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Jolan Lade May 2018
A little prototype
So fortunate there was no one alike
A truly remarkable prototype, but after all just that
And as it goes with those, it got replaced with another,
slightly better
Terrified and afraid, it was now sent to the shredder

But before it got there, it was revisited
The prototype thought that was wonderful
Its future was a little brighter, and colourful
It was happy to get another chance, to enhance
It did its best to look good, as it should
It now had an outstanding design
But unfortunately, once again declined

Now crushed and defeated it wandered the testing site and factory grounds, wondering why the world could be so cruel
Just a single approval could be so crucial
And every disapproval so brutal and roughshod
Simply the prototype, must be no good

Suddenly a pair of kind, caring hands picked it up
A pair of hands that understands the prototype
It was carefully looked at and a few screws was tightened
New technology was inserted, and a few bulbs was lightened
New hope rose as the insecurity was broke
Once again examined carefully
Now the prototype was truly a beauty
It jumped up and down, as it was finally accepted
and put into production, happy and relieved as it had now served a real function
Just a day, someone somewhere will find you and think, "Awe how neat".
theresa the tree Jun 2014
“you shall carry my bones up from here” (Genesis50:25)
yea Little nymph of numbers has six teeth each with ******-chic epiphanies
protrusion of epiphyses thirsty for a fresh bonejuice deathblast
stringy strung theoroized skelecoded out arieal fractal sonix
lix hits antigravity dreambeats chew on infra-red-infractures
to explosively burn constellations out into dust bowls all heavily cranio-******
up with a soul narrowed down to a skelleconex technoillogical prototype
a freshly teased nanoNymph_2.0 osteo-tissue paper thin prototype
designed to bemuse, amuse and be a muse to forgotten infinite epiphanies
endlessly download digitisternums, clavicles whatever desired by the cranio- ******-
enough to risk phantom organic pain in time to playback biofeedback turnt up to deathblast
It’s the artificial cardiaudio arteries show featuring manibrium marrow leakage from infra—red-infractures
and six skinny feminine femora to sing blackened covers of diva demeter love sonix
diamond data mapped thick with smokey persephone bloodkiss shadow sonix
peruse the meanderings of the nanoNymp2.0 a double(triple) pianissimo prototype
fragile: prone to falling (ie) misunderstanding sharp blades pulled from infra-red-infractures
***** bonebuzzed off nothingness nectar numb drunken epiphanies
triangulated ossification between 1st 2nd and 3rd eyes lead up to deathblast
fossilized iconoclastic forethought will achieve status of cranio-******
this poem has no need to lobotomize fetal craniotomies; it’s all cranio-******
betwixt BANG BANG banging is clatter clix scatter bone-dance sonix
electricity sings in the key of major deathblast
crack open a bone on a nanoNymph skelleconex system and a replacement will be sent of the latest prototype
well calculated little nanoNymph’s all programmed  to know as why approached one, X approached ∞ -of cracked open epiphanies
triangle shaped fire, ▲shaped heart, equilateral to a dead sea, sacred geometric infraRed-infractures
biowired endless visions of these infraRed-infractures
Anthrenusverbasci (carpet beetles) eat away at bleached bone clean cranio-******
vertebrae of the Ouroboros eating itself epiphanies
grinding jaws brittle scurvy romantic-suicide die sonix
son of nyx an erubus have mercy installation psychopomp prototype
bring on one more broken septum to end =sempiternal deathblast
“bone of my bones” (genesis2:23) indeed; bring on an ablazed deathblast
fragmented spiraled and inside out infraRed-infractures
every one ends up broken, every bone of every prototype
smashed open coronal suture in everyone cranio-******
thanatos shadow between eros supraorbital sonix
godless and wandering without but epiphanies
soulless nanoNymph burns into dusty nothingness of a prototype
and the emptiness of silence is the deathblast sonix
some exposed spine litter vallies of dry bone epiphanies
Who would not laugh, if Lawrence, hired to grace
His costly canvas with each flattered face,
Abused his art, till Nature, with a blush,
Saw cits grow Centaurs underneath his brush?
Or, should some limner join, for show or sale,
A Maid of Honour to a Mermaid’s tail?
Or low Dubost—as once the world has seen—
Degrade God’s creatures in his graphic spleen?
Not all that forced politeness, which defends
Fools in their faults, could gag his grinning friends.
Believe me, Moschus, like that picture seems
The book which, sillier than a sick man’s dreams,
Displays a crowd of figures incomplete,
Poetic Nightmares, without head or feet.

  Poets and painters, as all artists know,
May shoot a little with a lengthened bow;
We claim this mutual mercy for our task,
And grant in turn the pardon which we ask;
But make not monsters spring from gentle dams—
Birds breed not vipers, tigers nurse not lambs.

  A laboured, long Exordium, sometimes tends
(Like patriot speeches) but to paltry ends;
And nonsense in a lofty note goes down,
As Pertness passes with a legal gown:
Thus many a Bard describes in pompous strain
The clear brook babbling through the goodly plain:
The groves of Granta, and her Gothic halls,
King’s Coll-Cam’s stream-stained windows, and old walls:
Or, in adventurous numbers, neatly aims
To paint a rainbow, or the river Thames.

  You sketch a tree, and so perhaps may shine—
But daub a shipwreck like an alehouse sign;
You plan a vase—it dwindles to a ***;
Then glide down Grub-street—fasting and forgot:
Laughed into Lethe by some quaint Review,
Whose wit is never troublesome till—true.

In fine, to whatsoever you aspire,
Let it at least be simple and entire.

  The greater portion of the rhyming tribe
(Give ear, my friend, for thou hast been a scribe)
Are led astray by some peculiar lure.
I labour to be brief—become obscure;
One falls while following Elegance too fast;
Another soars, inflated with Bombast;
Too low a third crawls on, afraid to fly,
He spins his subject to Satiety;
Absurdly varying, he at last engraves
Fish in the woods, and boars beneath the waves!

  Unless your care’s exact, your judgment nice,
The flight from Folly leads but into Vice;
None are complete, all wanting in some part,
Like certain tailors, limited in art.
For galligaskins Slowshears is your man
But coats must claim another artisan.
Now this to me, I own, seems much the same
As Vulcan’s feet to bear Apollo’s frame;
Or, with a fair complexion, to expose
Black eyes, black ringlets, but—a bottle nose!

  Dear Authors! suit your topics to your strength,
And ponder well your subject, and its length;
Nor lift your load, before you’re quite aware
What weight your shoulders will, or will not, bear.
But lucid Order, and Wit’s siren voice,
Await the Poet, skilful in his choice;
With native Eloquence he soars along,
Grace in his thoughts, and Music in his song.

  Let Judgment teach him wisely to combine
With future parts the now omitted line:
This shall the Author choose, or that reject,
Precise in style, and cautious to select;
Nor slight applause will candid pens afford
To him who furnishes a wanting word.
Then fear not, if ’tis needful, to produce
Some term unknown, or obsolete in use,
(As Pitt has furnished us a word or two,
Which Lexicographers declined to do;)
So you indeed, with care,—(but be content
To take this license rarely)—may invent.
New words find credit in these latter days,
If neatly grafted on a Gallic phrase;
What Chaucer, Spenser did, we scarce refuse
To Dryden’s or to Pope’s maturer Muse.
If you can add a little, say why not,
As well as William Pitt, and Walter Scott?
Since they, by force of rhyme and force of lungs,
Enriched our Island’s ill-united tongues;
’Tis then—and shall be—lawful to present
Reform in writing, as in Parliament.

  As forests shed their foliage by degrees,
So fade expressions which in season please;
And we and ours, alas! are due to Fate,
And works and words but dwindle to a date.
Though as a Monarch nods, and Commerce calls,
Impetuous rivers stagnate in canals;
Though swamps subdued, and marshes drained, sustain
The heavy ploughshare and the yellow grain,
And rising ports along the busy shore
Protect the vessel from old Ocean’s roar,
All, all, must perish; but, surviving last,
The love of Letters half preserves the past.
True, some decay, yet not a few revive;
Though those shall sink, which now appear to thrive,
As Custom arbitrates, whose shifting sway
Our life and language must alike obey.

  The immortal wars which Gods and Angels wage,
Are they not shown in Milton’s sacred page?
His strain will teach what numbers best belong
To themes celestial told in Epic song.

  The slow, sad stanza will correctly paint
The Lover’s anguish, or the Friend’s complaint.
But which deserves the Laurel—Rhyme or Blank?
Which holds on Helicon the higher rank?
Let squabbling critics by themselves dispute
This point, as puzzling as a Chancery suit.

  Satiric rhyme first sprang from selfish spleen.
You doubt—see Dryden, Pope, St. Patrick’s Dean.
Blank verse is now, with one consent, allied
To Tragedy, and rarely quits her side.
Though mad Almanzor rhymed in Dryden’s days,
No sing-song Hero rants in modern plays;
Whilst modest Comedy her verse foregoes
For jest and ‘pun’ in very middling prose.
Not that our Bens or Beaumonts show the worse,
Or lose one point, because they wrote in verse.
But so Thalia pleases to appear,
Poor ******! ****** some twenty times a year!

Whate’er the scene, let this advice have weight:—
Adapt your language to your Hero’s state.
At times Melpomene forgets to groan,
And brisk Thalia takes a serious tone;
Nor unregarded will the act pass by
Where angry Townly “lifts his voice on high.”
Again, our Shakespeare limits verse to Kings,
When common prose will serve for common things;
And lively Hal resigns heroic ire,—
To “hollaing Hotspur” and his sceptred sire.

  ’Tis not enough, ye Bards, with all your art,
To polish poems; they must touch the heart:
Where’er the scene be laid, whate’er the song,
Still let it bear the hearer’s soul along;
Command your audience or to smile or weep,
Whiche’er may please you—anything but sleep.
The Poet claims our tears; but, by his leave,
Before I shed them, let me see ‘him’ grieve.

  If banished Romeo feigned nor sigh nor tear,
Lulled by his languor, I could sleep or sneer.
Sad words, no doubt, become a serious face,
And men look angry in the proper place.
At double meanings folks seem wondrous sly,
And Sentiment prescribes a pensive eye;
For Nature formed at first the inward man,
And actors copy Nature—when they can.
She bids the beating heart with rapture bound,
Raised to the Stars, or levelled with the ground;
And for Expression’s aid, ’tis said, or sung,
She gave our mind’s interpreter—the tongue,
Who, worn with use, of late would fain dispense
(At least in theatres) with common sense;
O’erwhelm with sound the Boxes, Gallery, Pit,
And raise a laugh with anything—but Wit.

  To skilful writers it will much import,
Whence spring their scenes, from common life or Court;
Whether they seek applause by smile or tear,
To draw a Lying Valet, or a Lear,
A sage, or rakish youngster wild from school,
A wandering Peregrine, or plain John Bull;
All persons please when Nature’s voice prevails,
Scottish or Irish, born in Wilts or Wales.

  Or follow common fame, or forge a plot;
Who cares if mimic heroes lived or not!
One precept serves to regulate the scene:
Make it appear as if it might have been.

  If some Drawcansir you aspire to draw,
Present him raving, and above all law:
If female furies in your scheme are planned,
Macbeth’s fierce dame is ready to your hand;
For tears and treachery, for good and evil,
Constance, King Richard, Hamlet, and the Devil!
But if a new design you dare essay,
And freely wander from the beaten way,
True to your characters, till all be past,
Preserve consistency from first to last.

  Tis hard to venture where our betters fail,
Or lend fresh interest to a twice-told tale;
And yet, perchance,’tis wiser to prefer
A hackneyed plot, than choose a new, and err;
Yet copy not too closely, but record,
More justly, thought for thought than word for word;
Nor trace your Prototype through narrow ways,
But only follow where he merits praise.

  For you, young Bard! whom luckless fate may lead
To tremble on the nod of all who read,
Ere your first score of cantos Time unrolls,
Beware—for God’s sake, don’t begin like Bowles!
“Awake a louder and a loftier strain,”—
And pray, what follows from his boiling brain?—
He sinks to Southey’s level in a trice,
Whose Epic Mountains never fail in mice!
Not so of yore awoke your mighty Sire
The tempered warblings of his master-lyre;
Soft as the gentler breathing of the lute,
“Of Man’s first disobedience and the fruit”
He speaks, but, as his subject swells along,
Earth, Heaven, and Hades echo with the song.”
Still to the “midst of things” he hastens on,
As if we witnessed all already done;
Leaves on his path whatever seems too mean
To raise the subject, or adorn the scene;
Gives, as each page improves upon the sight,
Not smoke from brightness, but from darkness—light;
And truth and fiction with such art compounds,
We know not where to fix their several bounds.

