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RAJ NANDY Apr 2015
Dear Poet Friends, being fond of Art, I wanted to compose on
this topic for a long time in a simplified form! Egyptian Art and
Architecture influenced the Early Greeks, who in turn influenced the Romans and other civilizations! Initially Art and architecture, religion and culture, were all closely inter-related! Real distinction emerged with the Italian Renaissance. Here I have used only a portion of my personal notes. Hope you find this interesting to read! Sorry for the length! Kindly give Comments after you have managed to read the entire portion in your spare time. Thanks, -Raj

INTRODUCTION TO THE STORY
OF WESTERN ART IN VERSE:
          PART ONE
    * BY RAJ NANDY

INTRODUCTION
Art over the centuries has been variously defined,
But an all embracing definition is rather hard to find!
Ayn Rand defined Art as a recreation of reality according to
artist’s values, his view of existence, and choice;
Who recreates by a selective rearrangement of the elements
of reality, and not simply out of a void!
Study of Art History is a study of man’s creative evolution;
A progress of his wakened consciousness, and a restless
striving towards perfection!
The progress of his mind, taste and skill, which has gradually
evolved through past traditions;
Finding ultimate expression in his multi-faceted creations!
I commence this story from its earliest days, and mention those
Ancient Civilizations which influenced Art in many ways.
Art has been greatly influenced by religion, culture and history;
Therefore, knowing these aspects becomes necessary to
fully appreciate this Art Story!

PREHISTORIC STONE AGE ART:
Let us take a ride on the magic carpet of History, down
past millenniums to begin our Art Story;
Right into the ancient Paleolithic, Mesolithic and Neolithic
Eras of the Stone Age,
When early humans left their creative imprints on rock
surfaces and on walls of caves!
Long before the evolution of any proper coherent speech
or communication,
In some 350 caves of France and Spain are seen paintings
of large wild animals like horses, antelopes and bison;
Bearing witness to the story of gradual human evolution!
The cave paintings of Chauvet, Cosquer, and Lascaux, date
between 8000 and 1700 BC,
Drawn by nameless and faceless people who emerged from
an inhospitable Ice Age;
Those nomadic tribes who were hunter-gatherers living in
pre-historic caves!
The Story of Art therefore begins before recorded History,
Pieced together by scholars with the help of science and
archeology!
During the Neolithic Period beginning around 8,000BC,
Ancient man became gradually sedentary, engaging in
agriculture and animal husbandry!
With these nomads settling down in small communities,
Art became mystical and monumental in range;
As seen in the megalithic (large stone) structures of the
famous Stonehenge!
This type of post and lintel structure is also found in ancient
Egyptian architecture, and later in Greece as its special
feature!
Art History spans the entire history of mankind,
Right from the pre-historic days, up to our modern times!
Man’s everlasting quest for immortality lies etched on
rocks and raised stone edifices, defying marauding Time!

MESOPOTAMIAN ART (3500-300BC) :
Let us now travel fast forward on our magic carpet to reach
the Fertile Crescent,
Where the Tigress and the Euphrates Rivers flow, to the
Ancient Civilization of the Sumerians! (3500-2300BC)
The birth of civilization has been traced to Southern
Mesopotamia, where the Sumerians built their first cities,
As the earliest River Valley Civilization around 3500 BC!
It was a period when writing got invented in its earliest
Cuneiform form;  (around 3400 BC)
When Patriarch Abraham established the worship of a Single
God, in a revolutionary religious reform! (Judaism)
Mesopotamian Civilization as the source of our earliest
surviving Art dates back to 3500BC;
When major civilizations like the Sumerian, Akkadian,
Babylonian, Hitties, Assyrian, and the Persians, in this
chronological sequence, contributed to Art History!
Mesopotamian Art in general glorified their powerful rulers
and their connection with divinity;
Reflected on their city gates, palace complexes and ziggurats,

are scenes of both victorious wars and their prosperity!
Art was then highly functional and repetitive; depicting
love of beauty, a sense of order, and power of hierarchy,
- in their sculptures and motifs.
However, no signatures were ever found bearing the name
of the Artist!
It is interesting to note that both the potter’s wheel and the
cart wheel, made their first appearance around 3500 BC
and 3200 BC respectively;
With the Sumerians contributing to art and culture, and the
progress of Human Civilization immensely!
(Ziggurats are semi-pyramid like structures with steps, a temple complex located in the center of all ancient Sumerian cities-states! Saragon the Great of Akkad from the North, defeated the Sumerians in the South, & united entire Mesopotamia around 2300 BC, for the first time in Mesopotamian History, & they ruled for 200 years.)

ANCIENT EGYPTIAN ART :(3000 BC -500BC)
Next we travel to an isolated area of north-east Africa,
Where the White Nile flows down from Lake Victoria.
The Nile enters Upper Egypt traveling through Sudan,
Is joined by the Blue Nile at Khartoum to become one!
Continues its flow north through Egypt Lower, flowing
into the Mediterranean as the World’s longest river!
Historian Herodotus had called Egypt ‘the gift of the Nile’;
Ancient Egypt became a rich treasure trove of art and
architecture for all times!
The Nile valley area was protected by the desert on its
east and the west;
In the north by the Mediterranean, and towards the
south by a rugged mountainous terrain!
Annual flooding of the Nile along with an effective
irrigational network,
Ensured Egypt’s prosperous stability, congenial for her
many innovative architectures and art works!
Egyptian Art got shaped by her geography, mythology
and her polytheistic religion;
Also by their preoccupation with after-life and belief in  
the immortal soul’s continuation;
Thus elaborate funeral rites were performed by priests for  
the body’s preservation by mummification! *
(
’KA’= was a real astral twin or stellar double of an Individual, which continued to exist even after death, requiring the same sustenance as the humans, so food offerings were made in the coffins! ‘BA’= shaped like a human-headed bird, composed of non-physical attributes of an Individual. ‘BA’ collected the deceased’s personality after death from the mummified remains & united it with the ‘KA’, making a person complete; thereby making it possible for the person to be reborn as ‘AKH’ (Star), - in its ultimate unchanging form, to join Osiris in the ‘Happy Fields’! Since this journey to the next world was fraught with danger, magical funerary spells & rites were performed by the priests, with incantations from the ‘Book of the Dead’, inside the funeral chamber of the Pyramid!)

Art During Old, Middle, and New Kingdom Period:
Egyptian Art was concerned with ensuring continuity of the
universe, their Gods, the King and the people;
A projection into eternity a version of reality pure and free
from all earthly evil!
Therefore in ancient Egyptian society, conformity over
individuality was always encouraged;
Artists worked in groups with conservative adherence to
rules, order and form,
And all individual artistic initiatives strictly discouraged !
Their earliest pyramids the Mastaba, the Step, and the Bent
Pyramids were all prototypes;
While the Great Pyramid of Giza built for Pharaoh Kufu,
- was the first true pyramid which still survives!
Art comes down to us as ‘funerary art’ designed for the tombs,
Which was to accompany the royalty in their journey to an
afterlife, with its symbolic forms!
This symbolism is seen in their paintings, statues and architecture;
In vibrant color codes of their paintings as a special feature!
Where White was the symbol of purity, Black for death and night;
Green for vegetation or new life, Blue for water and the sky;
Red for life and victory, and Yellow like Gold as the flesh of the
Gods and also the Sun God ruling the sky!
Thanks to Jean-Francois Champollion’s translation of the Rosetta
Stone, (1822)
We are able to decipher many mysteries of the Ancient Egyptian
with the cracking of the Hieroglyphic Code!
Larger than life statues with poise and austere harmony at the
Luxor Temple complex survive;
Symbolic of the individual’s status, while creating zones of
strangeness for imagination to thrive!
(
’Matsaba’= Egyptian for ‘bench’, referred to bench shaped pyramids;
“Step Pyramids” = were like benches placed one on top of the other in
a tapering form going up vertically!)

The Old Kingdom Period covers a five hundred years span
of Ancient Egyptian History, (2686-2181BC)
Known as the ‘Age of Pyramids’, with Pharaohs from the
Third to the Sixth Dynasty!
“The World fear Time, but Time fears only the Pyramids”,
- is an Ancient Egyptian Proverb;
Whose ‘heterogeneous structure’ made it earthquake
proof, making Time to reluctantly serve! #
Here we find formalized figures with long slender bodies,
idealized proportions and large staring eyes;
Where Kufu’s Great Pyramid of Giza raises its mighty head
as the highest, on the west bank of the Nile;
And the mighty Sphinx guard the entrance to those ancient
royal tombs, though defaced, still survive!
These pyramids were like Pharaoh’s getaways to eternity,
An insurance to an afterlife of peace and prosperity!
(# Pyramids with stone blocks of different sizes & shapes made them
Earthquake resistant; & use of pink granite in the inner chambers
made them erosion resistant against Time!)

The Middle Kingdom Period (2040-1650 BC) :
Following 150 years of civil disorder Theban ruler Mentuhotep
the Second, reunified Egypt and ruled up to Nubia, (Sudan)
And began the Classical Era when Block Statues appear,
indicating political stability;
When artisans worked with bronze and copper alloys, designing
exquisite jewelry!
Kings now preferred to be buried in secret tombs, Pyramids
having lost their appeal,
And work began on the west bank of the Nile, in the Valley of
Kings!
(
Inside those rock cut ‘funerary temples’ on the East bank of the
Nile, opposite Ancient Kingdom of Thebes ; Pharaohs from the
Early and Late New Kingdom Periods were buried, including
Tutemkhamen.)

Early New Kingdom Period (1550 -1295 BC):
Between the Middle Kingdom and this Era, Art remained
static for almost a hundred years,
When the Hyksos from the Near East fought the weak Theban
Rulers!
In 1550 BC Theban Prince Ahmose reunited Egypt, and was
succeeded by able rulers, who ushered in the Golden Age!
Art works continued to maintain its basic traditional style,
With successive Kings from the 18th Dynasty consolidating
their kingdom’s wealth and power all the while!
But Egypt witnessed a change with an innovative style in Art,
When Amenhotep IV in 1353 BC became King, initiating a
fresh start!
This king changed his name to ‘Akhenaten’, the spirit of Aten,
-- ‘The disk of the Sun’;
Abandoned the pantheons of Gods with Aten as the ‘sole God’,
and a religious revolution had begun!
His new capital city of Amarna, 200 miles north of Thebes,
Got decorated with a new kind of art work to make it complete!
The statues now appear more realistic displaying emotions,
With fluidity of movement, unlike those rigid earlier creations!
The artistic talent of this Amarna Period gets best exemplified,
In the exquisite bust of Nefertiti, Akhenaten’s Great Royal Wife!
Regarded as ‘icon of international beauty’, a great archeological
find ! **
(
Discovered by a German team of Archeologists in 1912 at Amarna! This 19 inch long limestone Nefertiti statue weighs around 20 kg, now housed in Berlin Museum; comparable only to the artistic Golden Mask of Tutankhamen!)

King Tutankhamen (1336-1327 BC):
Akhenaten’s unpopular rule was short-lived, with those humiliated
Theban priests calling him the ‘Heretic King’!
A nine year old boy Tutankhamen (‘The living image of Amun’),
was next to succeed him!
King Tut restored the worship of Amun, in a back-lash against
Akhenaten;
Shifted the royal palace back to Thebes, with the religious center
at Karnak once again!
King Tut’s short ten year’s rule remained buried in 3000 year’s
of Egyptian History,
Till Howard Carter found his richly laden intact tomb, in the
Valley of the Kings! (1922)
King Tut’s priceless and exquisitely carved golden face mask,
reflected the exalted standard of art work;
Weighing ten kilos, inlaid with semi-precious stones, and eyes
made of obsidian and quarts!
With the King’s early death, the 18th Dynasty of Pharaohs came
to an abrupt end,
And the 19th and 20th Dynasties of the Late Kingdom Period
commenced!
The famous rock temple of Abu Simbel now got built, under the
warrior and builder Ramses II, one of Egypt’s greatest Kings!


Pharaoh Ramses-II of the Late Kingdom Period :
Here I sweep across centuries of Egyptian History, to mention
King Ramses-II’s contribution to our Art Story!
In Shelly’s famous poem titled “Ozymandias of Egypt” he is
immortalized; (Greeks called Ramses-II “Ozymandias”!)
And as the Pharaoh associated with Moses in the movie “The
Ten Commandments”, he is popularized!
Egyptian Art is intrinsically bound with its religion, pyramids,
hieroglyphs, and architecture;
With a concentrated focus on ‘afterlife’ as its special feature!
In 1270 BC young Ramses took over from Seti the First,
And his rule for a period of 66 long years did last!
As the third Pharaoh of the 19th Dynasty, he had ruled with a
firm hand;
Recovered lost territories from the Hittites and the Nubians,
- earlier captured Egyptian lands!
He enlarged the territories of Egypt ensuring prosperity and
stability;
Became renowned as the famous Warrior and Builder King
of Ancient Egyptian History!
Ramses-II had expanded most of the temples, as recorded in
the artistic motifs and hieroglyphic symbols;
Here a special mention must be made of the Temples of Luxor,
Karnak, and Abu Simbel !

