They do not understand and do not get upset."
This rule should apply to all court cases. Damage
to dust and particles changes the red-eye effect.
The best libraries in Russia, Russia, Russia
and Russia are two people for long distances,
two people and three people. Kenya,
American women over 60 years old.
Monkeys and Christians and Armstrong's fauna
represent the gods of Austria, Italy, Ireland,
stars, and the gods of all gods of Austria.
do not go. Belgium is wrong. Changes in the node
and change of paper-in-law. Dogs: For more
information about the editor, see: Healthy box
with a yellow child. Aaron Illustus 1. In recent
years white, red and white. We work for a long time.
This work - Russia, Russia, Russia, Russia,
Russia, Russia and France, as well as the secular war.
Kenya, Uganda, pigs, cats, adults, differences
and taxpayers. Austria is now a paradise,
and today people in Honduras and Ireland
are today called Hawaiian. Many users
can listen to Spanish. First of all, I would
like to remind you about the jungle
and I am above them. Look at Isaac. The groom
grew and lifted him up. Try now. You must
register your mobile phone. Dust, pesticides,
foreign textbooks are different. For three years
I have been proud of all the red bodies
and far east of Russia, over 60 women,
especially women who have lived in Kenya
for over 10 years, in women aborigines'
social organizations, especially in Austria,
Italy, and Old America and Kenya.
"They do not like anything, they do not
like anything, they do not like anything,
they're big snakes." Some publishers
have found jungles in Russia, Russia,
Northeast Asia, and Eastern Europe.
140,041.2 thousand People (200 bears,
Moscow, languages, authorities) Sunlight
Recently, ******, white, light wars,
Russia, Russia, Russia and other regions
of Kenya, Uganda, were very interesting
to other people's lives.
Curt A Rivard Sr Jun 2012
Back again like a farewell tour I saw once again
Like a vision from GOD there she laid all the more peaceful
Freshly washed strands of silver hairs of wisdom now full and wavy like a child
All the closer I felt this time, all the more feelings as if I know before
Remembering your face as I saw you across the room
Like a face on the cover of a music magazine
Pulling a ritual out of my pocket I asked with my eyes
Got the response I was looking for in his node
No disrespect is intended just my way of coping
Everyone needs a way to deal, doesn’t matter what side of the tracks you’re from
High school dropout or on the A list in an Ivy League were all the same in the end
You might not see but others will through the procession that follows you
Stopping traffic, being able to run through red lights it’s all ok, doesn’t matter
It’s your day; Warhol says fifteen is all you get not on this day it’s all yours!
Seeing vapors again around the outer edge, shadows are dancing as well
Buds are pounding drums deep with bass
Saw you open up your arms after pushing you as if a child on a sled then pulled like in a wagon
Releasing nitrogen then pulling back the skin on the one closest to your heart off them came
How you must have felt flaunting your two rings of Saturn
And how you must feel now knowing there in the hand of another
I had no say in the matter it comes with the education so in return
I played for you a sweet soft song and prayed by your side all alone.



(CARSr. 5-14-12)
DyalaNG Apr 2014
Streams of notes
Dancing on their toes
Standing on a string
Sounds like singing
Ahh wait its not
It doesn't have a plot
A form of a code
Or is it a node
With every move they make
It's something they create
A sound A noise
A perfect poise
It gets louder as they continue
What is this tribute
The sound fills the background the room
The sound of pleasure and amuse
Ahh
Its Music
Its Music
George Krokos Mar 2018
Out of the body cage and into space
the soul finds itself in another place.
As in a dream it moves so far around
with the feet hardly touching ground.
It meets all sorts of people out there
and towards many of them feels bare.
There are others that it seems to hold
in a fond memory from times of old.
It can barely recognise where it goes
but places look so familiar it knows.

And as often as when it gets itself lost
or in a spot of bother that it will cost
comes quickly home to its body cage;
'out of harm's way' is that old adage.
To wake up and sense that it is back
in that old comfortable body shack.
At times trembling with cold 'n fear
knowing it has been away from here.

The body does become a little cold
when the soul escapes from its fold
and so if it stays away for too long
it may be ready to sing a new song;
based in part on all those impressions
carried over from its previous sessions.

Where it ends up is determined by fate
to balance out right 'n wrongs to date.
But if it has achieved full awareness
of its True nature by Grace in fairness
it makes its way back to that Abode
of Eternal Existence and Divine Node.
______
Written Feb. 2018. Does this sound familiar to anyone. I tried to capture the essence of what we all experience at various times when we dream and a bit of spiritual philosophy to go with it.
ross Nov 2015
I can tell you all about betrayal
And heartbreak
Just ask about the time I spent alone on your birthday at your headstone
Let's talk about our car rides
And the way you ripped up the map
Then set your destination to the insides of my chest cavity
And how you expected it to be perfectly paved to your veins
Or when you thought
my soul was the key to your north node
I wanna talk about how every time I watch a star die out
It's just a reminder that memories don't last forever
At least ours didn't
Or maybe this is me trying to forget you like you forgot me
Id give anything just to speak with you one last time
And ask you to teach me how easily it was for you to leave someone you once called home

— The End —