  If you would please the Public, deign to hear
What soothes the many-headed monster’s ear:
If your heart triumph when the hands of all
Applaud in thunder at the curtain’s fall,
Deserve those plaudits—study Nature’s page,
And sketch the striking traits of every age;
While varying Man and varying years unfold
Life’s little tale, so oft, so vainly told;
Observe his simple childhood’s dawning days,
His pranks, his prate, his playmates, and his plays:
Till time at length the mannish tyro weans,
And prurient vice outstrips his tardy teens!

  Behold him Freshman! forced no more to groan
O’er Virgil’s devilish verses and his own;
Prayers are too tedious, Lectures too abstruse,
He flies from Tavell’s frown to “Fordham’s Mews;”
(Unlucky Tavell! doomed to daily cares
By pugilistic pupils, and by bears,)
Fines, Tutors, tasks, Conventions threat in vain,
Before hounds, hunters, and Newmarket Plain.
Rough with his elders, with his equals rash,
Civil to sharpers, prodigal of cash;
Constant to nought—save hazard and a *****,
Yet cursing both—for both have made him sore:
Unread (unless since books beguile disease,
The P——x becomes his passage to Degrees);
Fooled, pillaged, dunned, he wastes his terms away,
And unexpelled, perhaps, retires M.A.;
Master of Arts! as hells and clubs proclaim,
Where scarce a blackleg bears a brighter name!

  Launched into life, extinct his early fire,
He apes the selfish prudence of his Sire;
Marries for money, chooses friends for rank,
Buys land, and shrewdly trusts not to the Bank;
Sits in the Senate; gets a son and heir;
Sends him to Harrow—for himself was there.
Mute, though he votes, unless when called to cheer,
His son’s so sharp—he’ll see the dog a Peer!

  Manhood declines—Age palsies every limb;
He quits the scene—or else the scene quits him;
Scrapes wealth, o’er each departing penny grieves,
And Avarice seizes all Ambition leaves;
Counts cent per cent, and smiles, or vainly frets,
O’er hoards diminished by young Hopeful’s debts;
Weighs well and wisely what to sell or buy,
Complete in all life’s lessons—but to die;
Peevish and spiteful, doting, hard to please,
Commending every time, save times like these;
Crazed, querulous, forsaken, half forgot,
Expires unwept—is buried—Let him rot!

  But from the Drama let me not digress,
Nor spare my precepts, though they please you less.
Though Woman weep, and hardest hearts are stirred,
When what is done is rather seen than heard,
Yet many deeds preserved in History’s page
Are better told than acted on the stage;
The ear sustains what shocks the timid eye,
And Horror thus subsides to Sympathy,
True Briton all beside, I here am French—
Bloodshed ’tis surely better to retrench:
The gladiatorial gore we teach to flow
In tragic scenes disgusts though but in show;
We hate the carnage while we see the trick,
And find small sympathy in being sick.
Not on the stage the regicide Macbeth
Appals an audience with a Monarch’s death;
To gaze when sable Hubert threats to sear
Young Arthur’s eyes, can ours or Nature bear?
A haltered heroine Johnson sought to slay—
We saved Irene, but half ****** the play,
And (Heaven be praised!) our tolerating times
Stint Metamorphoses to Pantomimes;
And Lewis’ self, with all his sprites, would quake
To change Earl Osmond’s ***** to a snake!
Because, in scenes exciting joy or grief,
We loathe the action which exceeds belief:
And yet, God knows! what may not authors do,
Whose Postscripts prate of dyeing “heroines blue”?

  Above all things, Dan Poet, if you can,
Eke out your acts, I pray, with mortal man,
Nor call a ghost, unless some cursed scrape
Must open ten trap-doors for your escape.
Of all the monstrous things I’d fain forbid,
I loathe an Opera worse than Dennis did;
Where good and evil persons, right or wrong,
Rage, love, and aught but moralise—in song.
Hail, last memorial of our foreign friends,
Which Gaul allows, and still Hesperia lends!
Napoleon’s edicts no embargo lay
On ******—spies—singers—wisely shipped away.
Our giant Capital, whose squares are spread
Where rustics earned, and now may beg, their bread,
In all iniquity is grown so nice,
It scorns amusements which are not of price.
Hence the pert shopkeeper, whose throbbing ear
Aches with orchestras which he pays to hear,
Whom shame, not sympathy, forbids to snore,
His anguish doubling by his own “encore;”
Squeezed in “Fop’s Alley,” jostled by the beaux,
Teased with his hat, and trembling for his toes;
Scarce wrestles through the night, nor tastes of ease,
Till the dropped curtain gives a glad release:
Why this, and more, he suffers—can ye guess?—
Because it costs him dear, and makes him dress!

  So prosper eunuchs from Etruscan schools;
Give us but fiddlers, and they’re sure of fools!
Ere scenes were played by many a reverend clerk,
(What harm, if David danced before the ark?)
In Christmas revels, simple country folks
Were pleased with morrice-mumm’ry and coarse jokes.
Improving years, with things no longer known,
Produced blithe Punch and merry Madame Joan,
Who still frisk on with feats so lewdly low,
’Tis strange Benvolio suffers such a show;
Suppressing peer! to whom each vice gives place,
Oaths, boxing, begging—all, save rout and race.

  Farce followed Comedy, and reached her prime,
In ever-laughing Foote’s fantastic time:
Mad wag! who pardoned none, nor spared the best,
And turned some very serious things to jest.
Nor Church nor State escaped his public sneers,
Arms nor the Gown—Priests—Lawyers—Volunteers:
“Alas, poor Yorick!” now for ever mute!
Whoever loves a laugh must sigh for Foote.

  We smile, perforce, when histrionic scenes
Ape the swoln dialogue of Kings and Queens,
When “Crononhotonthologos must die,”
And Arthur struts in mimic majesty.

  Moschus! with whom once more I hope to sit,
And smile at folly, if we can’t at wit;
Yes, Friend! for thee I’ll quit my cynic cell,
And bear Swift’s motto, “Vive la bagatelle!”
Which charmed our days in each ægean clime,
As oft at home, with revelry and rhyme.
Then may Euphrosyne, who sped the past,
Soothe thy Life’s scenes, nor leave thee in the last;
But find in thine—like pagan Plato’s bed,
Some merry Manuscript of Mimes, when dead.

  Now to the Drama let us bend our eyes,
Where fettered by whig Walpole low she lies;
Corruption foiled her, for she feared her glance;
Decorum left her for an Opera dance!
Yet Chesterfield, whose polished pen inveighs
‘Gainst laughter, fought for freedom to our Plays;
Unchecked by Megrims of patrician brains,
And damning Dulness of Lord Chamberlains.
Repeal that act! again let Humour roam
Wild o’er the stage—we’ve time for tears at home;
Let Archer plant the horns on Sullen’s brows,
And Estifania gull her “Copper” spouse;
The moral’s scant—but that may be excused,
Men go not to be lectured, but amused.
He whom our plays dispose to Good or Ill
Must wear a head in want of Willis’ skill;
Aye, but Macheath’s examp
David Jul 2013
Stereotypes manifesting always,
(Always)
Trying to form themselves from something once seen,
But not really believing in oneself,
I see ignorance,
I see arrogance,
I see the lack of hunger,
Observing such savage pride of life,
I run from it all into a previous state,
(Anonymity)
I've reached the heights of total in-completion,
I build walls of isolation upon myself,
I am the collateral default of widespread degradation,
I stand in the gap between teeth and consumption,
I am the breed conceived by prey and predator,
Widespread suspended animation: that is our future,
We've tried to replicate the human makeup with mechanical frames,
And the translation of electronic gates,
Yet this is a folly,
For staring at the mirrors of selected life in an artificial environment,
Numbs our lives with emulation and self delusion,
The days of nobility dismantle into fragments and sink to the bottom of the glass,
Never to be turned over again,
Scattered,
Living among remnants of a life once lived with some sort of intensity,
Now smoldered in a quite ferocity of anger beneath the surface,
(Quiet tremors coming in flames)
Because we don't live our dreams,
We stand in the shadows of ruins,
We are afraid of the future,
We are afraid of the past,
Where does that leave us?
Leave me?
I stand on the edge of The Void
I'm holding myself hostage in the self sabotage entourage of the usual suspects,
Our friends, our families,
Disconnected with all intentions of coming together,
Because they die in front of their screens,
Not really living,
Right?
Light pollution massacre...
We'll fall like stars
Maybe my soulmate was reincarnated into my puppies.
Odd it may sound
But you try laying next to their body heat when you're cold and listen
to their soft breaths that turn to whistles
As their eyes remain closed and their mouths slightly open
You try not to pull them in a little closer and whisper that you love them forever.
Try ending a long day hating the world
Then you walk in your home to two ***** of fur that are the epitome of excited when they hear your voice and can barely stand still to kiss you hello. No one ever kisses me hello, only good bye.
They long for your every moment and live for your tenderness.
They're my best friends, always there.
The epitome of loyal and true.
I think my puppies are the prototype of my soulmate.
Poet B Lee Apr 2010
This is past due like the rent paid on the thirteenth
Late better than never-- and I got this here forever
Flow like rain during any kinda weather
Keep this here close to my heart
And when the block comes, I don’t know where to start
Beat-beat Thump-thump
I'll just let the words flow from my heart
But you ain’t feelin me’-- You ain’t hearin’ Queen
So I got to bring you back to the forefront with my so⋅lil⋅o⋅quy
I remind you of all the things that had you fearin’ me
This Army of One, brighter than that star He created we call Sun
Under its blaze, us two can become one
(lets make our Son under His)
While I lay with fragmented words.... spoken
Promises I made to myself remain unbroken
And my gift is as natural as the slender ducts of my abdomen called fallopian
I am Woman
The prototype made perfect and pure
Whose prose is as tight as my kegels allow my femininity to be
Wrath your ******* may not be able to endure
Thought you knew a good Woman and tight ***** make you surrender on your knees
And dream dreams about your seed taking root in this royal vessel
I am Mother Earth
And this is my Gift—my Gyft
I am Myself and such a present I present to thee
For I AM Queen Poetree
So when I seem silent
When you think you hear nothing but your heart beat
Nothing but the cool air enraptured in the breeze
I am the Life that flows from you
I am the Wind rustling the trees leaves
I am the fragrance left in the air you interpret as another
I am the overwhelming sensation made between two lovers under duvet covers
I am the softness of lips and the sensation made by the flick of a passionate tongue
I am that empty space you try to fill with another one
So when you think you hear nothing
When you think you’re all alone
I am every word, every adlib of your favorite song
Every stroke every morning when you brush your hair
I am your deep breath because, baby, I am your air
I am everything pleasurable—every pleasure experienced since your creation
And it all stems from the balance of my concentration during this poetic intrapersonal conversation
I am everything virtuous
I am the eye of the storm
I am your hope, your future
I am the pages of your favorite novel whose cover is worn
I am air, I am sky
I am the clouds, and the Sun’s heat
But most importantly, to my core
I am Queen Poetess B…
Queen Poetess B Copyright © 2010 All Rights Reserved
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
i.