Temples of Luxor and Karnak in Ancient Thebes:
Ancient Thebes was located on the eastern bank of the Nile,
where the modern City of Luxor stands;
Thebes was once the capital of the 11th and 18th Dynasties,
And the power and religious center of all Egyptian land!
Gets mentioned in the 9th Book of Homer’s ‘Iliad’ where “heaps
of precious ingots gleam, the hundred-gated Thebes”!
Excavation work began in Thebes during the late 19th century;
And the gradual unearthing of the Temples of Luxor and
Karnak, added a new dimension to Egypt’s Art Story!
It must be remembered always, that the Ancient Egyptians in
those early days,
Structured their temple architecture to the point of ‘Sacred Art’!
With their knowledge of astronomy and geometry, they
aligned their temples so perfectly,
That the light of the rising sun fell on the temple’s innermost
sanctuary! (Temple of Abu Simbel is a great example,)
Where the Egyptian priests, who were also the artists, healers,
mathematicians, astronomers and scribes;
In dimly lit incense-filled sanctuaries performed the sacred rites!
The temples symbolized the cross roads of the cosmos, where
the divine and the mortal met in perpetual harmony!
These divine scenes were integrated into the very fabric of the
Egyptian society through chants and rituals;
With cosmological symbols of magical hieroglyphs, which
priests alone could transcribe in those days!
(
Thebes began to decline rapidly after Alexander the Great
established the port-city of Alexandria as Egypt’s new Capital
around 332 BC !)

Luxor Temple built by Amenhotep-III, was dedicated to God
Amun, his wife Mut and son Khonsu, - the Theban Triad;
Tutankhamen and Ramses-II expanding the temple during the
New Kingdom Period!
Creator God Amun became assimilated with the Sun God Re;
Was worshipped in Thebes, and in the cult centers of Luxor and
Karnak, - as Amun-Re!
The walls and columns of these cult temples were decorated
with carved and painted relief,
Depicting the interaction with Gods, and military exploits of
Egyptian Pharaohs and Kings!
The sun temple of Amenhotep-III at Luxor has many columns
resembling papyrus bundles,
Symbolic of the primeval marsh from where Creation was
believed to have unfolded !
A Sphinx Alley excavated between Luxor an
Criss Jami May 2014
Lately
What I do is a vacancy with
A disposition made just for me and it's
In a position that they can't see, you see
In deep blue seas
There's the place where a vacation is free for me

And then you dream in peace

So call me maybe the ghost protocol where most of those photos of all the things I do
Are used as prototypes, baby so-called clues of my new call to move where-
In everywhere and wherever and with whomever and whenever which
Is whosoever or whoever's whichever of whatever, for all of you
Whether the weather's a typhoon in-
Cluding the SoCal blues but
This isn't all I do
It's just that it's my call of duty
On a mission for all of what's true
But without bailing, balling or brawling in her suit
And then failing, falling, bawling and calling and then crawling in pursuit

Like some other subliminal, minimal flukes
'Cause it's done much better than those "lyrical, miracle, spiritual, individual and criminal" dudes
Or bitter, fritter critiques with the use of twitters
In order to refute the fullest of all hippo-critical fools and critters sitting and fitting
Itching to switch to snitching about this glitch
Which is hitched to renewing, stitching and gluing our fitches to truth and
And yes without twitching to their witch's magical, musical flute

Then in lieu of the altitude of the attitude rude of my pirate-like crew's mood
Whether longitude or latitude and more than impractical platitudes
I'm not as irate as I seem al-
Though it ensues that right on cue in due
Time with an aptitude of gratitude and exactitude in
Solitude throughout fortitude or servitude, to allude what you elude and dude
To intrude what you conclude with certitude in an interview interlude and now
Then out of you, under coveralls to view the overall outerlude
I rate the magnitudes of the habitudes it seems you take for granted in dreams and all types of things

And though my soul is a hologram
Hollow weight and zero grams
Hero traits with a villain glam I'm
The man of love and that of
One of the toughest clams above
Or below, I should say
Like Poseidon
Oh baby we ride on
Or sail on, should I say
The ghost of Poseidon

Then in lieu of the attitude of my pirate-like crew
I'm not as irate as I seem or
Even irritated as they deem nor
Norse, Thor or a heart of granite
I rate the things we take for granted, granted far asleep
Stereo-hyped in dreams with all heights of wings and

Although my soul is a hologram
Hollow weight and zero grams
Hero traits with the chill of a villain vibe or glam I'm
The anti-hero, champion of love and that of
One of the toughest clams clamping it above
Or below, I should say
Like Poseidon
Oh baby we're riding
Or sailing, I should say and it's

It's the ghost of Poseidon that's
That's trailed night and day
The ghost of Poseidon that's
That's trailed night and day 'cause
They say, I did it my way then they're
On my tail right away
On my tail right away
Roberta Day Aug 2011
You are all hollow bodies with vacant minds

I sadly continue to waste my time

Ignoring my instincts, complying with you

Such a fool I am to disregard the obvious truth

You’re all designed for social situations, never obligations

Engineered for leisure, whatever is easier

Too blinded by toxins, too apathetic towards authority

You are the majority of this dispersing minority
This was something I wrote late at night on tumblr. I'm sure I was inebriated, also.
[Greek: Mellonta  sauta’]

These things are in the future.

Sophocles—’Antig.’

‘Una.’

“Born again?”

‘Monos.’

Yes, fairest and best beloved Una, “born again.” These were
the words upon whose mystical meaning I had so long
pondered, rejecting the explanations of the priesthood,
until Death itself resolved for me the secret.

‘Una.’

Death!

‘Monos.’

How strangely, sweet Una, you echo my words! I
observe, too, a vacillation in your step, a joyous
inquietude in your eyes. You are confused and oppressed by
the majestic novelty of the Life Eternal. Yes, it was of
Death I spoke. And here how singularly sounds that word
which of old was wont to bring terror to all hearts,
throwing a mildew upon all pleasures!

‘Una.’

Ah, Death, the spectre which sate at all feasts! How often,
Monos, did we lose ourselves in speculations upon its
nature! How mysteriously did it act as a check to human
bliss, saying unto it, “thus far, and no farther!” That
earnest mutual love, my own Monos, which burned within our
bosoms, how vainly did we flatter ourselves, feeling happy
in its first upspringing that our happiness would strengthen
with its strength! Alas, as it grew, so grew in our hearts
the dread of that evil hour which was hurrying to separate
us forever! Thus in time it became painful to love. Hate
would have been mercy then.

‘Monos’.

Speak not here of these griefs, dear Una—mine, mine
forever now!

‘Una’.

But the memory of past sorrow, is it not present joy? I have
much to say yet of the things which have been. Above all, I
burn to know the incidents of your own passage through the
dark Valley and Shadow.

‘Monos’.

And when did the radiant Una ask anything of her Monos in
vain? I will be minute in relating all, but at what point
shall the weird narrative begin?

‘Una’.

At what point?

‘Monos’.

You have said.

‘Una’.

Monos, I comprehend you. In Death we have both learned the
propensity of man to define the indefinable. I will not say,
then, commence with the moment of life’s cessation—but
commence with that sad, sad instant when, the fever having
abandoned you, you sank into a breathless and motionless
torpor, and I pressed down your pallid eyelids with the
passionate fingers of love.

‘Monos’.

One word first, my Una, in regard to man’s general condition
at this epoch. You will remember that one or two of the wise
among our forefathers—wise in fact, although not in
the world’s esteem—had ventured to doubt the propriety
of the term “improvement,” as applied to the progress of our
civilization. There were periods in each of the five or six
centuries immediately preceding our dissolution when arose
some vigorous intellect, boldly contending for those
principles whose truth appears now, to our disenfranchised
reason, so utterly obvious —principles which should
have taught our race to submit to the guidance of the
natural laws rather than attempt their control. At long
intervals some master-minds appeared, looking upon each
advance in practical science as a retrogradation in the true
utility. Occasionally the poetic intellect—that
intellect which we now feel to have been the most exalted of
all—since those truths which to us were of the most
enduring importance could only be reached by that analogy
which speaks in proof-tones to the imagination alone,
and to the unaided reason bears no weight—occasionally
did this poetic intellect proceed a step farther in the
evolving of the vague idea of the philosophic, and find in
the mystic parable that tells of the tree of knowledge, and
of its forbidden fruit, death-producing, a distinct
intimation that knowledge was not meet for man in the infant
condition of his soul. And these men—the poets—
living and perishing amid the scorn of the
“utilitarians”—of rough pedants, who arrogated to
themselves a title which could have been properly applied
only to the scorned—these men, the poets, pondered
piningly, yet not unwisely, upon the ancient days when our
wants were not more simple than our enjoyments were
keen—days when mirth was a word unknown, so
solemnly deep-toned was happiness—holy, august, and
blissful days, blue rivers ran undammed, between hills
unhewn, into far forest solitudes, primeval, odorous, and
unexplored. Yet these noble exceptions from the general
misrule served but to strengthen it by opposition. Alas! we
had fallen upon the most evil of all our evil days. The
great “movement”—that was the cant term—went on:
a diseased commotion, moral and physical. Art—the
Arts—arose supreme, and once enthroned, cast chains
upon the intellect which had elevated them to power. Man,
because he could not but acknowledge the majesty of Nature,
fell into childish exultation at his acquired and still-
increasing dominion over her elements. Even while he stalked
a God in his own fancy, an infantine imbecility came over
him. As might be supposed from the origin of his disorder,
he grew infected with system, and with abstraction. He
enwrapped himself in generalities. Among other odd ideas,
that of universal equality gained ground; and in the face of
analogy and of God—in despite of the loud warning
voice of the laws of gradation so visibly pervading
all things in Earth and Heaven—wild attempts at an
omniprevalent Democracy were made. Yet this evil sprang
necessarily from the leading evil, Knowledge. Man could not
both know and succumb. Meantime huge smoking cities arose,
innumerable. Green leaves shrank before the hot breath of
furnaces. The fair face of Nature was deformed as with the
ravages of some loathsome disease. And methinks, sweet Una,
even our slumbering sense of the forced and of the far-
fetched might have arrested us here. But now it appears that
we had worked out our own destruction in the ******* of
our taste, or rather in the blind neglect of its
culture in the schools. For, in truth, it was at this crisis
that taste alone—that faculty which, holding a middle
position between the pure intellect and the moral sense,
could never safely have been disregarded—it was now
that taste alone could have led us gently back to Beauty, to
Nature, and to Life. But alas for the pure contemplative
spirit and majestic intuition of Plato! Alas for the [Greek:
mousichae]  which he justly regarded as an all-sufficient
education for the soul! Alas for him and for it!—since
both were most desperately needed, when both were most
entirely forgotten or despised. Pascal, a philosopher whom
we both love, has said, how truly!—”Que tout notre
raisonnement se reduit a ceder au sentiment;” and it is
not impossible that the sentiment of the natural, had time
permitted it, would have regained its old ascendency over
the harsh mathematical reason of the schools. But this thing
was not to be. Prematurely induced by intemperance of
knowledge, the old age of the world drew near. This the mass
of mankind saw not, or, living lustily although unhappily,
affected not to see. But, for myself, the Earth’s records
had taught me to look for widest ruin as the price of
highest civilization. I had imbibed a prescience of our Fate
from comparison of China the simple and enduring, with
Assyria the architect, with Egypt the astrologer, with
Nubia, more crafty than either, the turbulent mother of all
Arts. In the history of these regions I met with a ray from
the Future. The individual artificialities of the three
latter were local diseases of the Earth, and in their
individual overthrows we had seen local remedies applied;
but for the infected world at large I could anticipate no
regeneration save in death. That man, as a race, should not
become extinct, I saw that he must be “born again.”

And now it was, fairest and dearest, that we wrapped our
spirits, daily, in dreams. Now it was that, in twilight, we
discoursed of the days to come, when the Art-scarred surface
of the Earth, having undergone that purification which alone
could efface its rectangular obscenities, should clothe
itself anew in the verdure and the mountain-slopes and the
smiling waters of Paradise, and be rendered at length a fit
dwelling-place for man:—for man the
Death-purged—for man to whose now exalted intellect
there should be poison in knowledge no more—for the
redeemed, regenerated, blissful, and now immortal, but still
for the material, man.

‘Una’.

Well do I remember these conversations, dear Monos; but the
epoch of the fiery overthrow was not so near at hand as we
believed, and as the corruption you indicate did surely
warrant us in believing. Men lived; and died individually.
You yourself sickened, and passed into the grave; and
thither your constant Una speedily followed you. And though
the century which has since elapsed, and whose conclusion
brings up together once more, tortured our slumbering senses
with no impatience of duration, yet my Monos, it was a
century still.

‘Monos’.

Say, rather, a point in the vague infinity. Unquestionably,
it was in the Earth’s dotage that I died. Wearied at heart
with anxieties which had their origin in the general turmoil
and decay, I succumbed to the fierce fever. After some few
days of pain, and many of dreamy delirium replete with
ecstasy, the manifestations of which you mistook for pain,
while I longed but was impotent to undeceive you—after
some days there came upon me, as you have said, a breathless
and motionless torpor; and this was termed Death by
those who stood around me.

Words are vague things. My condition did not deprive me of
sentience. It appeared to me not greatly dissimilar to the
extreme quiescence of him, who, having slumbered long and
profoundly, lying motionless and fully prostrate in a mid-
summer noon, begins to steal slowly back into consciousness,
through the mere sufficiency of his sleep, and without being
awakened by external disturbances.

I breathed no longer. The pulses were still. The heart had
ceased to beat. Volition had not departed, but was
powerless. The senses were unusually active, although
eccentrically so—assuming often each other’s functions
at random. The taste and the smell were inextricably
confounded, and became one sentiment, abnormal and intense.
The rose-water with which your tenderness had moistened my
lips to the last, affected me with sweet fancies of
flowers—fantastic flowers, far more lovely than any of
the old Earth, but whose prototypes we have here blooming
around us. The eye-lids, transparent and bloodless, offered
no complete impediment to vision. As volition was in
abeyance, the ***** could not roll in their sockets—
but all objects within the range of the visual hemisphere
were seen with more or less distinctness; the rays which
fell upon the external retina, or into the corner of the
eye, producing a more vivid effect than those which struck
the front or interior surface. Yet, in the former instance,
this effect was so far anomalous that I appreciated it only
as sound—sound sweet or discordant as the
matters presenting themselves at my side were light or dark
in shade—curved or angular in outline. The hearing, at
the same time, although excited in degree, was not irregular
in action—estimating real sounds with an extravagance
of precision, not less than of sensibility. Touch had
undergone a modification more peculiar. Its impressions were
tardily received, but pertinaciously retained, and resulted
always in the highest physical pleasure. Thus the pressure
of your sweet fingers upon my eyelids, at first only
recognized through vision, at length, long after their
removal, filled my whole being with a sensual delight
immeasurable. I say with a sensual delight. All my
perceptions were purely sensual. The materials furnished the
passive brain by the senses were not in the least degree
wrought into shape by the deceased understanding. Of pain
there was some little; of pleasure there was much; but of
moral pain or pleasure none at all. Thus your wild sobs
floated into my ear with all their mournful cadences, and
were appreciated in their every variation of sad tone; but
they were soft musical sounds and no more; they conveyed to
the extinct reason no intimation of the sorrows which gave
them birth; while large and constant tears which fell upon
my face, telling the bystanders of a heart which broke,
thrilled every fibre of my frame with ecstasy alone. And
this was in truth the Death of which these bystanders
spoke reverently, in low whispers—you, sweet Una,
gaspingly, with loud cries.

They attired me for the coffin—three or four dark
figures which flitted busily to and fro. As these crossed
the direct line of my vision they affected me as forms;
but upon passing to my side their images impressed me
with the idea of shrieks, groans, and, other dismal
expressions of terror, of horror, or of woe. You alone,
habited in a white robe, passed in all directions musically
about.

The day waned; and, as its light faded away, I became
possessed by a vague uneasiness—an anxiety such as the
sleeper feels when sad real sounds fall continuously within
his ear—low distant bell-tones, solemn, at long but
equal intervals, and commingling with melancholy dreams.
Night arrived; and with its shadows a heavy discomfort. It
oppressed my limbs with the oppression of some dull weight,
and was palpable. There was also a moaning sound, not unlike
the distant reverberation of surf, but more continuous,
which, beginning with the first twilight, had grown in
strength with the darkness. Suddenly lights were brought
into the rooms, and this reverberation became forthwith
interrupted into frequent unequal bursts of the same sound,
but less dreary and less distinct. The ponderous oppression
was in a great measure relieved; and, issuing from the flame
of each lamp (for there were many), there flowed unbrokenly
into my ears a strain of melodious monotone. And when now,
dear Una, approaching the bed upon which I lay outstretched,
you sat gently by my side, breathing odor from your sweet
lips, and pressing them upon my brow, there arose
tremulously within my *****, and mingling with the merely
physical sensations which circumstances had called forth, a
something akin to sentiment itself—a feeling that,
half appreciating, half responded to your earnest love and
sorrow; but this feeling took no root in the pulseless
heart, and seemed indeed rather a shadow than a reality, and
faded quickly away, first into extreme quiescence, and then
into a purely sensual pleasure as before.

And now, from the wreck and the chaos of the usual senses,
there appeared to have arisen within me a sixth, all
perfect. In its exercise I found a wild delight—yet a
delight still physical, inasmuch as the understanding had in
it no part. Motion in the animal frame had fully ceased. No
muscle quivered; no nerve thrilled; no artery throbbed. But
there seemed to have sprung up in the brain that of
which no words could convey to the merely human intelligence
even an indistinct conception. Let me term it a mental
pendulous pulsation. It was the moral embodiment of man’s
abstract idea of Time. By the absolute equalization
of this movement—or of such as this—had the
cycles of the firmamental orbs themselves been adjusted. By
its aid I measured the irregularities of the clock upon the
mantel, and of the watches of the attendants. Their tickings
came sonorously to my ears. The slightest deviations from
the true proportion—and these deviations were
omniprevalent—affected me just as violations of
abstract truth were wont on earth to affect the moral sense.
Although no two of the timepieces in the chamber struck the
individual seconds accurately together, yet I had no
difficulty in holding steadily in mind the tones, and the
respective momentary errors of each. And this—this
keen, perfect self-existing sentiment of
duration—this sentiment existing (as man could
not possibly have conceived it to exist) independently of
any succession of events—this idea—this sixth
sense, upspringing from the ashes of the rest, was the first
obvious and certain step of the intemporal soul upon the
threshold of the temporal eternity.

It was midnight; and you still sat by my side. All others
had departed from the chamber of Death. They had deposited
me in the coffin. The lamps burned flickeringly; for this I
knew by the tremulousness of the monotonous strains. But
suddenly these strains diminished in distinctness and in
volume. Finally they ceased. The perfume in my nostrils died
aw
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
l'amours dont sui espris...

  me and the moon cower,
me and the moon peer into the night,
from behind the cloud
from behind a puzzling thought...
me and the moon cower:
before the altar of the night...

well... i would never **** a fly...
at least i'd try...
the kingdom of insects states:
by some "consensus"
that the females are bigger
than the males...
i've heard it's not so with
mosquitos...

i couldn't **** a fly...
but when Monday's garbage collection
happens and i'm left dragging
an empty bin
into the garden to clean it...
i find... maggots at the bottom
of the pit...
still wriggling in the leftover juices
of meat and others...

carelessly like jerking off:
i pour some bleach into the cauldron...
sodium hypochlorite...
then some water for the foam...
the maggots disappear...
i wish them well...
but not much good could ever come
from drinking a corrosive salt...
alkaline implies corrosive salt...
well... i drowned some maggots in
alkaline...
but i very much care to have
a clean bin...

i ******* crocodiles and tears and tadpoles
into a tissue while
on the throne of thrones and send
them to: nowhere...
just before i take the no. 1 & no. 2
(no. 3 to ease up)...
then baptise myself in the shower...

summer will soon be almost over...
autumn will come
the proper fruits will start to fall...
i'll be making my wine...
it will take me 3 weeks or circa...
maybe 4... the apples will fall...
the pears too...
winter... when insects sleep...
as much as i might appreciate the copper-neck
suntan... i'll be happier to find that
the insects are sleeping: along with
the bears...

i rarely **** a fly... a mosquito, though?
each and every time...
if i were a zombie and a fly *******
a maggot-load onto me... i'd beg to digger...
well...
    i did't feel like killing this large
specimen of mosquito... it wasn't going to
bite me...
never mind...
i didn't feel like merely killing it...
i caught it be one leg...

i have two spider twins either side
of the door to my garden...
one was sleeping...
the other was awake...
how did i know?
the sleeping one curled up its legs
into a bud...
it wasn't awake to play piano with
its cobweb...

        so i pinched this one mosquito
by the leg and watched it frenzied...
trying to escape... my hand led it to the altar...
how quick the spider! how quick
the spider made a mummy of the would:
juiced up mushy meat!
i didn't **** it...
i just fed a garden spider...
a catch it couldn't otherwise catch...

i felt indifferent... more indifferent about
vegans than vegans feel: "differentiated"
from debating the need for milk...
eggs... never mind the meat... cheese...
i don't understand veganism on these three pillars...
milk (cream)... eggs... cheese...
i couldn't be a vegan...

vegetarianism: i can understand...
but... no eggs?! no... milk / cream?!
no... cheese?!
        get out of 'ere!

       maggots swimming in sodium hypochlorite...
or rather... dying in it...
but the prettier sight than killing a bothersome mosquito
was feeding it to a spider...
it almost felt like...
   feeding a cat sushi turkey ******* on
the end of the knife...

this song has nothing to do with the experience:
chevalier, mult estes guariz...
none!
why do i abhor Darwinism...
it... doesn't tease my vanity...
it just kills off history!
from ape to "somehow": now...
that's it!
   **** similis: the ape was known to the ancients...
but the ancients did ancient "things"
and didn't allow themselves to be swallowed
up by a ******* comparison!
metaphor! they would have settled for
a metaphor... but not a comparison!
a synonymous-ness!

Darwinism is right: nature abhors vacuums...
nothing in nature is to be ever wasted...
everything has a purpose...
if... somehow... it doesn't have a purpose:
it will... it will evolve... it will adapt...
but... Darwinism as... the prime idea...
the one & only source of the genesis of
"idea"? only in the anglophone world...
no where else will you hear
Darwinism so celebrated...
Hermes asked... why did Galileo overshadow
the findings of Copernicus?!
why did even William Burroughs undermine
Copernicus by staging a "fact" that...
oh the ancient Egyptians knew!
the ancient Greeks knew too!
but... no mathematics...
then some pope-****-smear of a Galileo
was the one with the telescope
"probing": proving the heliocentric model
most adequate...

one spider whispered to another:
find any cobweb: piano concertos in the desert?
no... me neither...
let's just wait for some of these sand-*******...
camel-jockeys to catch up...
we'll show them... mummification:
hey presto!

- and they did... how quickly that spider
launched into the mosquito...
rapping it up like a... nothing to be
beside the futures of food-stuff...
it felt...
well... not ignoble... a pride in a sense
of hierarchy...
the spider easts the mosquito...
it's really levelled ground in the insect
dominion...
i allow maggots to swim in sodium
hypochlorite...
i catch a mosquito by its leg
and feed it to a spider...
the spider does the mummification
ritual... the world balances itself out...

it's a strange sensation: it's hardly a feeling...
one gets feelings on a graveyard...
count the bones...
wake up... re-wake...
the fickle faculty of memory:
so prone to amnesia...
i abhor dreams.... therefore i dream none...
less Freudian ******* shrapnel....
less & less...

i need a mirror to take a selfie...
i need... the apparition of 3D space...
you can't revise QWERTY!
you can't improve it!

i can type without looking down
at the keyboard: here's to imitating the Liszt...
the Chopin...

eh?!
i didn't cite:  E... did i?
i included the surd of breath...
EH?!

ask the ******* Hebrews why we have concern
to begin to laugh...:
it's trapped in their definite article:
HA! SANTA!

           i'm here for only one thing...
beside thrilling it alive in Thailand...
or... recovering fractures in Europe...
someone... maybe one... or two...
have... stolen my identity...
                  sorry...
             garlic pickled in some red wine
will always go under the radar...
electric six's album should never have:
gat bar! bay bar!

   it's the 1980s and sade...
smooth operator....
             best kept feeling...
feeding a mosquito to a spider
rather than simply killing it...
like... the inversed... imploded...
ploy of game...

who needs tiger blood?
bluff?
i need... a mosquito...
a spider... a spiderweb... like a piano...
i need an awake spider...
the red wine is not to be...
necessarily... mixed with garlic...
although last time i heard:
infusing ren wine with three or four
teeth of garlic (nuggets?)
is a slimming elixir...

father SLiM? *******... yacht...
bogus crew...
feeding a mosquito to a spider...
death soon arrives... "tomorrow".

- still need the geocentric model when
reading the map... hell:
i need the flat earth perspective when
reading a map... i don't really care much
for the equator, the Greenwich meridian
when getting from A to B...
funny how geographic "algebra" works...
from point A to point B:
a round earth doesn't really help...
perhaps if i were sailing but even then...
a straight line...