for the past few weeks i've been doing an experiment,
thankfully philosophy allows such things,
of course, they're deviations from what i'm used to
in chemistry, they're less, what's the word?
spectacular - but they are nonetheless experiments,
and that's the beauty of being grounded in some sort
of science (trinity of biology, chemistry and physics
and that's the limit, beyond this there are only
pseudo-sciences)... medicine? that's the tsarina of
learning: like any tsarina: gets down and *****,
and yes: mathematics is the genteel queen.
philosophy on the other hand seems like a vagabond
in learning, never really pieced together,
never really sentenced to a single direction:
and for that matter, thought can become less narration
that stretches into the sort of philosophy that Sartre
embodied with his novel, and more into thought becoming
experimental...
you might be wondering what the experiment consisted
of... well, over the weeks i've been sadistic unto myself,
it's to do with trying to figure out the modern curse
that's the 3D's: debt, depression, dementia.
                i can't fall asleep without a bottle of whiskey
cigarettes, sleeping pills and music playing in the background:
which would make me a terrible partner, anyway.
   beyond that though, for weeks i repeated a pattern,
i fell asleep to the *hellraiser ii: hellbound
soundtrack
by christopher young...
       day-in-day out: as if to pressurise the idea that
the faculty of dreaming could be censored in the same way
that thinking is censored in liberal speech
eroding people's vocabulary, **** included.
     what i mean by that: every day i woke up with 15 minutes
of despair, then the zenith came after i lay in bed
for 4 hours and felt too many leeches ******* at me...
   those 15 minutes of despair were always there,
but then i usually got up and went about my daily business...
i admit that whiskey could be to blame,
anyone could argue the alcohol-is-bad argument,
but arguing as R. D. Laing might have that it's
also a sedative if you don't include social adhesion to loosen
the tension of going out and dancing:
then i don't see the point of saying it's all bad.
         sleeping pills (i found) are not 100% active without
what the prescription states that you should do:
i exceed limits, but then i write during the night -
            create a balance and i'm sure any insomnia
might be made minimal... anyway:
so i've been doing this roundabout experiment,
listening to the above album while falling asleep,
but then yesterday i decided to fall asleep listening to
godspeed you! black emperor's album F♯ A♯ ∞,
and guess what the experiment proved:
  i felt little or no anguish for 15 minutes,
obviously the usual groggy of a pseudo-hangover,
  but that doesn't mean staying in bed for 4 hours
because you feel **** about life 'n' all...
                   as already stated there's what we call
a cartesian dichotomy, that somehow altered mental
states cannot be translated into a physicality -
depression in this sort of language becomes lethargy -
people never seemed to connect the dots that
state the monism of everything having a pairing either
side of Humpty-Dumpty sitting on the ergo fence
asking about a flying omelette... ergo is a variation
of what precipitates... depression = lethargy...
the purest kind of what i know (i have enough psychiatric
literature to redeem myself from what would
be deemed quack-medicine with their quack doctors) -
some say that taking the vitamin B12 supplement
could help you: or that weak digestion is to blame, too.
i would be quack doctor if i was in a position of power,
and since i am not really earning anything from my
"poems", what sort of power can i abuse? trust -
but then again these are thought experiments,
           i first experiment on myself, then note down
the observations i have accounted for.
               so what will my unconscious eat today while
i switch off my consciousness? i was thinking of
the cure's disintegration album,
         perhaps that's why i did weeks of falling asleep
to a horror movie soundtrack, to later move into
neo-prog "rock" and then into 80s goth melancholia...
    i'd say that pop ****** melancholics off...
and such a nicer word for depression...
                   it's not even close to compression and has
nothing to do with aviation or the Netherlands...
     melan, melan: ah! melanism - a certain darkness,
    choly -         condition of darkness...
       and that star of Bethlehem appeared at night...
man of sorrows, well that's just blatant;
           but for all the romanticisation about darkness
and the mysterious moon and all the insomnia,
i still prefer the anti-cartesian explanation of actually
creating the proper answer to what has become
a dichotomy between the physical sciences and
the pseudo sciences, given that ergo is a precipitation
then for the two opposite to become inseparable
depression must be equal to lethargy: which is a variation
of the grander genus (family): metabolism.
               is this the point where i re-quote that famous:
doctor! heal yourself!
                                      well, if there's anything to go by
i have in my mind, given my life a prolonging in a way,
what was it... amitriptyline?
                                         the new ******* for
the respectably prone to citizenship's serenity of leaving
other people to their own demises -
  i mean, look at all the teetotalers: hyperactive bunnies
with too much energy that translated into things like
the infamous pyramids and the doubly infamous chimneys.

ii. the danish girl

i would have never thought that the transgender movement
had such a puritanism about it,
such platonism - nearing martyrdom;
who could have thought?! i only managed to see the film
today... i'm a sentimental ******* and i was choking
on not crying at the end of the film
here was a true representation of an artist,
         there's he (einar wegenar): a successful local
artist, within the confines of Copenhagen,
modestly famous: primarily because of having
perfected a technique and sourced it in a childhood
memory that keeps haunting him,
    thus he keeps repeating it, although with slight
alternation to refresh it, but no photograph to work
from, hence my previous statement:
  memory is the best cinema or arts' gallery (this
is not a universal statement, memory doesn't always
heal, or fascinate or have the ability to revitalises itself
or become the most potent "hallucinogenic" experience);
and then she's there (gerda wegener), also
painting, but more in line with paying the rent
rather than appeal, rich people needing portraits to
hang on the walls of the future of their lineage
        in years to come so someone might boast:
that was my ancestor, who founded the first bank
of Copenhagen sort of stories -
and all she wants to do is be an artist like Einar;
and she keeps coming back from galleries with her
works and they never give the critics any appeal
at being original - they have a suggestive generic
quality to them: precisely because they've been painted
for money. art is cruel in that way,
  when critics reduce producing art like they might reduce
being a cashier in a supermarket on the basis of:
job done... then comes the offense from the artist.
the beauty of this film is the platonism that soon explodes,
the near innocence... i really don't know how
the transgender movement borrowed from this:
all those Baphomet ******* with too many parts,
silicon chests and ***** and what not?
       this is one of the finest forms of defamation -
these days the transgender movement is so sexually
potent it doesn't really deserve what can only appear
as a self-imposed crucifixion...
              this story predates the unearthing of the nag
hammadi scripts, it's intuitively bound to what was
unearthed in 1945...
      einar sees the desperation of gerda, he knows
that he'll simply remain a local artist,
    bound to a square mile of earth, local, provincial
even... what he decides on is best expressed
by Marilyn Manson's lyrics: now i'm not an artist
i'm a ******* work of art
.
        how can not this resonate further into the film
if not by this motto:
it is a consecration of a memory, to invert it and
un-seize the moment long ago experienced and now
fuelling art, or the repetition of a safe technique established.
one man's frustration and a woman in a cage:
the potential seen - then a sudden bursting of madness,
the evident anti-cross -
                                  to say he had reached his limits
and she was kept frustrated and under-appreciated is
blatant enough, this self-sacrifice for a woman to
find her subject, was all too evident when she utters
the words that: the student overcomes the teacher,
and that's the whole story,
                       he has to walk into the canvas,
     in whatever way imaginable, and what a better way
than on a whim to escape the dreariness of parties
   by dressing up as a woman, after gerda's model
is late so she can continue a painting and einar
has to step in and wear a few female garments...
       to later realise the Dionysian consequence:
                                  only to the utmost excess, from here.
this could hardly be a propaganda movie for
the transgender movement... the "propaganda"
aspect ends when you hear children imitating this
artistic "prank" in today's society...
      it wasn't a prank in the slightest: but a profound
expression of love between two artists...
          outside of art the whole transgender movement
is still only ***** and silicon **** of Thailand's lady-boys:
that's not reality?        
although i actually did choke with nearing to cry
in the closing scene...
    unlike the Christ story... there was no resurrection.
so hans and gerda travel to the place where
einar depicted the landscape in his revisions,
       and both of them are standing there
        and it's ****** pulverising with so much depth
upon being so little when reduced to a canvas
but because you see the painting first, do you later
see the landscape with more emotion...
     and i thought to myself: gerda will recreate
the landscape in her own eyes, she'll what he saw
and what he gave up for her to paint him in his
transformative (transfigurative) state of becoming
lili elbe...
                     that's why i was about to cry -
     that she could put lili aside, and return to /
resurrect the memory of einar the locally famous
artist... that she would apply the same technique in
painting lili / einar but turn her attention to
landscapes... as if to imply that both of them became
reunited before all the madness of life came chasing them
into extremes.
          to my dissatisfaction? after the film ended
and before the credits started rolling... postscriptum facts
after these true events... she continued to paint
lili / einar as she did, which prompted her to fame
on the Parisian estrade; after seeing that, written down?
tears? what tears... i'm actually thankful that i choked
on them and didn't do an outburst necessarily...
thank **** i wasn't watching the film alone!
     i know that i might have invoked a sense of:
rough around the edges with this description, but i'm hoping
it's abstract enough to make the film more potent:
filling the blanks with images;
still, this was used for a transgender movement?
                                                did he make it plainly obvious
that this was a transcendental transgender iconoclasm?
         it's the platonic element in it that steers this whole
story, away from what 21st century movements regard
as prototype for their ******.
Let me climb the intellectual bandwagon of Chamara Sumanapala of the Sunday Nation in Sirilanka, to recognize a world literary fact that Taras Shevchenko was the grandfather of literature that paid wholesome tribute to Ukrainian nationalism. In this juncture it has to  be argued that it is ideological shrewdness that has taken Russia to Crimean province of Ukraine but nothing like justifiable law and constitutionalism. Let it also be my opportune time for paying tribute to Taras Shevchenko, as at the same time I pay my homage to Ukrainian literature which is also a cultural symbol of Ukrainian statehood. Just like most of the European gurus of literature and art of his time, Taras Shevchenko received little formal education. The same way Shakespeare and Pushkin as well as Alexander Sholenystisn happened to receive education that was clearly less than what is received by many children around the world today.
Like Lucanos the Greek writer who wrote the biblical gospel according to saint Luke, Taras Shevchenko was Born to parents who were serfs. Taras himself began his life being a slave. He was 24 years a serf. He spent only one fourth of his relatively short life of 47 years as a free man. The same way Miguel Cervantes and Victor Marie Hugo had substantial part of their lives in prison. Nevertheless, this largely self-educated former serf became the headmaster, the guru and fountain of Ukrainian cultural consciousness through his paradigmatic literature written basically in the indigenous Ukrainian language. He was a prototype in this capacity given that no any other writer had made neither intellectual nor even cultural stretch in this direction by that time.
And thus in current Ukraine of today, Taras Shevchenko is a national hero of literature and collective nationalism. But due to the prevailing political tension between Ukraine and Russia, his Bicentenary on March 9, 2014 was marred by hoi polloi of dishonesty ideology and sludge of degenerative politics. For many us who derive pleasure from literature and diverse literary civilizations we join the community of Ukrainians to remember Taras Shevchenko the exemplary of patriotism, Taras Shevchenko the poet as well cultural symbol of complete state of Ukraine.
There is always some common historical experience among the childhood conditions of great writers.  In the same childhood version as Wright, Fydor, Achebe, Nkrumah, Ousmane and many others, Shevchenko was born on March 9, 1814 in Moryntsi, a small village in Central Ukraine. His parents were serfs and therefore Taras was a serf by birth. At the age of eight, he received some lessons from the local Precentor or person who facilitated worshippers at the Church and was introduced to Ukrainian literature, the same way Malcolm X and Richard Wright learned to read and write while in prison. His childhood was miserable as the family was poor. Hard work and acute poverty ate up the lives of the family, and Tara’s mother died so soon when he was nine. His father remarried and the stepmother treated Taras very badly in a neurotic manner. Two years later, Taras’s father also passed away. Just in the same economic dint poverty ate up Karl Marx until the disease known us typhus killed her wife Jenny Westphelian Marx.
The 19th century Russian Empire was largely feudal, Saint Petersburg being the exception, just like the current Moscow. It was the door and the window to the West. Shevchenko’s timely and lucky break in life came when his erratic landlord left for Saint Petersburg, taking his treasured serf with him. Since, Taras had shown some merit and knack as a painter, his landlord sent him to informally learn painting with a master. It was fashionable and couth for a landlord to have a court painter in those days of Europe. However, sorrow had to build the bridges in that through his teacher, Shevchenko met other famous artists. Impressed by the artistic and literary merit of the young and honesty serf, they decided to raise money to buy his freedom out of serfdom. In 1838, Taras Shevchenko became a free man, a free Ukrainian and Free European.
As it goes the classical Marxist adage; freedom gives birth to creativity. It happened only two years later, Taras Shevchenko’s collection of poetry, Kobzar, was published, giving him instant fame like the Achebean bush fire in the harmattan wind. A kobzar is a Ukrainian string instrument and a bard who plays it is also known as a Kobzar. Taras Shevchenko also enjoyed some literary epiphany by coming to be known as Kobzar after the publication of his collection.
He was dutifully speaking of the plight of his people in his language, not only through music, but even poetry. However,  there were unfair and censuring restrictions in publishing books in Ukrainian. But lucky enough, the book had to be published outside Russia.