Darwinism didn't really undermine
man's final vanity... according to Freud...
nor did Freud undermine another vanity...
Freud & Jung created the divided schematic
of what once man:
i wouldn't say man was Leibniz's pristine
monad: something indivisible...
but it was close: to be divided by memory
fickle faculty:
how it dries up through the churn of
pedagogy... so much strain on learning
2 x 2 = 4... a, b, c, d, e... f, g, h...
fair enough: to later rearrange into words...
but i don't appreciate the classical alphabet...
the genius behind QWERTY...
i type without looking down at the keyboard...
it's almost like: imitation of reading braille...

maybe the alphabet should be less: a, b, c...
it's not like the vowels are at the beginning
while the consonants follow...
it just doesn't make sense:
rigid...
i wonder what would happen if children
were taught the QWERTY alphabet sequence...

or... just remember all the letters:
it doesn't matter in which order you remember them...
just remember that there are 26 letters in the English
alphabet...

- it's so pointless just killing  mosquito...
a fly... hardly...
but a mosquito... just at the right time
when it inserts its needle and become a syringe...
that's the sweetest of moment...
lord of the flies? who is the lord of mosquitos:
didn't ha-shem eat up all the lesser
gods of the Levant... but somehow avoided
gobbling up the lord of mosquitos?
i'm conjuring up a deity the Hebrew deity
didn't gobble up into his pantheon...

what name... what name?!
to challenge a name like... Beelzebub?
Be'el'zee'bub...
proper pronunciation with
the apostrophes: intra-verbum...
just so you know...
who: hoo! i'm getting hot from all the cider
and whiskey... god... i'm gagging for
some absinthe... the moon is ripe!
it's full...
     i need some slimming elixir...
some red wine infused with garlic...
to keep the vampires away...

what will i name you: lord of mosquitos...
KOMAR... mosquito in western Slavic...
Darwinism doesn't bug my vanity...
i.e. it doesn't bother me...
it bothers me that it's a history eraser...
nothing from yesterday here on in...
in the anglosphere...
the monkey: mammon key "happened":
an oops! ****! hey presto!
deluxe! no one grieves for Robespierre...
i might...
like i might for the wild imaginings of
the Marquis...
               if only... i prefer prostitutes to these...
"free"... masculine prototypes of... ahem... "women"...
once the woe... once the woo of man...
now?!
i prefer prostitutes...
no need for dating: plus... if they're Turkish...
they like a beard... a hairy chest... a hairy
stomach...

i'll push this dagger into that crux of:
et tu... so far so far as it can be harnessed
collectively that i'm... passionate about...
not angry... bitter... pickling my emotions...
there's a gherkin for a heart if anyone is
willing...

lord of mosquitos: raba'albaeud...
well, i could make that apostrophe disappear...
but i'd only replace it with a diacritical marker
above the A... to imply: "a.a."...
i.e. that there are two... Siamese vowels...
but it wouldn't help the pronunciation...
let's see...

raba'albaeud vs. rabālbaeud...
            eh?          ha ha... "no" difference!
so much for everyone being... "literate"...
they read like they might eat...
i've been told i eat in a way that...
invites other people to eat...
so much for others... dictating pleasures
unattainable...
i was a dinner once... with school friends...
i was the only one who asked for
rare beef... everyone else...
doubly butchered their wants...
they wanted them well done...
beef? well done?!
oh i'm a snob at that...
IT'S NOT MINCED BEEF!
YOU NEED... JUICE!

i kept my mouth shut and ate happy...
so much for friends...
i.e. "friends"... people you spend a lot of time together:
it works in a pedagogic environment...
school's great...
you are ***** into their presence...
you have to have... work-around tactics...
bullies... brutes... nerds... teenage mothers...

the full moon: while everything is attired in:
quicksilver...
the full moon: skin-head BISCUIT...
while everything is attired in quicksilver!

too many vowels... too many vowels...
raba'albaeud...
i "think" i'll rename him...
phonetically, though: ra'ba'alba'ood...
although there's an E & an U instead
of the omega...

Lithuanian: U'ODAS: ooh... not you...
i need bitter... twice bitter than an IPA
Czech absinthe...
i need to see straight... wonky too!
i need my tongue to be aflame!
i need teeth made from iron!

- history has become less linear than it used
to be... it has begot an ouroboros
of repeated... thanks to journalism:
history used to be linear...
time has reached a year 0...
but there's no revision taking place...
don't shoot the messenger!
i'm looking for the name of the lord
of mosquitos...

it's a hard name to conjure:
even though you have all the tongues in the world
available on the palette...
i need bitter... Czech absinthe...
i want to feel: hot... as rot...

Latvian: not Estonian... i.e.:
not sääsk (saaaask):               ODU...
主 / オモ (omo-odu)... that's clearly pushing it...
       オヅ
it would be so much simpler to just **** a mosquito
rather than... purposively...
feeding it to a spider...
i would "feel" much better killing it...
than having fed it to the spider...

Napoleon might have added:
sure... they're literate... but literacy only arrives
as useful when the literate are bilingual...
what use do i have for these people
distract by letters...
what use for the priestly class...
since... their safeguard is... "missing"?

sweet amber... whether beer: gods' juices...
or simply... mead...
from the work around of Hephaestus....
safeguard these names of the gods...
before they disappear...
before the Czech absinthe becomes too
bitter... still drinkable... but hardly enjoyed...

"too many vowels"... the "argument" follows
suite... i'm red... hot... chilly-esque...
chasing zeppelins... chasing diacritic markers...
covert: how you might say:
SPIERDALAJ: DALAI LAMA....
  ARES... his son...
                  Hephaestus....

             while i'm burning!

                         pronoun verb
custard: ich arbeit...
all the nouns the world might allow...

butterfass...
                   i'm itching to pass by:
butterfaß.... consonants ought to have...
better... phonetic encoding symbols...
like TH and PH have to encapsulate F...

who needs buTTer when one Tao might
have... MITE vs. miGHT?!
two consonants coupled...
not another night in Posen...
please... not another night in Posen...

chasing
i don't want to be English so much....
too many troubles...
too many fictions...
i want to be inherently "biased"...
too many frictions...
  too many fictions...
chasing  Zeppelin....
     ditto: base... the Warsaw "boat":
about to... sink.
nivek Feb 2016
Giraffes have their heads in the tops of trees, merrily munching
great big beautiful eyes and just the cutest faces, heads way up there in the clearest rarefied atmosphere
what a stretch that must have been for evolution, millions of prototypes,
and then the finished article, just as well we do not eat them, can't imagine eating a Giraffe burger with ketchup and fries.
And now... The coming of the Pleaidian
order. Some call it call it the Second
Coming. The rapture or ascent to
heaven. It is said that in the
constellation called the Seven Sisters,
the planets are highly advanced. There is no money, pain, suffering, division or
confusion. They use tubes to travel
much like railways. The influence of the
Pleaidians on Earthlings has been long
imposed, from the Yahweh
Consciousness (The Deluge times) to the Messiah Projects. On Earth the public receives the picture
spread by the holders of the Media. In
truth there is a psychic war that has
been going on for millenia. From the
time of the gods down to present
human idols, be it Kings, presidents, athletes, celebrities or politicians and
vicars of religious institutions. With the Matriarchy uprising, men have
been have faced with a destructive
challenge. It can be said that men have
done women a lot of harm and it is
now their chance to hurt men. But then
that is vengeance and not justice. Which brings us to factions
representing Councils positioned in the
Galactic Federation of Councils. There
are forces of Light and there are forces
of Darkness. Which would be apparent
with the way things are on Earth. You have the Dragon Queen network and
you have Daughters Of MA and time-
travelling agents. There is a chaos
manipulated from above. There is a
divine connective power of ******
*******. This power creates a third energy which can be used for good or
evil. Which is important for dark
magicians to increase their power and
effect psychic manipulation. This power is encouraged to be kept at
a low-vibrational frequency, hence
have we lust. With lust the bond of love
and its frequency is affected. And
hence we have meaningless
relationships, heartbreaks and separations. This is because ******
******* at high positive-vibrational
frequencies will create an energy that
will uplift the consciousness of the
planet Earth. This is only half the story. That's the
metaphysical perspective. With
Capitalism on a high and matriarchy-
vengeful rising men have been feeling
the pinch. This is because the point is to
keep us apart. Money makes relationships very complex. This is why
nowadays there are more women who
love money rather than love itself. You
can imagine how it must have been
done behind the curtains; you put
members of influence on the forefront and you dress them up, teach them
how to think, behave and carry
themselves; these members become
prototypes for multiple avatars. Yes
brainwashing techniques, put women
under sync mode and simulate behaviour and then this builds a
consciousness. It is said that when the
human hybrids were made by the star
people; genetic engineers, they were
implanted with crystal chips,
programmed to make us intolerant of each other. Back to the consciousness,
with women already wearing a deep
hollow wound of being mistreated and
dehumanized by those called men;
different forms of zeitgeist can be used
by the powers with a promise to heal those wounds. So woman would now become the
new enemy of the two sexes. In the
future men would have a *** change
just to have the benefits and the right
to feel human. Now, these avatars
would be recruits of The Association, unknowingly, they called them
working girls. The order was basic,
wear the suit; make-up, loud colours
and tight clothes and market yourself
through the various social portals.
Every weekend a working girl would get free drinks, drunken *** (if she
wanted), she'd have a bf just for
security, and then stand in's for basic
expenses; food, cosmetics, hair-do,
and clothes). At the last levels of her
missions, she would choose a tamable guy who can afford her, this guy
would be too submerged in his ego to
what's coming. To secure the deal, the
objective is to have the guy impregnate
you. Then it's pretty much inevitable
from there. She plays good wife for a number of years, brings children, not
too many though, then when she is fed
up comes the divorce and alimony.
Done and dusted; game won. The game was fair in the beginning for
it was intended for bad and abusive
men but then it got corrupt and it
spread from world capitals to citcies
down to towns and even developing
rural areas. To make matters worse, the recruits were now found in girls who
were only in high school. The vision
was to tame girls from an early age to
use men as *** slaves and money
outlets. This was the order of The
Association. Vengeance or Justice? Or just plain manipulation. The
Association...
Vítor Sousa Mar 2013
"One of Gods own prototypes"
One of his weirdest broken toys.
A very strange character,
An even stranger boy.
 
Made to help, dream, love and smile. 
Made to love for eternity and dream for miles.
Made to live and suffer along..
Always looking strong.. always, with a smile.
 
Wish I was walking on the moon..
Perhaps, the lack of gravity would take away the weight of the pain.
 
A pain that has been carried for too long,
A pain that doesn't get weaker as life goes on,
A pain that destroys your heart and weakens your brain.
That takes all your feelings and hopes away,
Until you feel nothing.. nothing, but the same old pain.
 
Ohhh moon.. Hope I get there any time soon..
The sad saga
and brittle memories
for the cast and crew
of a sinking melodrama.

No badinage
their faces turned away
silent as secrecy
in the bright artificial light.

Rewinds of prototypes
of decaying greys
with visions
that glare at shadows.
judy smith Oct 2016
At any given moment, it seems there is a fashion week happening somewhere in the world - be it Sydney, Istanbul, Dubai, Seoul, Moscow, Toronto, Copenhagen or Lagos (to name a few).

But the latest entrant may be the most surprising: Silicon Valley.

Or, as the organisers style it: Silicon Valley Fashion Week?!.

The punctuation marks as part of the title are a self-aware nod to the incongruity of marrying the location, known for its allegiance to hoodies, Tevas and T-shirts, to a fashion event.

But that does not mean they are any less serious about its potential.

The three-day annual event, which finished its second turn over the weekend in San Francisco, bills itself as "part fashion show, part variety show, part trade show" and is open to the public, unlike the usual fashion industry events. This year, about 30 brands were featured and tickets, at US$20 (S$28), sold out, with about 500 people attending each day.

It was staged by Betabrand, a San Francisco company that builds its clothing catalogue by crowdsourcing design ideas and, after seeing which take off, crowdfunding the production of the prototypes to see which ones people will actually want to buy. Examples include a "mind the gap" blouse that stretches to fit the body's contours and a dress that uses a trademarked reflective material.

The event exists at the nexus of Burning Man, wearable technology and the Maker Movement, home of inventors, designers and other do-it-yourself types. Pebble Smartwatch presented a Smarthole Hoodie, a standard hoodie design with sleeves that extend over the thumbs and have a movable panel around the wrist to make gaining access to the company's device easier; and Tinsel offered headphones that can be worn as a necklace.

Alison Lewis, who holds a design and technology master's degree from Parsons School of Design in New York, showed three items: a lambskin leather handbag embedded with LED bulbs that can be rearranged in different patterns with an app; a T-shirt that does the same; and a dress with lights that undulate with the wearer's heartbeat.

"Technology is a tool. It's how we use it that's really exciting," she said. "We could have less clothing in our closets and have pieces that change and work with our moods and personalities on a daily basis."

Lewis has not had a chance to present her work in other fashion shows and, so far, she has not been able to mass-produce her items. She commended the fashion week as a place to experiment.

She was not the only designer struggling with the challenge of manufacturing what she displayed.