Shevchenko continued to write and paint without verve. Showing considerable merit in both. In 1845, he wrote ‘My Testament’ which is perhaps his oeuvre and best known work. In his poem, he begs the reader to bury him in his native Ukraine after he dies. Not in Russia. His immense love for the land of his birth is epitomized in these verses. Later, he wrote another memorable and compelling piece, ‘The Dream’, which expresses his dream of a day when all the serfs are free. When Ukraine will be free from Russia. Sadly, Taras Shevchenko came to his demise just a week before this dream was realized in 1861.
Chamara Sumanapala wrote in the Sirilanka Sunday Nation of 16 march 2014 that, Taras lived a free man until 1847 when he was arrested for being a member of a secret organization, Brotherhood of St Cyril and Methodius. He was imprisoned in Saint Petersburg and later banished as a private with the Russian military to Orenburg garrison. He was not to be allowed to read and paint, but his overseers hardly enforced this edict. After Czar Nicholas II died in 1855, he received a pardon in 1857, but was initially not allowed to return to Saint Petersburg. He was however, allowed to return to his native Ukraine. He returned to Saint Petersburg and died there on March 10, 1861, a day after his 47th birthday. Originally buried there, his remains were brought to Ukraine and buried in Kaniv, in a place now known as Taras Hill. The site became a symbol of Ukrainian nationalism. In 1978, an engineer named Oleksa Hirnyk burned himself in protest to what he called the suppression of Ukrainian history, language and culture by the Soviet authorities.
Rex Cox Jan 2018
Her mental contents,
And delivery-

She's usually
As nice as she can be-

And her beauty
Makes me think of
All these various activities...

She's spy prototype robot girl, number 5.

She's got lasers in her eyes.

She's very specialized.

Don't know
How many more
They'll make of her-

But upon all missions
She's assigned
To come along with me on-

She's always quite a surprise:

She's the latest in advanced-
Espionage technology,
In this year of 2175.

She's spy prototype robot girl, number 5.

And she's much improved
Over numbers 1, 2, 3, and 4-

It's almost as if she's actually alive-

She has a learning program,
As well as a total range of
Downloaded emotions-

Even going as far as telling you-
She'll **** you, if you ever make her cry:

Giving you fair warning,
I suppose-

That she is after all:

Spy prototype robot girl, number 5.
RG The Visionary Mar 2015
I hoped you were the one but you wasn't
When you wre alone
My phone buzzing
Other then that we barely tlk like distant cousins
You were fronting
Which made me do the same
Till I grew up mentally didnt want to play those games
So I stepped up but you stepped out
You figured I was lame
Or wasn't ready to think of baby names
So from then it changed
But little did you know I was getting my self in order
Ever since I had that dream
Of having a little daughter
figured I oughtta
Make my self to be the man that my father wasn't
And hopefully shed be rich and spoiled like warren buffet
But when half of these girls trynna have a baby by a baller like Latoya luckette
It gets way harder to trustem so I'm like **** it
Only worried bout me until that time comes
And to think you'd be the reason why I run
from relationships
Can't deal with it
they never go in my favor
so now I'm serving every girl around like a blind waiter
My Savior will guide me through the danger
That may wager
my life
Like a bet
But none of it will ever matter
Cause since I was born I knew I would never get that silver platter
But you I thought was my first success
But dumby me never second guessed
But


See as Andre put it together
You were my prototype


The girl I thought I would never lie
Now forever ever I'm
Paralyzed with fear of this word called love
Cause ever since  I used it its been a disaster
but I seem to have mastered
the art of repetition
Of being in a mission to get a girl that feels the same way
But every time I swear I dig my own  grave
saying I love you and the response you gave me I never understood
Till now so that word is cut out of my vocab
Cause these emotions that get stolen never find its way back
I need LoJack
*** I loathe that
But you know that
And still those
Words sprung from your mouth
After the fact
My response I had none
Her face froze
She was appalled by it all
She said it again I pretended
That those words didnt
Affect me
Till they really didn't
Sam Ciel Apr 2015
Have you ever watched a candle burn?
Flicker, fade, wasting away
The wicker waxes and wanes in pain
All consuming and never full
Unsatisfied with life so dull
It grows and builds and strikes and screams
It roars and eats and tears at your seams
You want to let it out but it never quite seems
Like you can.

We live in a world today
Where people's candles melt away
They drip and drop and slowly fall
A silent plop, heard by all
But acknowledged by none
For they have their own flames to deal with.

I was reading the news the other day
And, apparently, there's this new invention
A mental confection
At some grad school somewhere
That's still in the works
From minds of the same inflection
That uses sound waves to
Extinguish
Fire.

Prototypes,
The device and young minds alike.
Relatively unheard of, at the time,
But they may one day save countless lives.

An interesting thought, that sound overcomes
That an amplifier may dampen
Sound inside our hearts
The burning flame that rips apart.
But fire consumes the air itself
And what sound do you make when you cannot breathe?
You open your mouth and you can only seethe
The fire consumes and grows in height
And try as you can with all your might
To make a sound, some drowning noise
The fire devours, ignores and toys
With you.

Our lives are filled with sound.
Why is it then that all around
People fall and fires fade
And candles wax and slowly wane
We burn alive from inside out?
Can this be stopped with just a shout?
A cry for help, a strangled plea
"Please, just listen to me!"
But our lives are filled with sound;
Fires burning, melting down-

Until we learn to hear the truth
Ignore the flames and blow the roof
Off our little hearth, and open wide
Expand our limits, let the flame inside
Perish away and finally breathe
Free from the fires that forced us to seethe-

A prototype, that's all it is.
Relatively unheard of.
Been a while guys! My second piece of spoken word poetry, a little less direct but still a message I hope people understand.
Kurt Schneider Jan 2015
Fox
She's a 21st century fox.

Hair tangled up,
Strangled by the bedsheets in her thoughts.
Her Eyes are blue gold,
And if I stare too long,
She just might break the mold,
Of the prototype,
The best of my wishful thinking,
Grab ahold of my nightmares and don't let go til you start sinking.
I got an inkling,
Or a thought,
I won't stop til we get caught,
Then maybe they'll throw us back like two fish out of water.
I've been swimming upstream since before I was born,
So when I swim with the current
Its like I'm trying to conform.
Forlorn and broken
Trade my change for tokens,
I try to cash the chips in,
But I lost them all playing hold em'.
Logan Robertson Jun 2018
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.

Logan Robertson

6/6/2018
Jenifer S May 2020
I was made into a perfect prototype of imperfection
I was made not with the syntax to love or be loved
But you, you took my mechanical heart in the palm of your hands
And through your kindness, you left me drugged


You've shown me emotions that I cannot comprehend
I've melted in your arms like heated ice
You've traced every inch of my skin and healed its wounds
And helped me feel fault-free and precise


You accepted my poorly designed model
Surrounded me with this alien feeling all around
And in this new world, I became lost and overwhelmed
Like a machine in water, I began to drown


My insecurities and doubts severed this tie
The errors in my programming beginning to surge
Rust spreading from the outside to my motherboard
All my fears and flaws beginning to emerge

With a mind built of short circuits and confusion, I bid you farewell in pain
But I hope, when I am fixed and refined, our paths may cross again
Meeting the  right person at the wrong time.
Mitchell Oct 2012
When the titles turn to grey
Each bitter ash a story untold
A breaking mold on the fray
Your a big girl all the way

But what do I need that I don't have?
Each breath a sin, each exhale a salutation
We are God's unwanted children
There on the horizon is our unholy pollution

When I knew my mind I knew myself
But the press of the matter is not there where it starts
I have a room and it is mine, but the key
Is nowhere in a place that I can rightly see

Listen to the blows of the wind without your ears
A children's scream echoes, so rightly near
Poe danced in the asylum's of madness and its prayers
But whose to say that love also doesn't Fear?

I can hear the whip of the way
The way our forefather's used to play
And of course our skin tingles as we mingle
With the one's we used to enslave

I wear the cloak of eternity
You see my eyes but lo', they are not mine
I dance beneath your very veins
And the pen is where I hold my flaming reins

I ask only for bread
I ask only for butter and
Water that tastes like the tears of mother
All others should be left by the door, unbothered.

Take me for what I am
A mule with only a man's mind
A body that one day will break,
A recognition that I - not myself - keep in repression

For the sunset keeps me amused
The tools of my own body screams
And as I watch the cream of the scheme rise
To the tip top, I inhale to make time stop

I've got my hat on, but where's my love?
I see a bed, but the sheets are made of lead
I need a road, a story untold
A life whose line will never run cold

I see where the line is supposed to end
When the words end n' you've got nothing else to send
But whose words are these if I've got nothing to lend?
My rose bushes are fine, I've got nothing in this world to tend

Each lonesome note
Across this valley of tears
Is what is just too hard to bear

A turn in the tide
Time in my own memory
Too tough to tear and throw away
A thorn I'm forced to hold near

One day I'll see clear
Why it was even there

Minutes on minutes of minute time
In pendulum we justify each step
Our heart beat is our unrest
The beat of our neighbor's walls our anxiety

There are no more blankets to cover the world
We are out of detergent to keep ourselves clean
The lines of the supermarket are too long and
Were out of cream to keep our girls rightly esteemed

I'm headed out of this place
But no time soon
As for the weather
Ask for the flapper's in the smoky ballroom
Seema Jun 2017
Lost, yet losing another battle
Amongst many mannequins
But the agony doesn't settle
Coz the desire ignites more sins

We fight ourselves and give a way
For others to take over the place
Yet mind and heart beg to stay
To compete in the popularly race

Love is such a challenge, for
Mankind to keep it flourished
Most seen and saw many hearts tore
As flushed eyes stare astonished

Slitting wrist and overdosing mayhem
Serve as a culture to those grievers
Sadist rhythm and sour anthem
Twist their minds, forget retrievers

Like a new epidemic leashed out
And the entire planet, a test ground
Goons, gruff and celebrate about
At the new prototype that roams around

Pointing fingers at others in blame
Raising conflicts, to more lethal levels
To brainwash everyone, their only aim
And these are the real devils

Controlled by trotting wealthiers
We're shot with some ridiculous vaccine
Spilled lies, of life based on certain healthiers
Change the channels, in news it's all seen

Yet, believing the media is another slot
They only show the entertainment bit
The reality is edited and maybe reshot
And the channel becomes a hit

Dummies are we, to unknown users
Our daily lives residue normality
How great are these leading looters
Who shake hands to fulfill, formality!


©sim
david mungoshi Sep 2016
Little ant, so small and insignificant
Yet in numbers up an elephant’s snout
How easily you make him indisposed
Lesson to learn: strength in numbers
Maxim to remember: unity of purpose

Oh termite, thou destroyer of civilizations!
How mighty when surreptitiously you creep in
Such ingenious civil engineering feats everywhere
Orderly highways with neither jams nor congestion
And tall imposing castles kissing the air proudly
Result: new architectures plagiarizing your prototype!

And you wasp of constricted waist and mean toxin
You make no attempt to hide or disguise your dwelling
Yours is a house built upon a hill for all to see and tremble
They say when a man has no obvious protection keep away
Lest you trigger subtle forces that mesmerize and pulverize you
Lesson from this: commandos are modern day human wasps

Everybody owes the bee everything, from sweetness to health
The bees a-buzzing speak of persistence and how it breaks barriers
In the end you listen because the message is ceaseless and urgent
And oh sweet bee of the hot sting shot from your posterior
No cordon bleu chef anywhere can ever approximate your finesse
Your formula and patent are hedged with natural mystery
Lesson to learn: the bitter and the sweet in judicious mixture!

Now little man recently so puffed-up and conceited and ever so inadequate
Hear ye this and know it well lest you stumble and fall into dark precipices
You’re nothing and you’ve created nothing; there’s a prototype of everything
In nature’s wonder store of huge surprises and unassuming wisdom
Lesson from all this: one day the other world will rise up and assert it itself
So steer your course differently and beware of those who bide their time
Grim in their purpose and determined in their unshakable resolve
There's just so much we still don't know.
Mystic Ink Plus Nov 2022
Many times
I have tried to embrace you
In my ink
As you keep on evolving
Over time
I lost for words
Yet I'm still trying
To write about you
Without any filter, let me reveal

I regard you as
A wandering soul
Beautiful incarnate
Evolving metaphor
A breathing canvas
A prototype of artistry

With that omnipresence elegance
An epitome of decency
And phenomenal smile
You make the world worth living

Stirred by those musing ripples
I submit to you
Let me bathe my imagination
Cast you into vivid hues
Search you in the unknown
In between the recesses of the mind
And found every time
As my share of moon

Thanks for being
Genre: Experimental
Theme: This much to say
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
In fact, in the evening, their stupidity and fat women,
military performances, zero, or me, in Mason-Chested
women, generously serve and order the Greens,
for the continuation of fame; The magic of light is the use
of grain boundaries, I want to stop the heat from the benefits
of the Jews in the Crystal Revolution, the Stripper gun,
the furnace and underwear. He and China Rally,
the fingerprint of the fingered daughter,
he said that after listening to the air, a large majority
of Australian mothers came warmly to life,
that's a good life, there are thin hairs in it,
many rulers, Johns, lovers. The quality of life
is usually made green by feeding the **** prayer tree,
you are going to talk about the negative river under the city.
Burke has played an important role.
This was the name of Torres customer service, "***** of ***".
Cup world and world First, the Greek language product
is English (North Korea). what about me?
Girls read what they want to learn, what is the heritage of women?
Women, young and old, Russia, CPA Germany |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Valentines day ||| More youth games and cultural illusions,
Dark Rococo 2.2 (French call activity)
and two of Homer's  ammonium tanks. Firstly,
for the corporate body in the history of every map
of the Middle East and the staff of Sara Walker,
first English and Greek (right) children know
the same lines for years, women, youth, the elderly,
women and HKKK. ||| And among other members
of Valentine's Day After the police death in the garden,
especially in the case of ambiguities and dark days,
young women told me, Barkola Sarah 2.2
(pattern; plural noun: paradigm1A general example
or pattern of something technically; A pattern
"This country has a new paradigm for public art",
"model, pattern, example, example, template,
standard, prototype, arketoop [archetype, stupid computer]"
"Why can you determine the value of the paradigm
for our comfort?" A global insight under the principles
and methodology of a particular scientific subject.
"The discovery of universal gravity of the paradigm
of successful science" 2. A set of linguistic objects
that special sentences make mutually exclusive alternatives
in creative roles. "The English determiners make a pattern:
we can say" a book "or" his book "but cannot say" his book "." "
(In traditional grammar of Latin, Greek, and other neglected languages),
a special action, noun, or a table of all the underlying forms of adjective, which acts as a model for the same coincidence
or announcement. Origin: In the second half of the 15th century:
from Latin paradigma to late Latin, from paradakunui
'side side side', to show para-'basead '+ Deccanui. 'Polynesia)
2 lights up. This is the first version of the user, it will be 600,
Telemachus is too big for something. We have a favorite story
for you. Christ, Middle East, Participant Safety Warning
Physical Beverly Greek and English (Left) are more than 2 years old
Do you need? Good night, good night, what is the gift of her lady?
CPA women in old and young, Russia and other cities in Germany || Valentine's day ||| || Wall In fact,
in the evening, for the continuity of fame
with their stupidity and fat women's military performances,
zero, or me, even in mason-chested ladies,
liberally serve and order the greens; The magic of light
is the use of grain boundaries, I want to stop the heat
from the crystals revolution, the stripper gun, the furnace
and the benefit of the Jews in underwear. She and China rally,
******* her daughter's litigation point, she said that after hearing the air,
a large majority of Australian mothers are warm of life, she is a good life, there are thin hair in it, many rulers, John, love.
Quality of life is usually green by feeding the **** prayer tree,
you are going to talk about the negative river under the city.
Burke has played an important role. This Torres was the name
of a customer service "***** of ***". Cup world and world First,
the Greek language product is English (North Korea). what about me?
Girls read what they want to learn, what is female heritage?
Women, young and old, Russia, CPA Germany ||||||||||
Valentines day ||| More youth games and cultural illusions,
Dark Rococo 2.2 (French call activity) and two of Homer's
ammonium tanks. First of all, for every map
of the Middle East and the corporate body in the history
of Sarah Walker's servants, first English and Greek (right)
children know the same lines for years, women,
youth, the elderly, women and HKKK. ||| And among other members
of Valentine's Day. After the death of the police
in the garden, especially young women in the case
of ambiguity and dark days, they told me, Barkola Sara 2.2 (pattern; plural noun: paradigm 1 A general example or pattern of something
technically; A sample "This country has a new paradigm
for public art", "model, pattern, example, example,
template, standard, prototype, arketoop"
"Why can you determine the value of the paradigm
for our rest?" A global insight under the principles
and methodology of a particular scientific subject.
"The discovery of universal gravity of the paradigm
of successful science" 2. A set of linguistic objects
which make special sentences mutually exclusive
alternatives in creative roles. "The English determiners
make a pattern: we can say" a book "or" his book
"but cannot say" his book "." " (In traditional grammar
of Latin, Greek, and other neglected languages),
a table of all the underlying forms of a particular action,
noun, or adjective, which acts as a model
for the same coincidence or declaration. Origin:
In the second half of the 15th century: from Latin Pardigma
late to Latin, from paradecunui 'side side side',
to show para-'bassaid' + Deccanui. ' Polynesia) 2 lights up.
This is the first version of the user, this will be 600,
Telemachus is very big for some. We have a favorite story for you.
Christ, Middle East, Participant Safety Warning
Body Beverly Greek and English (left) are more than 2 years old
Are you required? Want to see a good night is good night,
what is the gift of her lady? CPA women in old and young,
Russia and other cities in Germany || Valentine's day ||| || Wall
In fact, in the evening, their stupidity and fat women, military performances, zero, or me, in Mason-Chested women
generously served and ordered by the Greens
for the continuation of fame; The magic of light is the use of grain boundaries, I want to stop the heat from the benefits of the Jews
in the Crystal Revolution, the Strapper gun, the furnace
and underwear. He and China Rally, the fingerprint
of the fingered daughter, he said that after listening to the air,
a large majority of Australian mothers is warm to life,
that's a good life, there are thin hairs in it, many rulers, John, love.
The quality of life is usually green by feeding the **** prayer tree,
you are going to talk about the negative river under the city.
Burke has played an important role. This was the name
of Torres customer service's "***** of ***". Cup world and world First,
the Greek language product is English (North Korea). what about me?
Girls read what they want to learn, what is the heritage of women?
Women, young and old, Russia, CPA Germany |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Valentines day ||| More youth games and cultural illusions,
Dark Rococo 2.2 (French call activity) and two Homer ammonium tanks. Firstly, for the corporate body in the history
of every map of the Middle East and the staff
of Sara Walker, first English and Greek (right)
children know the same lines for years, women,
youth, the elderly, women and HKKK. |||
And among other members of Valentine's Day
After the police death in the garden, especially
in the case of ambiguities and dark days, young women told me,
Barkola Sarah 2.2 (pattern; plural noun: paradigm1
A general example or pattern of something technically;
A pattern "This country has a new paradigm for public art",
"model, pattern, example, example, template, standard,
prototype, arketoop" "Why can you determine
the value of the paradigm for our comfort?"
A global insight under the principles and methodology
of a particular scientific subject. "The discovery of universal gravity
of the paradigm of successful science"
2. A set of linguistic objects that special sentences
make mutually exclusive alternatives in creative roles.
"The English determiners make a pattern: we can say"
a book "or" his book "but can not say" his book "." "
(In traditional grammar of Latin, Greek, and other neglected languages),
a special action, noun, or a table of all the underlying forms of adjective, which acts as a model for the same coincidence or announcement.
Origin: In the second half of the 15th century:
from Latin paradigma to late Latin, from paradakunui
'side side side', to show para-'basead '+ Deccanui. 'Polynesia)
2 lights up. This is the first version of the user,
it will be 600, Telemachus is too big for something.
We have a favorite story for you. Christ, Middle East,
Participant Safety Warning Physical Beverly Greek
and English (Left) are more than 2 years old Do you need?
Good night, good night, what is the gift of her lady?
CPA women in old and young, Russia, and cities in Germany ||
Valentine's day ||| || Wall
Is she an ancient chaos serpent of death?
    Is she the prototype of the witch?
        Is she just a myth or,

Has she been created?

Total
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Tools

Wo­uld you
call my band,

"evil,"

-if I named it Satan?


Might you expect your government
to name a division of itself after Lucifer?

Can this be a,

"Christian Nation,"

...when it runs a Devil's game?
Government is the personification of Evil.
Iago Prytherch his name, though, be it allowed,
Just an ordinary man of the bald Welsh hills,
Who pens a few sheep in a gap of cloud.
Docking mangels, chipping the green skin
From the yellow bones with a half-witted grin
Of satisfaction, or churning the crude earth
To a stiff sea of clods that glint in the wind—
So are his days spent, his spittled mirth
Rarer than the sun that cracks the cheeks
Of the gaunt sky perhaps once in a week.
And then at night see him fixed in his chair
Motionless, except when he leans to gob in the fire.
There is something frightening in the vacancy of his mind.
His clothes, sour with years of sweat
And animal contact, shock the refined,
But affected, sense with their stark naturalness.
Yet this is your prototype, who, season by season
Against siege of rain and the wind's attrition,
Preserves his stock, an impregnable fortress
Not to be stormed, even in death's confusion.
Remember him, then, for he, too, is a winner of wars,
Enduring like a tree under the curious stars.
what a waste Aug 2016
I'm but a spec of dust
eroding the cusp
of Aries and Taorus
Pack the semblance
of an avalanche behind
eyes torn with crust
Finished Tour de Combust
with a surfboard copped
from every soul hushed
just so I could say I did
it when no one else would
He knows not how the toner trails,
I know how my conduits drain themselves.
Forming a queue while spitting blood
They’re an anemic residue.

He knows not how to freshen my palate,
With warmth, I see no remedy
My so-fatigued heart,
I was a monochrome in plastic wares.

I wasn’t a prototype, but a derivative.
Seclusion I abhor, indeed my life too
Sitting on the edge of Andromeda, in his planetary chamber Zefián; Duoverso computer, separated the parasitic interchamber of the Duoverso, which would be born from the Charioteer and that in its gigs would unleash the senses of structures and luminosity between this colossal interplanetary chambers. Being between points that venture through the axon of infinite time longitude for light years, which even so, will intervene from the Duoverso, for purposes of thermicity and other changes of the remnants, when especially the luminosity will speak of the destruction of the darkness inherent in the eyes of the universe, which can only stabilize areas that have not been fused in the discs of the Universe-Duoverse spatiality, long before the initial explosion between the Orion Constellation and Andromeda. The central axis of time between both astral components, is in the dissonant nebula that contracted in the dark portion of the Universe, making the field of Andromeda and Orion, the ring that was spectra towards the lower consciousness of Betelgeuse, expropriating the Hunter's boast, for that of Commander Hetairoi, for his right chest invading semi-coagulated blood and liquid homeostatic body-mind with miscellanea, versus matter and energy, between the central nuclear circulators and the tangent, which caused changes but of a galaxy pierced by Hetairoi glebes, satirizing brick outlets for retracting galaxies from existentiality, under the precept of Soldier and his solar mass, under the super homeostasis of his distance on an astronomical scale of 2.5 million light years. Within the chins and phylastics that covers the greater proportional between the milky Galaxy and the peripheral spiral that outlines Andromeda, breaking out the twisted phylasticism of the Duoverse, along with the Spiral that rolls over the Betelgeuse sobalcal, postponing to telescope regions and spell, to execute its nocturnal translation, like the Hypersdisis Galaxy that collects the bubbles from the belt of minor star conjunctions, making star mechanics for exalted infra-luminosity and sky disorders, generating other higher atmospheres in the heads of the phylastic that they detached themselves from the Andromeda cordon, the Milky Way and Orion. Globular clusters will make up the perfect delay of transfusing the blood and not another, which makes the Hyper character calling pectoral hyper-blood, which flows from this tri-astral polynomial, compromising the method of area, shape and refinement of the sagittal profile of Hyperdisis in the Duoverse in the reversible intergalactic plane. Going from lenticular to irregular over the bludgeon of the trapezoid, towards the right arm of Orion, where its radius becomes hypocentric sequentially, but taking advantage of interstellar matter, to generate its own light. Some explicit explosive arms of Andromeda were expelled from its center towards the right arm of Orion, in order to implode in the effect of the Club or Clava, as a sublime hemorrhage on other stars, which lost essential stellar mass, to differ from one another. They carried nuclear energy, like wifi waves, for each gaseous region that multiplied its Solar speed towards Hyperdisis, causing hyper channeling with Patmos and its impetrations, even being empty in the establishment of Hyperdisis as dogmatic matter, towards the Omega Man prototype in Orion and in Vernarth.