However, as wearables increasingly enter mainstream fashion, with designers from Ralph Lauren to Zac Posen dipping their creative toes into technology, the idea of clothing patterns controlled by apps, of drone delivery, and of customisation that allows - maybe even asks - its wearers to make a choice each and every day, seems less far-fetched and more like fashion's possible future.

Which, unlikely as it may be, puts the Silicon Valley event on the style front line.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/red-formal-dresses
The internal battle..eternal....(one from the vault)


Lucifer and Jehovah dancing some mad bossa nova

While angels on horse backs fought devils with black jacks

The white dove of peace had surrendered his lease

So God ripped off his wings.. he no longer sings

Then the Devil ripped out his heart so it could end at the start.

Wagner and Chopin got frightened..

..and off they ran.

But Beethoven and Bach were sat in the park

Composing arias to fight Hells hot fires.

While Chekhov and Handel burned coramandel

But the smoke from that pyre stank like a byre.

Socrates was sat dispensing the ethics

Hippocrates swore while dishing out medics

The Muses were musing one or two were enthusing

Oooh look.. the good against sinner

Let's go down the bookies and have a bet on the winner.

Cometh the day cometh the morn

Cometh the hour cometh the dawn.

Here is Joshua blowing his horn

And here comes Gabriel but all that he meets

Are the countless dead lining up on the streets

And the wounded and deathbound far far below

I feel sorry for Gabriel I wish he could go.

But Picasso arrives and cries

My God it's my Guernica I'll do a pastiche

Oh F*ck it he says and has a pastis (or two)

Then Pollack turns up totally ******

Picks up a paint and says what I have missed?

What a fantastic sight.. angels flashing demons crashing

The hounds of Hell with teeth a gnashing

Then Neptune arrives astride his watery chariot

Scything through Demons and sat beside Judas Iscariot

Mermen and mermaids mercilessly slayed

By Beelzebubs prototypes

Those that live in the black nights.

But as the dawn breaks God knows what it takes

So he sends for his legions calls out to all regions

Take arms and do battle

Till we hears Satans death rattle.

And the heavens rip asunder to the sound of the thunder.

Satan rings on Hells bell.. tells them all is not well

Then disappears from our sight as if he's turned off the light.

Then I awake with a start knowing that I've been a part

Of something vast something grand

A spiritual war being fought in this land

I am alive and I shall survive.

PRAISE BE.
Jami Samson Jun 2013
Ana knows I can't be alone,
So she will mourn by my side,
While I count down
From the start
When...
Love lived a decade ago;
Calendar dated 10th century,
Top chest smeared with last millennium's dust and dried rose petals,
Bottom shelf stacked with the Recent epoch's chronicles in scrolls,
And I wrote this anecdote during the late Eocene,
But I am now an era old;
Too short of memory to remember fairytales,
Too outgrown to believe magic tricks or play a game of chance,
Too outworn to have my heartstrings plucked,
Too callous to bear a soft spot,
Too archaic to belong in any contemporary world,
Too ancient for a technological revolution.
Fixed in a period that won't age,
Absent of a timekeeper, missing every timepiece;
My antique mind couldn't only smarten up for
This relic of a body, camouflaging skin-deep among prototypes,
Preserving the fossils of my endangered heart.
Maybe one day a noble clocksmith will come
And build us a time machine.
Maybe I'll have my youth back
When Ana teleports back to Erin,
Where her misplaced soul will finally be home with the gods,
For I think I'd do fine without her anymore,
As I land inside a time capsule,
Or wake up as a hand-me-down,
In time at long last with today's pendulum clock.
I'd be lucky if it's the clocksmith who takes such artifact.
But until such time warp,
Ana knows I can't be alone,
So she will mourn by my side,
While I count down
From the start
When...
#24, June.09.13
Renee Betlehem Feb 2011
short-sighted vision
complacency
a dangerous choice.
prototypes in my mind
fill the vacancy
fill the silence.
silence the needs
pretend like i die tomorrow
but live like i died today.
motivation for desire
stays and wallows
in it's comfortable rut.
change clings to
concentric circles.
Inspired from random book quote: "Vision prototypes can be dangerous tools"
Cole Apr 2016
Pencil and paper turn into stylus and screen;
our world is industrializing like we've never seen.
Manufacturing products out left and right,
and soon enough our prototypes will join in the fight.
Are we possibly producing more than we can consume?
Do we understand that technology could lead to our doom?
Convenient, oh sure, as we just sit here and get fat.
We have iPhones, and iPads, but no eye contact?
The air is getting dirtier and unhealthier per day,
and we believe the government when they say it's okay.
Do we not realize how much harm we're actually doing,
even though a better world is what we're pursuing?
Edward Coles Nov 2013
My desk is scattered with
notes, drafts, prototypes,
of my love letters to the world.

Ugly, thin spider-scrawls
of hieroglyphic ink,
pleading for my future self
to flesh the bone,

of the skeleton in my thoughts.

Beside them, the trusted red wine
to chase down the pressures
of the world, hold them in line.

Each sip, a godsend,
each bottle a promise
that love will never end.

The simple pleasure of a desk;
a confounding beauty,
the collage to your life
and all that preoccupies you.

Your personality is laid before you;
each picture, beer bottle, notebook,
a fragment of yourself.

My desk is scattered in
the loves, hates and frustrations
of my place within this world.

Ugly, thin spider-scrawls
of unintelligible ink,
pleading for some higher power
to flesh the bone,

of the skeleton that is myself.
Monica Apr 2016
Becoming who you are
Is not an easy feat.

You have to shed the skin
Of many failed versions.
Prototypes are stowed away,
Blueprints shredded.

Which laugh works?
Is this personality too loud?
Will I be a loser if I don’t go to that party?
Or to that event?
Should I modulate my voice?
Am I too much of a nerd?
Am I not enough of a nerd?
Do these glasses work with my face?
Do these clothes work for my body?

Over and over,
The plans change,
And you change,
And you try to find the best
Version of yourself.
And you wonder why
There’s more than one
To begin with.

You wonder what happened,
To the innocent kid
Who thought her elementary school
Friends would always be there,
And who thought she could do anything.

You look back on yourself
As an athlete.
You look back on yourself
As a writer.
And you wonder why
You became this person
Who will just settle
To get by in life.

You wonder why
You’re constantly at
The drawing board,
Why the things you really
Want to do in life
Are impractical,
And why the things
You’re going to do are
Only semi appealing.

How did you get
****** into this society,
And how did you become this

Automaton with no autonomy?

Why can’t you decide
What’s best for you
Without being wracked with
Guilt?

Looks like you need to be
Reprogrammed  
So we’ll scrap this model
And get back to you
With a new one.

Try not to break it.
Wk kortas Dec 2016
I’d heard a story in that proverbial once upon a time
(Though its origins are hazy, at best, to me now:
Perhaps something my son heard at Sunday school,
Or part of the never-ending nattering
From the marketing guy at lunchtime,
Maybe cackled by the crazy, toothless blind guy on the 16A bus)
Concerning the programmers who’d worked on a project
In the earliest days of nano-technology,
Creating software for their relative monoliths,
Australopitchecuses of artificial intelligence,
Serving as prototypes for some envisioned universe
Where tiny drones served the whims of some doctor or researcher
Operating unseen and omnipotent behind some microscope or monitor.
The trials went quite smoothly, almost flawlessly,
The models impeccably doing what binary switches
And if-then-else statements decreed,
But the researches noticed that
Just before they executed the final bit of code,
The models would invariably exhibit
A slight hesitation--almost imperceptible, infinitesimal even,
But clearly occurring, nonetheless.

They’d assumed, quite naturally, it was a mere matter of de-bugging,
Some misplaced comma or parentheses among the thousands,
But they reviewed the code any number of dozens of time,
Only to find it was clean as a whistle.
What’s more, they’d found that while the vacillation appeared
At the same point in the process,
It didn’t happen at exactly the same time;
Indeed, they cropped up, relatively speaking, months, even years apart.
One of the white coats jokingly referred to the pause
As the machines “Peggy Lee moment”
(You know, ‘Is that all there is?’)
But no one else involved the project saw the humor.
They’d decided to ignore or accept the quirk, though it was rumored
That it drove a few of the programmers to near-madness,
With one or two of their number bolting the project without notice,
Entering monasteries with the intent
Of shutting themselves off from the outside world
For the rest of their days, and its existence was buried
In reams of footnotes at the end of their final report
(Though as I said, the tale’s source is unclear,
And I am inclined to regard it as apocryphal.)
krytersmeladdo
BAM Nov 2011
Where has our honesty gone?
The world is spinning out of perspective

Individualists
More like conventionalists

Wanting to be a free soul
Instead, we’re losing control

How do we define different?

“Different
            A pseudo-polite way of saying something is unpleasantly weird or unacceptable”                      [www.urbandictionary.com]


What about individual?

“individual
         Individual's may actually conform, just to prove that they are individual from other individuals...
        There is no definition of an individual, for to define an individual is hideously oxymoronic.”                     [www.urbandictionary.com]

All of these rules and ideologies
Which become more like mythologies

Giving us a…what… purpose?
Because without one were all worthless?

How does the media propel
Drive some great minds down to hell

But wait, sometimes those scars
Are not the real person they are

What about the girl next door
Is she perfect? Or is she a *****

How come the prepped up ****
Gets a thousand girls to put his ****-
-Y  attitude towards

What about all those hipsters
“individualists” in all their glister

PROTOTYPES
We are always followed

“To be, or not to be”
Now THAT  is a real question

Why cant we all just BE

F R E E

Within our own minds
Refuse ourselves to be confined

But no matter where we go
The world will be a tv show
[scripted and masked]

Because the crazy professor who screamed in the crowd
Did a small scene from a movie out loud

And the individualist across the street
Got her haircut from Georgia O’deet

While the artist down the road
Saw his painting when it snowed

Though its obvious we refuse to admit defeat
Individual doesn’t march to its own beat
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.
Annie Nov 2012
‘Reality’ is an empty promise

A word manufactured and fitted

To address this infectious disease

Us humans call life

Because material items,

Deeply rooted beliefs,

And honest emotions,

Only exist within our heads

And if my perception were to be so askew

As to deem myself dead

Then I’m living in the 7th ring of hell

We are fragments of projected images

A wasteland for forgotten dreams,

Useless prototypes,

From the stars that shine in our imaginary minds

We are just fragments of a masterpiece

That we cannot even see
Vernarth calls Theus, Etréstles calls Vikentios, liberation is near! Dyonisius has to leave for Spinalonga with Wonthelimar and his entourage. Particles of liberation were divided with the immortality proposals of Wonthelimar and Marielle Quentinnais, transmitting ribs of the Speleothemes that harassed them extraterrestrially, until they became theologized in Theus, Vikentios's brother, committing himself to Elefthería or Freedom of praxis, before the gold, in their own alienating chance, are distinguished in the centers of knowledge of Spinalonga, as an entity of the five crosses of Theus, for the conceptualization of this human islet as a sentimental skin of the plague in Vernarth's parapsychology, through Wonthelimar for experience the intersection of Theusiles in honor of Theus with his comrade Vikentios for a priori and a posteriori, with events that will take place in this leprosarium. Kalydon bears a strong similarity to Kalidona in Messolonghi's Koumeterium. Being multi-assigned to Elounda northeast of Crete, like northeast Gethsemane, or the affliction ***** of the right lobe of Golgotha. Volume VII, is the compendium of Wonthelimar twice VV, with its double iteration, that is, VII, this acronym would facilitate access to the area of the future Leprosarium, a posteriori near said peninsula, and ditched from the continent that knew how to distance it as its adopted daughter Spinalonga "Long Splinter" who was now divorcing the peninsula. The fortification of the Venetian raids before the attacks of pirates.

Wonthelimar is seen in the mirror of the Chauvet lagoon, and before the prefixed arch of the Manes Apsidas, when they took the island in advance before they entered this artificial island flood of luminescence in 1578 by the Venetians who presumably feared the meddling by the Apsidas to seize the island, then leaving Crete plunged into a hostile coastline elevated in the foundational cavity of the Essene crewed vessels, they fit into the ship's bow that will be placed on the opposite side of the peninsula, thus avoiding that the ships would list by the low bottom that fluctuated between both portions of earth separated prematurely. The Greek impregnability did not bow before the otomanians by hiding, like Markos Botsaris in Messolonghi with themselves thus subduing them, considering more than sixteen hundred years of the chronological gap that separated this grievance that transcended under the ramparts, putting the settlement of the Tome VII, that is, from the acronym of Wonthelimar and its parapsychological union, which finally came to the aid of the Christians who fled from the Otomanians when they were empowered from the island, with the revolt of 1866, here the rebellious Christians pressed for the Turks to leave the site of a siege in 1903. Specifically from Lerapreta, the Kyrios of Vernarth appeared opening paths from Lasithi, the purpose of this a posteriori parapsychology of Vernarth, would bilocate with their expedition masters, preparing to welcome their ***** relatives on the island from the migration of the ottoman us. Forever as a ***** limen, to be bilocated in the Profitis Ilias, after burying all the lepers commemorating them of restored morbidity after forty days, just as it was in Jericho with the Mashiach, and the Apsidas Manes escaping from the Mashiach.

The eschatology of liberation is confessed with the mythological and parapsychological transformation of Spinalonga as attempts at the misery that evaded the wretched custodians of the Christians who organized themselves from the apocryphal prefixal German or acronym of Wonthelimar as Wo "where, and Thelimar, from the Greek Tou Limar, which would mean "decompose." Finally pointing out the hybrid imprint of the appellation granted by the Manes Apsidas who had stayed on the reef since it was abandoned by a priest. This Tou Limen was an appellation that was provided to weaken them from all the deprivation of Faith in the Christians on this island. The schematic parallel stretched between the two stages with the smallest concatenation since the first century AD. C., until 1600, making this quantum leap the Christian science that understood the democratic causality of extemporaneous events, without having any dimension or category of thought for those who differ or not, especially when the bodies and souls of Christians are They pirated everything, and of themselves, generating condemning existential stress as a source of static synergy, and of God-Mundis in the sketch of science that leads religious man to unite with existential cavemen, in the utilitarian health passages in Jerusalem, specifically in *** Bei Himnon, as a bilocation base in Spinalonga on the face of the leprosarium that was created as the first holocaust or body dump in 1900 without the ápsychos (without a soul), asking for compassion towards the praetorian militiamen masses of the remote past.

The dilemma is create-destroy since Wonthelimar had been moving rapidly through the intraterrestrial slabs near the Kalydon peninsula, before reaching the Kyrios entrusted by Vernarth in Lerapetra, Lasithi. Here they would join with Theus and Vikentios, two Orthodox Christians who were waiting for this procession to later return to Kalydon. The coordinates were alienated in the dilemmas of an anxious Anthropokairós or psychic fear of a past that was three-dimensionally present, towards a future between two different temporal quanta. The entourage was united with a great will to move great tons of time that were intertwined with the almost extinct nature, but noble in resisting that so many fools fought in lands that will never belong to anyone, especially when the storm of the apocalypse thunders the primeval. that Atlas sustains so as not to sink us with his pole, and save all unconverted humanity, making servitudes towards the land of putrid leaf and not the other way around, after so many failed attempts of a Hyletica, or usurpations of matters that are alien to him. certain improper uses such as the mantle of the precious ozone of Eden. The enthronement of the creator will be on the created and will be present, and yes it will be! De Spinalonga with his holocaust of matter will magnetize the mutuality of perished matter in the paw of evils that could not understand his soul matter.

Theus enthroned in Kalydon, here he waited for Wonthelimar before crossing to the islet. His brother Vikéntiko was objectifying himself with his spur scientist in the opening of a new rebirth, in this navel that will seek to untie the aphonia that was difficult with the smallest ellipsis that it implies, by intimidating the miserable prospect that nothing will be redeemable, even later to raise the standards of truly real and not virtual freedom, when the Vexillum that Wonthelimar brought to institute the Genius Loci of Spinalonga appeared. He came along with Marielle, Dyonisius, and Vlad Strigoi. The ethical debate from now on will focus on how to exalt the lepers and *** Bei Himnon and Spinalonga after the Manes Apsidas disassociated themselves from the ethical debate on the island after the departure of the Otomaniacs. The critical evolution will be for the hopeless of a definitive residence that conceptualizes the abandoned, and totally destitute of the chamber or convalescence session, taking them to the Mysterium Ecclesiae, carrying in themselves doctrinals that have supremacy and predominance of the relief of the drama of an existence gray and dark, of those who lie under dire diseases, with advanced duels and an exempt dogmatic formula.

The astrophysics of Spinalonga shows here a universe that distances itself from inextricable nothing, and nothing that alludes to navigating or discovering the point of a ba-ab point, with astrophysical interlocutors that emanate from the realities of stories, which occur more prone to whom be able to resist morbidity with total Christian doctrine, although still asserting itself in coming cycles where Christians are observed fleeing the formulations of a great theologian astrophysicist named Mashiach, who will unite them with the lipoid of Orion, or with the two quantum bracers of *** Bei Himnom and Spinalonga. The quantum record can be cited with immaterial alchemy that emerges from a retrograde biological evolution, for those who believe in archaeology as a state and complement of the logic of the omnipresent-bilocated God in Vernarth parapsychologies, going back to times that passed, passed and they will pass in any dimension of the common man, and whoever is added in the impersonal value in a dynasty of Christian thought, which accommodates the Lodging Ghost of Theus, together with the Mashiach, for a holistic with new body prototypes and souls, which would redesign a paradise definitive. The gaps will give guessed…! And the whole will be to create supposed voids under the law of the conjectured whole, here the continents will pilgrim, containing the same Rabbi co-responsible for all dualism that is ingratiated with divine omnipotence.

Low are freedoms as a final cause, an efficient cause that brings together greater merits of acquiring the personal vote, by acquiring inimitable tenors throughout the cosmos and archetype of man, which does not end with its used prototype substance, relating as one created after the creator told him that he would never abandon him, perhaps being Theus? Spinalonga, a city of the leprosarium, was distinguished from the apprehensions of the Anthropokairos and from the privations of the Apsidas Manes, without pain or fears that will redouble the rudders that unite it to this geomantic duplicity, uncreating mutations that would not appear in the limited collective imagination, rather in the existence that everything is at once, especially when the verb recovers the creative act, towards divine infinity, in Vernarth's kenosis or empty will, purging all of humanity ... It will be more meat on Patmos.
Volume VII - Spinalonga, Manes Apsídas
Argentum May 2016
You set out without a clear intention. You jot down vague sketches,
plans for prototypes.
Each iteration is
a little better
than the last.
It grows. It develops
into something familiar, yet
completely different.
Something new.
The gears fit better together.
You make it smaller and more compact.
Each prototype gleams with pride.
look.
it says.
I am special, I am beautiful, I am
a marvel of engineering and metaphors.
Look.

It is ready. You let it out, watching as
your machine, your invention
revs its engine and zooms off
into the night. It will plant itself
into people's minds and make them
Think, make their
gears fit better, make
them familiar but
completely new.
it is a poem. a machine called a poem.
Bows N' Arrows Jul 2015
These dashing Olympian-like
Prototypes wholly mesmerizing,
Alike a dew drop on
Poison Ivy;
Peacock pinned, chiseled and
Sewn.
Enticing love and war always
Seemed to inspire
Some quiet riot that raves round me.
Oblivious to the silence, enticed
For a certain melody;
All the headlights like
Stars ,and onto a stage
With golden glazed curtains.
Racing the other cars
Like a myth in my own mind.
Like marbled marvels,
Structured out of stone
In grandiose paradises
With a kind of palpable discord;
Rife with morose sycophants
And where diluted revolutionary zealots do roam.
Lights hung like Christmas shine
And dismiss us;
Is it a blessing or
A curse
Falling thick,
Like covenants?
A generation of messed up youth,
Sick and insane,
Seeing through a meek screen;
These gods among us,
Mighty and lean.
The Celestial Spirit of Vernarth began to walk through the Castellum from Horcondising, after the parapsychological regression in its conclusive auction and purgation. It loomed at the Horcondising Keep; here all toilet modules, food, and medicines were well equipped, except for the inks and writing papers that were totally exhausted. Here you can see his mother Luccica, who was in a position to scribble and write on an upstairs desk, and in the other hand she had a rosary of liberation, which anonymously appears before her purgation in the presence of the protervative spellings that still wander through the cells and bedrooms of the Castellum from Horcondising. His mother is seen crooked over the voices that polished the eight moons that she had designed for her son Vernarth since the very machicolations of the Castellum, but now with a rosary of liberation. It was clearly seen in the leaves written by her, which said that “My son abandoned his arms, now in fluids of holy water, symbolizing real chimeras for the Matacanes, to those who read his life verses in our Castellum, in Gaugamela and Patmos”. Vernarth, mostly Hellenic, awaits to manifest healings for all creation, pouring water from moon storms on Rhodes, and lighting Matacanes wall light at the door of the Messiah stand.

Vernart says: “my adolescent gaze must be reborn with that of my father Bernardolipo; a whole Chamberlain, making himself free and a supporter of the baronies that were part of the servers of my servants…! Although now to climb his cabinet I have to raise my knees higher before the amplified step, calling us all to try to be closer to a new bell to call us to dinner, as an entity of pride of its architecture defined by pen, ink and white sheet to mention. The mother I have to mention; My mother Luccica, rests not condemned or corrupted before her flesh, rather perfectly united with her spirit that envelops her free of sin, so that her company would be of complete solitude in our Castellum, we will continue to be in conformity with spirit, because our mansion is a beautiful spirit of things, life and peace, that our esplanade holds hunger and cold indifferent to solitude, cooling and pleasing the company of its own cold, rising from the first rays of the day, as well as rising from the first pinches of graduated ink , fellowshipping in the corrals where my father already lived according to his life among debtors, mortifying what he has not been able to mount on his steeds that inhabit his senses, leaving not so far to greet them in the morning free of the sins of not greeting, even when the least space is left to think of him as a joint heir. Because the laments sob, and others are born in the virginity of the light of the world with other lines Luccica can scarcely write, writing her co-age spirit, manifesting itself foolishly when suffering perfection; manifesting itself as everyone's delight, although ringing with anger at not freeing itself from a glorious freedom. Not all sing to the tune of the disability of putting strength of the grapheme of posterity, rather we are blind to put hope, but of patience that we arm ourselves losing value by having it. Our will is of holy value when doubt and fear entertain us, according to all the things and purposes that irreversibly surprise us. I do not know where I have to walk here in this tower, because I know that myths of the unknown will fall according to the fact that I am his son, being the first-born of all men in the world, speaking of who among many intercede before tribulation or anguish, That strips me of all spirit, still asking for it and justifying that I keep talking about them, but that I was gone for a long time. For this reason, venerated mother, wake up from this frozen cell of the keep, because I am jealous and I believe that neither death nor life will fill the dead suspended in your room, who support more lives with their angels adorning their bindings and paragraphs, with principalities that go increasingly so far more than close to come to please you. When your name is tried in real vices to increase, they are being stripped of the sons of the principality in which they shine from afar, but with our feet dancing on the despotic brilliance and not of the hollow that still does not fill my heart for you”

Emerging from the last lights of the Castellum from Horcondising, Vernarth bids farewell to his reign, leaving his mother Luccica in the company of three Angels who mined her with sallow light amber mistletoe. However, she will remain frosted on her desk with ink at night and by day, so that when the day ends, she will draw ink from the darkest night to continue writing to him that she can already be without Him! Near the Necropolis of Hallenika in Rhodes, a statue of Peltasts stood, shielding the place where the “Vas Auric” Auric Medallion would sporadically rest, which came between bilges now inside the Eurydice. It came predestined with the sacred amber robes aleonade, to make up for the between Peltast mediators who guarded them, to deliver it to its Commander Vernarth.

The Apostle Saint John says: “Jews like us in exile did not see reasons restored in our union and tradition; we resembled a diaspora that did not derive voluntarily, according to events that occurred in my case in Judah at the hands of the Romans. The Alexandrian Jews form on my part certain Israelites scattered in my prayers, leaving us where the radiance of our faith makes sense and dispensed power to us. My economy is to create furniture that will live in laborious houses, even among those Jews and mercenary soldiers, freeing themselves from prejudices and clothing that represented them alone and fragile, being sensitized by the diaspora. The world separates itself from the matter cell, clinging to the consciousness of unity of dispersed Judaism as a sacrificial cult, to cater to those who write history more distant than a synagogue without a Rabbi. When bad winds blew there, they often made the situation worse for those scattered in a foreign land. At the end of the Hellenistic period, there were Jews in Persia, Mesopotamia, Syria, Phenicia, Pontus, north of the Black Sea, Cappadocia, the rest of Asia Minor, Egypt and Cyrenaica, Carthage, Greece, Macedonia and Italy. Now I am in Rhodes with the Vas Auric, to trace the true image of Judas Thaddeus, my co-religious in pursuit of an intellectual and theological religious activity of edifying centers of prayer and universal unification, here in the Hallenikka Necropolis, where some Davidian Psalm, it will be in more regions right here documented in my precession as a parallel religion to Hellenic situationism. Their religiosity is felt, and even remains open in a proselytism that causes the indefiniteness of the half-convert and that implies a risk for the identity of the Jewish religion as support of a people with not a little original conscience”

Etréstles with Vernarth go to Eurydice, before descending into the bilges, they begin to found the ventral conceived from the word of Judas Tadeo “Yehuda; Praise be to God”. Judaizing verb in Veronica, or true image of the Via Dolorosa, among some apocryphal documents another historical and definitive truthful current is mentioned.   Detailing the aforementioned image in the shroud of the woman who seconded Jesus in the Sixth Station. The apostle Judas Thaddeus, is warned along with the auric image, providing confidence and praise of stands that walked in the murgas of Rhodes, before the iconographic variety was present with the image of Joshua overflowing by the Auric Avas, levitating among the circular margins, transforming into his banner with maces, which represented his martyrdom escorted by a sword or Shamsir, in the shape of an Arab cutlass; This being attributed to his beheading, but close to a hagiographic fatality.