Radio-Patmos, or galactic energies of Andromedian origin, would arrive as devout prayers to the confine of Skalá, as astro-omegas and Invisible Universes, which inhabit the flaccidity of the Universe of Conscience from the contact of the pole, with the Xifos or Kopis, when Andromeda contacts the spur of the club or Clava, inciting the Astro-Omegas space capos, which would begin to take the front and front, after having been the atrium of invisible stars, only visible in the spurs of the swords, which were only moistened with the viscous blood draining from Orion towards Hellenic land, as an Omega age, for Vernarth that is done early when he carries the keys of the Omega world, towards the protogalaxies that overshadow, knowing that the Milky Way and Andromeda come so close in their matting mass, being able to collide in a few million light years, as an anticipation since the Duoverse of Hyperdisis will be conformed as a Galaxy of change, to interact with each other by dismembering, but retransform ending in the new mental nucleus of the Duoverse, like A great Black Hole, embedded in the heart of Patmos.

Hyperdisis, navigates from the past confines, from the origin of nothingness itself to the origin of the Universe, but now it has become a Duoverse, reimplanted in the helical polarity and bifurcations of its luminosity, of colorful reincarnations or re-astralities, to allow the cessation of darkness and to value luminance, opening steps of collyrimetry and children's cuetosa chromatics in requests of inafant galaxies, which of all lives by Greece Vermart gave by their ancestors, articulated in the iconology of Orion, in candles per square meters, in vigils of :


LV is the luminance, measured in Nits or candela per square meter (cd / m²).
• F is the luminous flux, in lumens for the triad Andomeda, Milky Way and Hyperdisis in conjunction with Orion.
• dS is the surface element considered the triad Kímolos, Rhodes and Patmos.
• dΩ is the solid angle element, Vernarth Omega and origin of the Duoverse.
• θ is the angle between the diameter from Andromeda and the Milky Way (2.5 million light years)

The luminance can be defined from the radiometric magnitude and the radiance without more than weighting each wavelength by the sensitivity curve of the eye. Thus, if LV is the luminance, Lλ represents the spectral radiance and V (λ) symbolizes the sensitivity curve of the Vernath eye in the area of the Betelgeuse, with plasma and hematoms derived over the galaxies and the Orion Eyes.
Hyperdisis
Aquinas Jan 2017
I've conjured a clone
More successful, more attractive, more lively than me.
Taking them into my home,
I feed and take care of them, I polish their bolts and bits.
How I wish my bones could shine silver like their aluminum ribs.
I dream of being as productive and managing,
As talented, daring
Motivated, driven.
I sometimes get the urge to peek under my skin to search for foil bones,
But I crave more than the cold sensation of chrome.
   Tell me,
   Why do I feel this way?
   If I'm machine,
   Where will I go when you die?
   Where will I stay?
My dear friend, I do not have answers, I only have more questions for us to ponder.
However, I believe when I lay down to sleep
Your engine turns off,
And your gears stop turning.
When this happens do you imagine a dream?
Or do you imagine you are living?
MBJ Pancras Jun 2020
Adam
The unborn human
Made of soil by the Lord
For to rule the world.

2. Eve

Made of Adam’s rib
To live and serve with her mate
But fallen to sin.

3. Disobedience

The act against God
Inclined to the devil’s word
Unbelief in God.

4. Nakedness of Adam and Eve

Disgraced by their sin
Saturated in the fruit
Stripped of holiness.


5. The Garden of Eden

The place of God’s land
Of freedom and temptation
Of good and evil.

6. Satan in Serpent

The one arch rival
Of God, fallen of his pride,
Intruded to rob.

7. The Fruit of knowledge of Good and Evil

A mystery image
Made of God to try His man;
The logic of God.

8. The first parents’ punishment

Drifted from God’s Peace;
Fallen into Satan’s trap;
Of sorrows and death.

9. Abel

A righteous God’s son,
And born to be slain by Cain;
Innocence perceived.

10. Cain

A tool of evil
Shrouded with disgrace and shame;
The root of evil.

11. Noah and the Ark

God’s righteous man
Saved by his obedience
By the Grace of God.

12. The Flood

The Judgment of God
Fallen upon sins;
A great symbol of new life

13. Babel Tower

The evil image,
A symbol of human pride,
Conquered by Wisdom.

14. Abraham

God’s chosen human;
A father of great nations;
The faith understood.

15. Sarah

A blessed mother;
Blessed with Isaac in late age;
Abraham’s true heart.

16. Ishmael

A son of Abram
Born of Hagar by force;
Displeasure of God.

17. ***** and Gomorrah

The twins of evil,
Cradled by Satan with filth;
Burnt into ashes

18. Lot’s wife

An image of greed;
Ruled by the worldly desire;
A pillar of salt!

19. Isaac

The bond of Lord God
With Abraham for the race;
Faith tested in him.

20. Rebekah

Born to Bethuel
Full of generosity,
Mother of Jacob.

21. Jacob

Power and grace of God
Meant for cunning and deceit;
Yet blessed with Israel.

22. Rachel

A wife of Jacob;
Favourite and pleasing; mother
Of new progeny.

23. Aaron

A high-priest of God;
Elder brother of Moses,
A prophet of God.

24. Andrew

Yea, an apostle of Christ,
Brother of Simon Peter,
Living with the fish.


25. Barabbas

A condemned robber,
A convict praised by the Jews,
Thoughtless of the good.

26. Daniel

A man of visions;
Hero in the Lion’s den,
Unharmed by God’s Hand.

27. David

The psalmist of God,
The second king of Israel,
Guided by the Lord.

28. Samson and Delilah

A fool with muscle
Deprived by an evil force,
Fallen to blind death.

Scheming pretty ***,
Tainted with treachery,
Realm of sedition.

29. Elijah

A Hebrew prophet,
Persecuted for slurring
Ahab and Jez’bel.

30. Elisha

A great successor
Of Elijah, a prophet,
A stern disciple.


31. Enoch

The son of Jared,
Prior to Noah’s Great Flood,
Taken by the Lord.

32. Joseph

Sold to slavery
By his own jealous brothers,
The great vizier.


33. Esau

The twin of Jacob,
Sold his birthright to Jacob,
A son of Isaac.

34. Esther

Beauty embodied,
Then turned a queen of Persia,
Saviour of people.

35. Ezekiel
His book of visions
Predicts the fall of Judah
And Jerusalem.

36. Ezra

Ancient Jewish priest,
Law-maker at the altar,
Sent from Babylon.

37. Gideon

A wise Hebrew judge;
Led the Israel to victory
‘Gainst  Midianites.


38. Goliath

Philistine giant
Killed by David with a stone,
Terror to Hebrews.

39. Jesus Christ

He’s the Word of God,
The Way to Eternity,
God in human flesh.

40. John the Baptist

Forerunner of Christ,
Beheaded by King Herod,
Baptizer of Christ.

41. Judas Iscariot

Betrayer of Christ,
Fallen on thirty pieces
Silver to death.



42. Lazarus

Restored from death
By Jesus; for whom Christ wept,
Mary and Martha’s.

43. Lot

Abraham’s nephew;
Escaped *****’s destruction,
His wife, salt pillar.

44. Luke

An Evangelist,
A physician, who wrote Acts
And Jesus’ Gospel.

45. Mary Magdalene

A sinful woman,
Redeemed of evil spirits,
Devoted to Christ.

46. Matthew

A tax collector,
An apostle of Jesus,
A Gospel writer.

46. Matthias
A Christ’s Apostle,
Chosen by lot to replace
The Christ’s betrayer.

47. Melchizedek  

The priest of Salem,
A prototype of Jesus
Christ’s priesthood of God.

48. Moses

A Hebrew prophet,
Who had led the Israelites
To the Promised Land.


49. Nebuchadnezzar  

King of Babylon,
Who  destroyed Jerusalem;
Exiled the Jews.



50.  Paul

A Christ’s Apostle,
Died as a martyr in Rome;
Wrote great Epistles.

51 Peter

One who left fishing
For Christ as an Apostle,
Denied Christ three times.

52. Pontius Pilate

“What is Truth?” He asked.
The Roman procurator,
His hand in Christ’s death.

53. Solomon

The king of Israel,
Credited with great wisdom,
Son of David.

54. Susanna

The wife of Joachim,
Falsely accused but saved by
Daniel's wisdom.

55. Tetragrammaton

Hebrew Name for God;
Revealed to Moses on Mount
Sinai. Named ‘Yahweh’.

56. Mary

The worldly mother
Of Jesus who fostered Him
Till His death of Cross.

57. Ten Commandments

The law for the Jews
Carved on the stone, and rendered
Through Moses for them.

58. David’s sling

God’s Power hidden,
“Gainst the evil Goliath,
A sign of victory.



59. The Great Flood

The Lord’s Great wrath ‘gainst sins,,
The fair judgment of the Lord
For a new era.

60. Noah’s Ark

God’s Shelter on earth,
A prototype of Jesus
Christ for salvation.

61. Pillar of Salt

Symbol of man’s greed,
Lot’s wife, the victim of greed,
Wrath of human sin.

62. Plagues of Egypt

Curses of the Lord
Upon the sins of Israel,
Lesson to the world.

63. Solomon’s Wisdom

Incomparable
Gift of God to Solomon,
And none on earth has.

64. Psalms

Heartfelt songs to God,
Joy and distressed flow from heart,
Musical prayers.

65. Ecclesiastes

Truth of Vanities,
Preaching the short span of life,
And to fear the Lord.

66. Proverbs

Wise sayings of God,
Hidden truth of life in short,
All quotable quotes

67. Genesis

In the beginning,
Record of God’s creation
And of great nations.



68. Exodus

Israelites’ freedom
From slavery in Egypt;
The book of journey.

69. Leviticus

Book on rituals,
Traditions and practices
Led to the altar.

70. Numbers

The culmination
Of the life of Israelites’
Flight from the *******.

71. Deuteronomy

Drifting of Israel
In wilderness forty years,
And of Moses’ death.

72. Joshua

Conquest of Canaan,
Campaigns of the Israelites,
Forming of twelve tribes.

73. Judges

Unfaithful Israel
Fallen into punishment,
Cycle of sins ran.

74. Ruth

Ruth accepting God,
Israelites as her own folks,
Liturgical book.


75. I & II Samuel

Forming theology,
God’s Law given through prophets,
Based on Jewish life.

76. I & II Kings

History of Israel
From the death of King David
To Jehoiachin’s aid.


77. I & II Chronicles

Genealogy
From Adam. A narrative
Till Cyrus the Great.

78. Ezra

The first arrival
Of exiles during Cyrus,
About unique Jews.

79. Nehemiah

Firmness to restore
Jerusalem. Appointed
Judah’s Governor.

80. Esther

The queen of Persia;
Upset of the genocide
Of her own people.

81. Job

The vindication
Of God’s justice for man’s woes,
A theology.

82. Song of Solomon

Celebrating
****** love and enjoyment;
****** passion.

83. Isaiah

Jerusalem be
The centre of worldwide rule
By the Messiah.

84. Jeremiah

Message to the Jews
In exile in Babylon,
For their idol gods.

85. Lamentations

Grief o’er the city’s
Desertion; return to God,
A funeral dirge.



86. Ezekiel

Visions on three themes:
Judgment on Israel; nations,
Blessings for Israel.

87. Daniel

End time portrayal,
Visions and message of God
That He is just God.

88. Hosea

Slur at idol gods,
A metaphorical note:
Israel’s faithlessness.

89. Joel

Great Lamentations
Over locust plague and drought,
Call for repentance.

90. Amos

A short oracle
Announcing God’s great judgment,
Disgrace of great crimes.

91. Sin

The passage to death,
The arch enemy of God,
In various forms.  

92. Judas’ Betrayal

It is Judas’ Kiss,
God’s plan destined for Christ’s death,
Closeness defeated.

93. Peter’s Denial

Human fear of man,
Mortal bond ‘gainst Jesus’ Way,
Winning cowardice.

94. I AM

The Name of Lord God,
The Everlasting Father,
Holiness in Christ.



95. Grace

The unmerited
Divine aid to human life
For their saintly life.  

96. Mercy

The compassionate
Forbearance shown to the crooks
For their repentance.

97. Gratitude

Of being thankful;
Readiness to love others,
A virtuous act.

98. Repentance

Sorry for one’s crimes,
The divine change from one’s sins,
Pow’r of salvation.