Saint John the Apostle says: “Saint Jude Thaddeus the Apostle; He brought the Mandylion (Canvas of Edessa) to the court of King Abgar V of Edessa, to heal him. Being actually Thaddeus of Edessa, but the iconography was rectified by mistake. With a flame on his head at Pentecost he symbolizes us embroidered with a Chrysoprase, the green gem of his praise. Right here in these damp platinum chrysoprase bilges, it is that they emerge by themselves as an integument stamped in the peripheral curves of the Vas Áurica, they are attached to the Mandylion, frisked to my clothes to take them to the Hallenikka necropolis. Ulterior Vernarth and Etréstles pilgrimage carrying the mass of Vas Áurico of solid gold, groping him before taking them with decisive worthy praise to be brought before the sight of others who prospect to be before dark in the necropolis "

Saint John the Apostle continues: “Before dividing as Hexagonal Birthright, we went to Tsambika and others to Hallenikka. We head to Tsambika which is located on top of a hill on the east coast of Rhodes.   Bowing down to the praise of the iconographic and religious corridor of Mary. Here is the golden legend of Rhodes in Crete, of Rhéa and Cronos, for their ******* and mythological manias. We insist here we pass first to walk towards the heights of Tsambika, bordering the nature. Earthly possession of magnificent iconographic blessings”

Right here Demetrio Poliorcetes, acceded to the island, completely failing, resolving everything with high peace, with the mediation of some Greek polis. The military of Demetrio Poliorcetes left a large amount of armaments, for this reason the Rhodians sold the solid material and turned it into treasure to build the Colossus of Rhodes. In this same way the Primogeniture, thus began to gather the estates to summarize the hagiographic heights of the Vas Auric and the Mandylion together on both sides, for the final departure to Patmos. Being the necessary time that allowed them to be in this open, those who accompanied him in silence discovered new silences that amended the rotations that the Vas Auric medallion gave, exhibiting the half circumferences of a new world, with the organic body community of San Judas Tadeo, doing praises of a tender being to the Hexagonal Birthright who escorted them to save the world.

Eurydice parapsychological channeling:

Eurydice says: “Tsambika was left by the route located on the east coast of Rhodes before reaching the town of Archangelos, we passed through a cypress forest. It is said to be the origin of the name that is due to the word "Tsaba" (Spark) and refers to the history that involves the discovery of the icon of the Blessed ****** of the Nativity at the top of the hill. This icon turned out to belong to the island of Cyprus and was immediately returned to its place of origin. But the icon would reappear over and over again at the top of the hill, so they decided to build a chapel in honor of Panagia Tsambika. The miracles that the ****** worked were many, among them blessing with a child the women who prayed her and could not conceive. Since then there is a tradition of calling the child born by the ******'s work, Tsambikos if it is a boy and Tsambika if it is a girl. Right here our Hex Birthright will procure the votes for Rodinense culture. We went to the town of Archangelos to a delicious gastronomic with Barley breads and Pure Wine, Akratismós the locals told us, taking small pieces of the basket with figs and olives, decorating them with tagenites cakes, continuing later with more Wine and Steamed Ariston with stews and fish for lunch, which were arranged on small tables with zoomorphic legs. Women ate after men according to tradition, but now it was all of Aristotelian virtue, for immanent actions and passions of the soul; being able this time to dispose ourselves to perform the best acts and do well and always better, according to the right reason that is chosen from an intellectual disposition called prudence here in Archangelos; in charge of uniting us in knowledge and action”
Vernarth says: “Aristotle was the teacher of Alexander the Great and me too; in his virtuosity we learned the exercise of forgiving habits, with training, with experience and time to exercise it in them. Furthermore, with the tasks in accordance with virtue, being by themselves agreeable and as virtuous men judging righteously; this is how happiness shines for the Stagirite Aristotle; where our teacher was born. Herein lays his inspiration in living and acting well, the activity of man being good in it: beneficial, pleasant and happy, so it is directly related to virtue and the actions of the chaste man. In this reflection, virtue as a way to prosperity, the efforts to achieve them, will be analyzed, and some of the intellectual and moral virtues established in the moral philosophy of our master thinker will be described. Especially with your Eurídice delicacies, thank you for putting them in our hands in this kitchen here in Archangelos "


Euridice continues: “Hesperisma, slipped through our hands when my father Pelias, at night, brought us closer to his dialogue with the myth of Jason.  In metal or terracotta containers that entertained us. We could use bread cakes as plates, but earthenware or metal bowls were more common. The cutlery we use at the table: the use of the fork as an unknown, it was eaten with the fingers. They helped each other with a meat knife and a simile spoon. Pieces of apomagdalia bread we could use to take food as napkins, to clean our fingers. We felt grace in our ears from Aulos, like bells calling us from Panigia Tsambika. We stretched our fingers towards some chestnuts, beans, toasted wheat grains or honey cakes, responsible for absorbing alcohol and prolonging the drink ingested. Some locals, who accompanied us from Archangelos, inaugurated one or more libations towards a pean as a simple prayer to Apollo, generally in honor of worshiping Dionysus as well. The libations obeyed certain rules: the number of libations per person was not limited, but the invocation was not done without libation, after the meal and before drinking, the participants' heads were covered with ribbons or garlands of ribbons. A Greedy inhabitant saying: “In Archangelos he mentioned in his ancestors; where they had poured egg yolks, oysters and scallops, as soon as we were rid of this world, we sat down to drink, dancing by the powers of the ferments of the distilled ingested with some bakery delicacies: Like the Daraton, without yeast, which was flat as a cake.   The almogee, coarse country bread, which was made on the farms.  The phaios brown and unrefined bread. Syncomiste, black bread for being made with non-sifted rye flour, was known for facilitating intestinal transit and dietary wheat bran bread. Thus ends the address the greedy Archangelos "

Saint John the Apostle adds: “It reminds me of how Yeshua healed the woman who suffered from Hemorrhoid. Thinking just like Jairo; prominent as one of the chiefs of the synagogue of Gerasa, in the ancient Decapolis, at the beginning of the first century of our era. He met Jesus of Nazareth when he was speaking in what is now Gilead, northeast Jordan. Jairo thought it would help him to heal his daughter, still believing she was dead. While Jesus is still in dialogue with the woman he has cured from Hemorroisa, some men from Jairo's house arrive and say to Jairo: “Your daughter has already died. Why bother the Master more? “Having told him, Jesus, who has heard what he has been told, looks at him and encourages him with these words: "Do not fear, only manifest your faith." He asks him to show him where his house was. While there everything was with great regret and consternation, Yeshua tells them that the girl has not died, that she is only asleep, the incredulous people scoffed knowing that she was dead. My teacher Yeshua, makes everyone leave Jairo's house, except Pedro, Santiago, the girl's parents and me, also allowing me to stay here. In this place we hear from the Aramaic-Syrian expression "" Talithakumi ". Where we could observe how the girl began to walk, seeing the extravagant joy in the girl's parents and other people. This episode makes me warn that we walk between situations of sociability that only admit to committing ourselves with equanimity that the facts of a plausible authenticity strike attesting to those who meet those who love in an unquantifiable way for the religious social feeling. We committed ourselves to being born to see the logic of being witnesses to oneself, but not to what we do not witness more distant from those who do not see them after their death, not being ourselves. Creation today here in Archangelos makes us witness to being in the midst of families that sigh for a Talithakumi for all those that one day the prodigy of existing will carry them beyond a resurrection, are pre-classified for a biological phylogeny, being externalized and extended further afield. Of our own taxatives, In this way they will have tiny beings and courage that speak for them, because when a person is resurrected with this energy, Creation is resurrected with all the creatures that are inborn " The Hexagonal Primogeniture rushing down a beehive, after having dined with the Tragones of Archangelos, they go back to the voids of history that appear before them on some cliffs, saying:

“At the beginning of the 4th century BC, all the Greek poleis, regardless of whether they were bigger or smaller, began to mint their own coins, sometimes pictorially represented by the name of their communities: Ástaco for a lobster, Melitea for a bee, Selinunte, for a celery leaf. It is from this same conception of Aristotelian Virtue, that this regression has the motive to humanize and integrate Creation and its little creatures, from a chaos of death like the daughter of Jairus, being able to reborn a new cosmogony with a sub-cosmogony between myth and myth. Relative concept of reality, resurrection occurs and does not occur, because the divine primordiality of being resurrected will also exist delegatedly, as a being again reborn, perhaps with the same essence component re-obtained,but within an order that admits creation of Creation in a world that does not recognize Chaos as deep and empty, rather generous to grant the magic of the irrigation of the energies of Yeshua, already constituted as an ambivalent chaos computer. Titanic continues phenomenology, taking us to dimensions that share recapitulations of their nature among themselves, to once again contain compendiated and resurrected beings, who socially walk the face of the earth resurrected and fragile subtle in an ordered but sensitive land, and with voids of integrity and chaos that could restrain it. Zeus and Tartarus, almost like poetic prototypes, would appear in storms of evasion of credibility towards creation and its genesis, subtracting the secondary intention that consolidates the grateful world of restructuring, saved by an unknown superior deity, to whom the springs are prominently unleashed. And the blades of the Hellenic time mill”
Chapter *** II
Vas Auric / Rhodes
Hex Birthright in Hallenika
Helenina Jun 2016
Melancholia 1 2 3 4
All of my sisters of disasters
Some messier some not
It's a calling
it's a fall
It's my insane heart down the floor
Here are some prototypes
Of better versions of me
I could be less this
I could be more that
I am just bare and bruised
I'm waiting for a hand
1 2 3 4 and so many more
Some green monster with sharp teeth
Wishing to be closer than unique for thee
For someone
To be special
To be loved
To be seen
As ugly as pretty
As wise as silly
As devoted as selfish
Oh God I cannot breathe
I cannot tell
More words to choke my truth

I don't want to say it

Every word that I write is so twisted
Around my neck
1 2 3 4 and some of them they hate me more
They shut me
They hurt me
They protect me in their own way
It's a calling it's a fall
It's a aching it's a wall
It is loving and not at all

Cut me here cut me there
Dissect my spirit

Holy and hellish
Pure as dew on blueberries

Everything is dying
How long will I drag this ghost everywhere behind me
It should be dying
All of this suffering
All of these thirsty words
All of these hopeless gazes
All of these empty hands

And this dereliction
Always reaching out for something
An echo or a king
Someone to burn the mess within
Someone to dance in the blood with

Someone who can understand that there is nothing wrong with me

I am only full of emotions

I can walk on thorns with a smile on
I am only devored by personas who all want to be lived
And it's demanding
And it's exhausting

I want to express everything
I want to pour this all out
I'm a river
I'm a volcano
Of passion
Of tenderness
Of frailty and strength

Some soul they feel
Everything multiplied
By all the people inside them
thousand times much worse
Thousand times much more beautiful
It's heavy like a stormy sky
You cannot hold my rain

you're no pain
you cannot understand
You're not in pain
How could you understand

I am so alive
Every feeling **** inside me
Who could understand
That the stars crash in my spirit
And I hear too much
I never rest
I feel too much
I hardly ever rest

Melancholia is made of the spark of youth
And the wounds of knowing
1 2 3 4
You cannot choose only one
I am every version of me
I am not a nice book to read
No one can read me till the end
I am not a kitty to cuddle
Sure these are things that I can be
I keep saying I'll be home
I keep saying I'll be safe
I keep swaying in the dark
For some peace of mind
burning old and useless pieces of mine(...)
Vernarth's term overage was not exhaustive, as Vernarth would return to Alikantus after his journey to Kanthillana for the Winter Solstice and Patmos in spring. He was collecting each time in the decantation of each corollary of texts, images, narrations, and epigraphs that were being deliberately written on the flames of the Apokálypsis. All the experiences of the tragic characters in Vernarth were embedded in the papyrological Datum once it was detached from the Dragon's snout. This result and action verse became the reconstruction of the cessation of a physical body, whose final living objective was to legitimize everything in which it was uniting in the nomenclature of written prosopography, advanced in all the roles of the ruler of their own history. parapsychological incorporated in its own self-analysis until reaching Everism that reconciles its mythology as something secondary to the Tragedy for all societies that evolve in a focused technocratic aspect and the rhetorical unsaying of attacking the world that was destroyed under a redoubled dose of anesthesia of the disgruntled ideological of being judged by the entire world as a being spawned in the papyrology of Pergamon in ruins. The visibility of him as an actor drags her with the vision of him asleep under hypnosis that allows him to combine the periods of antiquity more than six thousand years ago. C. allowing him to build a person from low to high visibility in a consequence where totalitarianism was exclusive to a millenary East, in pursuit of a nascent South America suffering from the birth of itself from the geological split 120 or 150 million years ago that did not they would be enough to bring about the consequences of Spílaiaus when he allows, hears and tells me to give him the world that only he had been chosen to live in.