99. Patience

The power of courage,
Tolerance of incitement
With no annoyance.

100. Truth

The Lord Jesus Christ,
The Way to Eternity,
Christ’s Second Coming.

101. Obadiah

An oracle of
Edom’s divine judgment note,
Restore of Israel.

102. Jonah

Swallowed by a fish,
Drifted from God’s commandment,
And then repented.

103. Micah

Jerusalem’s ruin
Predicted; Judah rebuked
For its idol gods.



104. Nahum

Assyrian’s end
Predicted, and Nineveh,
Poetical style.

105. Habakkuk

Five oracles of
Chaldeans rise to power,
Might be a Levi.

106. Zephaniah

Warnings of the Day
Of the Lord with His Judgment
Upon the sinful.


107. Haggai

Rebuilding temple
Greatly to strike poverty
In Jerusalem.

108. Malachi

Of second return
Of prophet Nehemiah
From Persia long time.

109. Mark

Of Jesus’ mission,
Sketch of Christ as a Hero,
A Gospel writer.

110. Luke

An Evangelist;
Doctor who wrote the Gospel,
Might have written Acts.

111. John

Disciple Christ loved,
Revealed Christ, the Word of God,
And Jesus’ mystery.

112. Acts

Birth of Christian Church,
Christ for the Gentiles also,
Luke might be author.


113. Romans

Pauline Epistle
Of salvation through Gospel,
The Church growth in Rome.

114. I & II Corinthians

Rebuking Corinth
Of their infamous life-style,
Paul, a firm preacher.

115. Galatians

The controversy
With the gentiles o’er Moses’
Law for salvation.

116. Ephesians

Keeping Christ’s Body
Pure and holy –that’s the theme,
Paul’s fervent preaching.

117. Philippians

‘Thank You’ note from Paul,
Epaphroditus’ fortunes,
Canonical note.

118. Colossians

Christ’s supremacy
Over the whole universe,
Godly life to lead.

119. I & II Thessalonians

Firm preaching of Christ,
Salvation only in Christ,
All must be redeemed.

120. I & II Timothy

Leadership in Church,
Warnings against false doctrines,
The roles of women.

121. Titus

Unruly false teachers,
Who led people towards death,
A scathing attack.



122. Philemon

Self-designation
As a prisoner of Jesus,
Prayerful request.

123. Hebrews

Christ, the Radiance of God’s
Glory; the Express Image,
Upholding all things.

124. James

Patience in trials,
Christians to overcome sins,
Consistent in Christ.

125. I & II Peter

Steadfastness in faith,
Christian virtues exalted,
False teachers condemned.

126. I, II & III John

Fellowship with God,
Not to lose learnt of Jesus,
Hospitality.

127. Jude

Quotes from the ancient,
Admonishes all to live
In Christ forever.

128. Revelation

Obscure images,
Spiritual images,
Symbolic fable.

129. The star from the East

Christ for the Gentiles,
Salvation for everyone,
The world needs a guide.

130. The Magi

Christ, the King of kings,
All shall bow before the Christ,
The Greatest Ruler.



131. The shepherds

God shall not forget
Even the common people,
Pastoral image.

132. The Manger

Christ’s humility,
A virtue of a leader,
Proven example.

133. Mary and Joseph

The Lord’s chosen womb,
And the chosen guardian
Of the Divine Babe.

134. Scourges upon Christ

Sins of the mankind,
The obedience of man
To satanic law.

135. Crown of Thorns

Pleasures of the world
At the cost of Divine Love,
Unholy worship.

136. Crucifixion

The old law been sealed,
The Law of Love to open,
The sin on the Cross.

137. “Why hast Thee forsaken Me?”

Sin separated
Man from God. Great agony
Without holy God.

138. The Garden of Gethsemane

A communion
Betwixt Christ and the Father,
Blood of agony.

139. Miracles of Jesus Christ

The Power of God
Manifested upon Christ
That the world knows HIM>



140. The Early Days of Jesus

A preparation
For the Divine Ministry
That man follows HIM.

141. Jesus’ First Coming

The Way born for man
Unto God the Eternal,
Of Mercy and Love.

142. Christ’s Second Coming

End of human life,
Christ the Judge to curse sinners,
Steadfast in HIS Plan.

143. Jesus’ Resurrection

Death has lost its sting,
The arch foe of God defeated,
Mankind begets Hope.

144. The Pentecost

The Spirit of God
Descended upon people
To proclaim the Word.

145. Atheist

The terrible phase
Of mankind which rejects God,
Shrouded with darkness.

146. Disbelief in Christ

Shrouded with glamour,
Lover of Death forever,
Sipping sweet poison.

147. Idol Worship

Brutal devotion,
Acrobatic somersaults,
Towards the Chasm.

148. Temptation

Sugar-coated trap,
Poison in enticing fruit,
A sweet hug to fall.



149. A soul between good and evil

Between Life and Death,
Walking on a strip of thread,
A sword on one’s throat.

150. Satan

Fallen Lucifer
With unseemly countenance
Wolfing human souls.

151. Heaven

God’s Abode ever,
Ineffable Glory reigns,
Joyous Light dwelleth.

152. Hell

The pit of Satan,
Agonizing gnashing teeth,
The endless darkness.

153. Judas’ Kiss

Outright betrayal,
Unrepentant self-collapse,
Thirty silver bits.

154. Sermon on the Mount

Beatitudes of life,
Truth preached with figures of speech,
The Voice of the Lord.

155. Eternity

The timeless journey,
No halts; no breaks; no fatigue,
Existence ever.
My mind is under the glacier
Waiting for it to combust
As I try to gain sanity
I get propelled into madness
Every time I try yo understand
I only accept less
Every time I confess
My darkest sins
Everyone else comes from within
To admit their faults
So I'm kicking my issues to the vault
Accept that my mistakes are my fault
And realize that I should never quit
But I'm a defendant tryo g to acquit
Please God give me strength
So I don't channel my anger
In the wrong way
I'm trying to be good today
But tomorrow is a different story
Renounce my glory
Only when I deserve it
So far I'm not sure I have
But then yet, I can be too skeptical
This a search to be happy
And I can't find much
For now
But I know I have to wait
And for the impatient part of me
That's too difficult to work
But I do know
That I have to conspire against my most loathed tasks
And paint it with the pathway to what I love
That's the only way I'll make it
I'll survive, just give me time to work the kinks out
So far I'm in prototype
Meg B Mar 2015
White.
Female.
Middle Class.
Heterosexual.
Agnostic.
Libertarian.

Yeah.
That's me.
That's that first layer,
thin as the paper you could
read it on.
Just a
Jane Doe,
a nameless, faceless
demographic.

But peeling back the layers,
ripping through page on page of a complicated novel,
digging
down
into
a
bottomless
hole
to
China,
unravelling
­the intricate
web of
stereotypestruthsliesassumptionsprejudice
and
there you will find
me,
a colorless genderless asexual
spirit whose frame
is crafted and molded
not with how the world
chooses to see me and
who "they" deem me to be;

no.

A guy that didn't know me well
once told me that I
spoke more urban than he
expected,
and I couldn't help but wonder why
someone from an urban area
couldn't speak like they were
from a city,
like somehow what he saw in my
whitefemaleheterosexualmiddleclassagnosticlibertarian
prolog­ue forbade me
from speaking in colloquials and
abbreviations.
Oh, I apologize,
I laughed later to my friend,
law students are supposed to speak
with an ostentatious vocabulary and
an heir of
(superfluous) arrogance.


I am rarely a prototype
of what it means to be
White,
of what it means to be
female;
middle-class* or not,
my parents insisted at age 8
that I begin to understand
the value of a dollar;
my sexuality indicates little
about my level of attraction
to the world around me;
agnostic is really just a term
I put because I'm still trying to
figure out whether I really
believe everything I was forced to
learn at Catholic school;
and isn't Libertarian just a fancy
word for I don't want to
choose liberal or conservative?

It's insulting to
ingest how much is
insinuated about
my depth in
the shallowest of pools.
My cheeks burn hot
with frustration as I
try to balance on a beam
cracking underneath the weight of
a world that is constantly begging me
to go back in the neatly
wrapped package from which
the world would prefer I
came.

I'm not someone
you can put in a *******
box and
label;
you can't contain my
shine behind
blackout blinds;
I will burst out of your bubble
and break your glass ceilings;
I will scream at the top of
my lungs in a soundproof room
until you HEAR me.

I'm not meant to be judged
by my cover,
and neither are you.

We are meant to be read.
Skyler M Apr 2019
You can bet I've broken so many metaphorical bones,
You can bet I've collected so many cursed tokens,
You can bet I've been selected to get my head shacked, she said depression,
I said repression,
Cause denying makes the truth all the more shady,
And then I've shaken to fading on the daily,
I'm a killer of a very special Miller,
Or perhaps that was the killer of me.

Now I'm a special boy,
Taken and shaken around like a toy,
You can confirm my death with many people,
Those who build steeples and feasible sentences,
I'm a prototype of a man,
Just watch as I ran to the sand underneath the sparkling grand moon man.

Take me up into the wind,
Bring me to the sinners den,
I will take his rusted hand,
And escape without a stand.

You can bet I've murdered so many beasts,
You can bet I've ruined so many well-lit feasts,
You can bet that I've introspected, to the point where I've retrospected into the infected past,
I keep on regretting going fast,
You're stuck in my head now get out before I pluck you out,
Tuck and roll to **** at everything that I lay eyes on.

Cause denying makes the truth all the more shady,
And then I've shaken to fading on the daily,
I'm a killer of a very special Miller,
Or perhaps that was the killer of me.

Cause denying makes the truth all the more shady,
And then I've shaken to fading on the daily,
I'm a killer of a very special Miller,
Or perhaps that was the killer of me.
A message to that ***** up I called a father.
Amina Nov 2021
One of the audience
she is
Observing,
Listening and Noticing,
what she needs?
Prototype!
Beyond
Only
she needs to read more
to act
in psychopedagogy class
so
people say that there are things
    objects
    abstracts
    other people
    earth's natural boundaries and bounties
that urge  or maybe converge the mind
into action - though most probably think the act,
they reverie in what they dream as exceptional.

so
here is an ideal,
a prototype esteemed
like that emblazoned scrap of paper
with the birth names and letters
dotdotdot etc ...

so, tell me
are you aspiring
or laying deep
in the molds ?
will it buy you a ring for your trophy ?
will it make you prolific ?

we would not know happiness,
if only for the grand stories
told to us of our entitlement
to enjoy our senses. well,
look at this container,
you were perfectly crafted
to roam
with intention, across all spaces
conquistadoring and
expanding and
'destroying to create'
whatever the **** that means

and never learning not to rear our ugly heads
to the paradise
breastfeeding
us,
or to the processing
keeping us bred
nice and tidy.

so
there is the ambiguous person again,
and is there something wrong with monotony,
does it imply a good in consistence
does it lend translation to the static
     (coming up and out of your roaring mouth;
           he is an angel, i grant it worth.)

so
be inspired by feeling.
that dumpster over yonder is what it
is, as your lobes transmit
and lucidly self actualize ::

i am not here to convince anyone
but myself.
a m a n d a Jun 2014
confused by the specimens
of my life
the cross-sections
on display
lined up neatly
for me to mull over
in the dark.
Lying under a leaking roof,
Just counting the drops til it caves.
Been walking on a rotten bridge,
Counting the steps to the fall.

Just a ticking bomb of worry,
As my hopes just waste away.
The longer time holds on,
The more I want to let go of it all.
January 24th, 2011
jeffrey conyers Dec 2012
Hire me.
I'll be the best person at the job.
I work hard.
Always on time.
Never late.
Through impressing without overtime.
In other words, I get the job done.
Yes, I'm the one.
Just hire me.

I accept my ninty day probationary period.
And will make it through it.
My ability to do will leave you ready to hire me.

I'll be the prototype of a good employee.
Yes, others will envy me.
Especially when you becomes the better part of me.
Is fate a myth
Or simply history
In the making?
Time has no control,
Humanity can alter in many ways,
Change is inevitable,
It eventually possesses species
To age and exist,
Change is a chain cycle,
Like repeated life and endless death,
Every time
A new creature is born,
A human is modified
Into an improved being,
Fictional characters attract
Later relations
Becoming real friends,
Emotions rain
Upon nothing,
Carelessness listens,
Rusted persons remain,
Fascination of naive substitutions,
Dissimilar appearance is shown,
It is humor,
A parody act of an individual,
Copycats are role models
Also reversed,
Prototype is modernized,
A flash realization,
Attire is just costumes,
Halloween is every day,
It is bitter
To join a daily moment
Without forgetting happiness,
An original reemerges alone,
Continuous trial and error,
Cancelled plans,
Prevention of bail,
Focus on detachment,
Enemies enhance friends,
Vice versa,
Ignorance, selfishness, and obstinacy
Play important roles
For imminent loneliness,
Layers peel off,
Phases reattach,
Advanced coating,
Flesh is fresh,
Advantage is taken
Before it rots,
Practice makes perfect,
But nobody is flawless,
So why rehearse?
Conversion is harder
Once an escape is made,
Easier to turn back to habits,
Longed antique people
Update to mainstream
For the familiar fame
Causing personal depression,
Difficulty in translation,
One false move,
One mistake
Can shape everything,
Change is for better or worse,
It is neutral,
Trust is a dare,
It shall be a risk if so,
Life is not sacred anymore,
Beautiful opportunities,
Immortal lessons,
Unfulfilled difference,
Generation increases,
Veneration decreases,
A drifter or a breather
From a mundane reality
Lived in today,
Buried childhood,
Alive adulthood,
Until skin wrinkles,
Life becomes dull,
Change is the only regret,
Eyes analyze nouns,
Burn from mutation,
Melt out of sockets,
Now fluid, now tears,
Due to Change
In this planet,
Lips are blankets,
Teeth forever hidden,
Numb dumb face,
No-expression,
Distressful internal scream,
Thanks to Change,
Influence should disappear,
Good or bad,
Abnormal transformation
Is inner and outer,
Every living period,
The topics,
The only events,
Violence will never change
But progress,
*** will never change
But process,
Suicide will never change
But build deaths,
Down to the physique of Earth,
Its decay,
**** sapien extinction,
Change occurs,
Past blurs out,
Present is happening,
Future will shout,
What is not needed
Is pleaded,
What is not wanted
Is taunted,
Creating temptation
To shift self,
Society ripens into rumors
Always developing
Over infinite time,
Civilization is the tumors
Of the world divine,
Of course
Looks mature,
Genes mix,
Still adjusting,
From a caterpillar
To a butterfly,
When insects die,
Old selves perish,
Where there is dead
There is still transition,
Not by action or choice,
Soul disintegrates,
Spiritual decomposition,
Sprouts regenerated seeds,
Change is sane and insane,
It is humane and inhumane,
Keeping some youth
In the heavy heart,
Offspring morph into aliens
Proving Darwin wrong,
What stays human
Is what stays pure
To hinder their contagion,
No matter what at first,
As it grows and grows,
Change is unexpected,
Social morality
Evolves into
Singular morality
Unless hate enters love,
Love is reduced
And produced,
The amount varies,
True passion figures out,
Full respect notices disguise,
Isolation underneath,
Distinct memories
Soon fade obsolete,
Exception of fragile organs,
Mind is psychologically sadden,
Recollection is to function,
If consciousness is missed,
Recreate remembrance,
Reincarnation
For an everlasting current
Since time fluctuates eternally.
ottaross Jun 2014
Difficult for unpracticed hands
Valuing it, protecting it, nurturing it.
It should have been all that she needed to carry
She felt sure it was there,
In the dark place
Beneath the joy,
Between this breath
And the next laugh.

I see some echo of it there still.
It shows itself in the negative spaces
And desperately needs the light and air.
She thinks it small and cheap, and well-covered
Beneath the bite of a vinegar voice
In the folds of a silken smile
Muffled by the thick wool of persona.
  
She keeps her arms folded
Her irises blank.
Idly pulling loosened threads,
And tunes the prototype.

Sometimes there is the terror
Of cutting isolation
Of an icy apartness  
In a dense and moving crowd
Of friends and cohorts.

Once she tried to let it free.
Arms spread wide in the street.
Ready to give that gift to herself
From deep within the erected façade
Amid the mass of anonymous humanity,
Amid the ******* legs and cab-hailing arms.

Later, a mirror brings a cold draft
Chilled by the empty spaces.
And then a fear,
Not knowing where it was anymore.
Hidden too deeply?
Lost along the path?

Maybe it was never given to her at all.
Vernarth was ready at the threshold of the validity of the constellation of Orion, barely a hundred millionths as indicated by the Duoverse in his Cosmogonic amphiboly, and sensitive to physical space with the Kli vessels that he carried on his back that were in the proximity of the Loop of Bernard as the Omission nebula as the exponential hemicycle in the center of Aurion's oculus waiting for Vernarth and redistribute its molecules at 518 light-years or 440 Parsec, with the diameter that will be reflected in Patmos of more than 300 light-years condensed with the element of Hydor or water from high space over Aurion. Vernarth, united by the fragrant hand of the Mashiach, could carry it when he moved away from the Opistodomos and the remains of incandescent lagoons of supernova materials that surrounded them to accelerate the mass of the Iridescent Nimbus that Vernarth would carry, and the Mashiach as a sentinel of his Purgation. already defined whenever the simultaneous explosion of the Super Nova with Patmos becomes effective, and the Terrestrial World in impulsiveness that admonished him under the right shoulder blade in the skinny hollow of the arm that was getting rid of the oscillometer right at the original entrance of Betelgeuse, and when Vernarth remained alone in the frontal altitude chamber to take off towards the cosmogonies of Eridanus to tune into the Ptolemaic astral. The Sybilla who acted as stellar consort would be Herophile with overtones of expansion and her brilliant metric mass that would take her through Betelgeuse Orionis allied to a multifunctional instrument such as the entrance Aulos, expelling hydrogen-like an Ace in 240 harmonic scales, and sounds of light that they boomed towards the Pleiades and the Milky Way where it would be the supposed first state of paradox where Vernarth would utter: "Give me a little Gála and I will be more than Zeus". This is where he will experience the diarthrosis of his synovial joints in the process of Hyaline cartilage, allying himself with the two bones and synovium to hunt down the Trapper Aurion in advance to wake up from the feared defenseless world that he feared since everything he abandoned despite having his Purg discharged, he kept sensing that if nothing would work for a lost world. Here Vernarth would hold Alexander the Great's first childhood vision as an infant at Péla using his scapula with the force of rubbing discs at the Olympiad making the sky his Odyssey-encrusted Constellation of whips, and sullen Hellenistic being by May in the amber trunk trapezoid and in each hand a Xiphos and Dorus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His parents will be the co-princes gathered on the Supichi road bound for the Horcondising, where Vernarth all Austral Winter Solstices will come to ask his parents for an audience in the Kanthillana Heights where they will summarize the exact day, that everything happened from a Thursday to a Sunday in the first hour of the most certain Saturday in which the twelve unnatural candles will be incorporated into the Duoverse from the branch of the Raedus Codex, specifically from the Antiphon that accompanies them to the compromised one, and sinuous height that was misted by the mist of snow, and vehemence that was perceived in the greatest regulars of Spílaiaus, having a ring of lights as if such were a gesture of Jerome and everything that was named in the concordance that could be confusion that slipped from the metaphysics of new space by beginning. From such a root emerges the Eta or value number and Vernarth symbolized as  N times from "8" to the entire value of the figure of 800 "w" or Omega, which will be the values of figures and numbers to predispose the alternation of the visits that will take place. to have with his precursors each Solstice, after alternating with the Elves of Archimedes, and to cross with them the manifestations that made him lighter than air, as could be expected before the imposition of everything that he imagined to sleep to the badly gestated world that had been altered, even with a remote Faith that symbolized the decisions of Saint John the Apostle by disposing of the salvages of the vestiges that had been destroyed in the physiognomy of a cause that proved more eloquent than a mere revelation that was never believed which would awaken from its very Semitic superlative. In this case, the allegory surpassed the prototype of all curly visual language that emanated from Vernarth's decision for the humanity that needed him, on the one hand, Saint Jerome already resolved, and Saint John the Apostle in the division of two events of the same story that It was melting into the complexity that would be unspeakable for two Saints in the middle of Vernarth, demonstrating that he had taken them with all the power of the force that is capable of pulling and manipulating until arriving at the darkness of the senses where all understanding and reasoning fall asleep. only allowing the silence to take them in the ellipsis recently emanated by the Nothofagus that were walking on the flaccid snow, the three went with graces of faith and satisfaction, Saint Jerome escorted them with everything healthy that made the incomparable awakening of two latitudes explode who managed to revive in invisibility, after resisting the latent verbigrace of the Apokálypsis that showed that the incomparable topic denoted the ma Greater resistance to everything destructive and Omega with the only subjection that only the verb "Love" does. They reached the icy and stinking gases similar to what Santa Rita de Casia emanated, which at the same time would be dividing breakers like those declared by the Corinthians about the Israelites when they were blinded by the radiance of Moses. The same would happen in the veil of little snow that was left behind his last steps when everything was white as a growing incident that would be attached at once to Patmos and Sudpichi, as well as Kanthillana and Olympo. He says goodbye to his parents and they carry their impulsive agreements to meet on the next Solstice together with Saint Jerome and Spilaiaus on the plateau.
Genesí of  Apokalypsis
Seher Seven Jul 2015
I have sons spread around the world
birthed by different girls
foundation built in my arms.
recognition of the need of men
of the Love of a woman,
for a woman to guide his heart,
to open his eyes to his start.

she whispered,

the power of the son.
he is of she, penetrates the sea
and births anew.
she the prototype, the official
original, the womb.

woman, her scent alarms the masses.
and we scream now.
we scream and we cry
we live in angst in our homes,
our men are concerned.
yet our pheromones sense things,
weather and other perturbations.

mothers voice in the heart of her children,
daughters tend to stay closer to home.
women, we hear the call!
as we quiet our longing drawl,
the pull we feel to somewhere, we know not of
a place beyond the beauty of our eyes,
we know,
we remember,
our requirements as a creator.

ours, the power of the reflection
of the full moon,
the trees dance in the monthly celebration,
though in the desert, I've seen a few
who,
when the moon is too full,
too reflective of its presence,
they fold to hide from the light.
knowing whats best for themselves, I trust.

I just can't help but to choose to stand
with Her.
stand in Her light, my mouth
opens for the gift.
the thirst quenched.
head tilted back, think of
the men of the world.
if I could just hug them.

as Ms Badu claims
I bet you LOVE can make it better …
I bet too.
I bet I can heal you.
open your heart, peal the bitter,
drain the water, raise the alter.
praise the lover, embrace as a Mother.
pour into the builder, the sender.
release his true endeavors.
release the tension in his body,
helping him to know
mind over matter.
plugging him into the true
creative power
of his ***, his gift of Love,
of his body penetrating another.
what his self is communicating,
what his seed is sprouting.

he needs our healing.
his heart is calling, and he's stomping around
like a little boy! I have sons, they stomp around…
they need mommys love,
mommys extra love.
she, calls us to her sons.
new normals, open our hearts
health always to follow.
M Harris Apr 2017
Psychic Trance & ****** Dance,
Emitting Chemical Solace Dipped In Her Capital Romance,

Feral Atmosphere Written In Her Carnal Elegies,
Rapturous Serenades Forming Phantasmal Effigies,

Magnetized Synchronicity & Metamorphized Reciprocity,
Animating Foreplays Dazzling Her Astral Virtuosity,

Phantasmal Lips Illuminating Cherub Faces In Draped Compositions,
Painting Supernatural Visions Forged In Her Vocal Inhibitions,

Prototype Voids & Spiraling Realms,
Religious Frenzies In Her Temporal Screams,

Autumn Sun Reincarnating The Light Of The Spring,
Glass House Perspectives Blooming In Her Prismatic Bling,

Rhapsody Confessions Of Her Divine Obsessions,
Rainbow Skies Dressed In Her Spiritual Progression,

Coral Spells & Synthetic Desires,
Floral Pastels Engineering Her Romantic Fires,

Nightlife Flatlining Through Her Lonely Avenues In LSD High,
A Congenital Sinner She Respires ****** Hues With A Luminescent Sigh!

– 05:13 AM –
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
I was a whole

Till,
Programmed masks
Imported Seeds
New breed of Genes
Power Vampires
Stepped inside
With,
Invisible thirst.

I was a whole

Till,
They dissected me
Into 7 segments
With
Lines of Hate.

Since then,
I am bleeding.

Alas !!
No one to repair.
Theme: Patriotic

— The End —