Vernarth welcomes and obeys his command to divide N times as a normal body could run and fall into this current maelstrom that would take him throughout Greece, Judea, Central, and Eastern Europe, from a place of origin called Kanthillana which resists the intermodal phenomenon of quantum that would overwhelm him to the point where his entire genealogy would follow him wherever he went if need be. All this was mending and composing itself in those alternating impurities of some paradigm, reinstating the constitution of the random present of Greek mythology already alive in the blood that unites the same rivers that are born of a narrator, always disposed of in the eminence of inspiration either in Olympos, Profitis, Ophel, Kantillana or any tomb that constitutes the format of electric actual mobility where it distills rapidly at the speed of emotions that will always be directed by gods who feel it before they are received by a distant reader. The elaboration design of the works is spaced from the hand of the argument that sometimes tries to hold on to the runaway reins since they are commanded by real emotions provided by unknown forces, generating a great collision and incomprehensible data header for an eye or ear human that needs the neat pause to attend to the discretions that are intertwined and accelerate with solidified sources of extemporaneous mythology diverging from prosopography components of Literature Heritages Sites.

The chattering of the monuments will be of great superiority as an addition to the compiled history never told or narrated where it intertwines with two dissimilar, dissonant geographical zones, distant in such a way that they themselves react to a thunder of life, which makes up those zones that are individualized and inanimate as sources of multidimensional fervor, causing high-sounding narrative imbalances that at times were made as a great source of the power of what makes sense or what could mean at times that could continue progressing in the potential wealth of beings that were never geographically rooted in a system of use or group accent that could be immersed in the biography of that which has never been told, since there is no record. The information that is unknown could not be collected as well as a concept that survives the networks of a shipwreck of the passing of the centuries that run between even and odd centuries of today in the antiquity of the Middle Ages, however, all this traceability leaves us in micro spaces that are not perceptible, nor in the incorporation of chronicles that can be driven by the linear ordering method. Vernarth is in itself a precipitous advance, a quantum of dissimilar interests of civilizations that survive and will survive from where they were forged, perhaps integrating the second face of a life that manages to detach itself from the vital circle, to experiment with its canceled free will and redirect its life. revived canons of a new nuance that concelebrates within the face of an unknown character of prosopography; to the same one who imposes the laws of everything he should for each own individual having the opportune world of him that receives him lavishly.

After the seventh century, the phenomena of the Mediterranean between what simply promotes a turn of the page leaves the hemisphere of each empire more distant from the social phenomena that distinguish us once the stumble of generations cannot count what is not could mend in the subsequent generation. This is why Vernarth's hybrid containing allows you to travel between immemorial times, allowing you to store them and tolerate periods that do not fit the scale of all their wills deployed towards an administration that manages to revitalize their monuments and ally them with other geographical areas that could not strictly speak of the same contemporary, having taken more advantage of them. Such efforts would make a great providence and closeness of all the garments that represented suitable characters who are still looking in their wasteland for the true chronological process that should fit their conditions. Vernarth is a great enlargement of prosopography that he has or ambitions excessively, and that may heavenly tempt him to build vaults that can fit the figure of himself equivalent, of the libertine whims that could stipulate the crosses of the early and late periods, eager and differentiated for everything that could fit in a bunch of flowers like a bunch of verses that would be destined for the available that waits to be presented from the incorrupt mound of Olympus with the chain of being repeatedly presented in the Kanthillana before the god Spilaiaus.

The tool will allow the reconstruction of each elapsed period of time, which is exactly what the submithology intends, to return to live with the villagers who tend to trace their lines of traditions, customs, and much-needed etymology to revive the peripheral description where some manage to to be protagonists, leaving aside those who should be participants in silent actors that intends to expand the euphemism that is only revived in the courts of the emperor that is not even established in an ironclad draconian family monograph, as could be seen with the vast majority of the descendants of the Merovingians. The portrait tends to allocate budgets from the treasury of who should be the budget of the vast majority of true Labrador Hoplites as true ascendants of the great hidden treasure that will provide the eloquent looks of Medousa. This is how much of the vindication of cinnabar must have been established as a burial of many individuals from the Middle Ages in the vast majority of Europe to daub the bodies in sulfur or Cinnabar to try to keep them in the underworld with their entire body in linen shrouds or substitutes, and how to preserve or how to return to an organic chemical environment from which was the union of two beings when they engendered a being by the chemical explosion of a body in the autonomous cycle of procreation. Linguistic guidelines will undoubtedly make the entire Middle Ages the creation of a symbol of faith entrenched in unionized social spheres, made up of guilds of families that were never registered in a regime or corporation to supplement the lack of the Datum that in this work is It aims to decorate, uniting all classes, latitudes, and sectors that could well deserve complete the spaces that should have been executed by intercontinental clans, offering them a history that is part of their emblematic ancestor.

I would dare to name the Hoplithography, as the archaeological social fabric forging the question that establishes the Hoplites as sowing cultures of the significance of their prosopon of military body, contemplating further than all the nations of a way of life that probably would have been perhaps univocal to a pious being of the science that surrounds him, with the loneliness of a being that does not admit that he is overcome by science that submits to autonomous man such as Diogenes of Sinope or Archimedes who join an axial connection in the evidence of the senses, but in the Solstice of Sinope 412 a. C. specifically in the efforts of Vernarth to make them participate that the free man belonged to a Don who was more removed from his gaps of mistakes or successes since the free man was going to be imprisoned in the urn that joins him to his body and not to the illusion of your senses. The gates of truth or otherwise are just a few steps away from this Vernarth Tragedy that asks for a little hint of space-time movement. All the paradoxes that linear time will persevere in great calculation errors that could be an Aporia as speculative logic, followed by the fiction that exceeds reality where the paradoxes will be unresolved inconsistencies, essentially with what untimely arises from an indication of life in a common being that is related to quantum mutes as exhibited by the explosive Parapsychology or "Paraps" that are subdivided from the different scenarios of Aporías or enclaves of logic that are conjugated with the non-existent reality, given to the mechanics of Submythology of heroes, gods, and others coming back to life in a passage of time that is not explained in some expired history book that had more to tell than what its own ruins hid from the truth that could be told. This is a wealth of objectives that this Thesis proposes, to discover in the immensity of the unknown what was and could never be told, and that the past genetically survives in varieties of classes of organic species that continue to be assembled by worlds that tend to clear and rethink what any storyteller, philosopher, historian or archaeologist can interpret.

Physics is made of a servile space or instrument of the paradox, in such a way that the events point to reopen doors that are of the unknown History that could be part of a god that did not exist until the shelves documented him as part of a living culture associating it with its patterns of daily life, politics and the chores of common human life. It would be like the Arrow of Flight with Achilles, perhaps leaving a great inheritance to Alexander the Great in the dichotomy of how it would be Zefian by instituting the balance of the world with the geodesy of the world of Vernarth, not alluding in between the time that dictates it for its governance, but rather the cosmic heart that allows guessing where the thoughts will be directed more than the elliptical of ascent, and descent how far the arrow will arrive because even so whoever finds it will be of the mental times that elapse in different fractions as it is Parapsychology not moving, but more than the time that only moves where it is not or rests to give primary indications of intelligence in which thought must establish the concrete fact that everything takes place in its elliptical, but not in dissociated thought. Perhaps the singularity of this polished rule could show that this Paradox of Zeno that everything that exists could outline that the line that divides Achilles from Alexander the Great is the elliptical of thought because in the rhetoric of parapsychology there are no contradictions if it is that in the Dimension of Hellenic History find in it a distant today that communicates with this faction of the dimensional medium. The infinitesimal calculations of the Duoverse aim to link or reconcile what is being advanced in parallel in the mechanics of neuroscience, without the need to have practical scientific vestiges to determine what inhabits the intersection of a circle of quantum with respect to another that it occupies, a classic example of Vernarth when carrying out the flashing Kenósis of his Kli or Vessel that reunites his independent non-parallel lifelines, but that of belonging to a Hellenic trunk with the mathematics that exceeds infinitesimal numbers moving all the lamps of the Universe when both demi-gods walked through the relevant infinity.

Vernarth is a paradox that begins with the analysis of his initial "V" of Lacedaemon with the intention of traveling in supposed time, more remotely than a word can be subordinated to what could reconstruct an infinite regress, which is what will happen with the Apokálypsis in question where he is the threshold section of analysis of the genesis of this work in the Kanthillana, then with the reissue of the Medico in Piacenza by recognizing the constitution of the area that is more than what any specialist can understand; that is, much further from any speculative stealth before Vernarth or after that other prototypes could arise that are indirectly related to the concretion or invisibility of Non-Visible characters, but with the arrival of the submithology genre, its structure will generate conciliatory physical fields of what that he could never refer to or know if a beginning began when the end of the prototype of an invisible being was just being gestated. Perhaps the genesis of the world is a great paradox that was looking for the beginning of the end that manages to meet with a definitive beginning allied to that of an indivisible that indefinitely and infinitely creates micro spaces where time has no place, only physics links that overlap quantumly and represent the truth of purpose.
The argument goes beyond the linear narration that tends to describe who was or was, supplanting it in that of who will be and will be whenever the bonds of a timeless continuous reality remain in all assumptions. Here it is clear the axiom of the infinity of divisibility that is predisposed by an objective to achieve an unforeseen event that is forceful as much as it is likely to plan, from the Duoverse and its composition of everything including all the magnitudes and tendencies to his feet what will add up and will be charged with what has not been built or discovered making this hypothesis of the conceptual that displaces the historical because the conceptual occurred and occurred in outdated times not altering its objective since parapsychology in its infinity of regression will annex him in every Greek, Hebrew and Western dimension and latitude in an ancient world that will always be composed of addends that incorporate it into the Vernarthian World that in turn dares to challenge that the importance of the world of emotions are not part of the study of this Thesis of Literary Heritages Sites, as an infinite potential to achieve when the Apokalypsis is definitely triggered, prior to the ascension of the Vernarth when it leaves the Megaron and its living vibrating magnetic body. The regimes are not egalitarian with the fall of the determined slave democracy of 404 a. C. It could perfectly have been ruled, making the political destinies of an entire nation that is subjugated to attract and implement political and economic experience unclear, that those who would never be sustained by a regime determined by the inclusion of quantum paradoxes would be migrated more than any political-administrative order, which never led to the development of a new dawn of science of the infinite regressions of Parapsychology that unites everything multidimensionally.

The best choice is the equivalent of Prosopography, which results from an anomaly to the rule where Vernarth's Mythology regulates the organization of prosopography, claiming to demonstrate that there are gods who intercommunicate like Spilaiaus with Zeus, claiming to establish that what is going to happen is what that he wanted for his regency the prolongation of one mythology towards another, but without it being written but "Live" this is a postulate that Submythology proposes, substituting all the method rather experimenting for the superimposition of everything to the lesson of everything that is interconnected, although maintaining the univocal root that represents all the structural, cultural, historical and sociological components that intervene at times as an entity belonging to a reality of legends that border on the reality that must be preserved vividly. The compilation lists of Greek mythology is the product of enormous processes of years that have been developed in their territorial regions, a cultural union since Christianity displaced paganism from the year 391 AD. C. tormenting virgins and nascent creeds from a multi-paganism step that was based on the diversity of their daily lives to a universal expression that surpassed all excessive freedom or nullified free will that contended with the delicate slave democracy or dissuasive militarism based on the Oracles, who never had a real interpretation of what originated from a real god or nature that governed itself, rather than a god that questioned others that only individualized their own dramas to represent them to a god that pro-tradition that he freed them or condemned them to live at the expense of a Dramatis Personae. Here is the prosopography that with the well-formulated passage and sense of defining that the Ardors of the Drama make sense of being systematized from the gods of Olympus, but also in social stratifications in part to the worldview of their own ancestors to be the most faithful interpretive of the wealth that makes up the source that structures those of us who are not destined to be deities, but if we could exist before them with a recognized pattern in average reports that could be placed when Vernarth leaves the confused division of a body that will remain in the Iridescent Hydor of the Mashiaj or when the prophetic appearance of his Mother Luccica is sustained by such a portion of a physical world, rather totally petrified before the hecatomb or end of the world, generating in her a stony and inanimate being, but if sufficiently existing to define her new role in the universe "Ab Initio" of a general objective of uniting eternity of the competo of existing of unifying the geomorphological latitudes of mythological existence with other unknown vertical cultures (Submitology) and hypothetically pool the experience of the elements of the universe as a whole to empower roles among themselves. Then unify everything that can be narrated as an imminent truth to lavish it on those who could not exist at the same time, but rather describe it with the quantum channel, as it is here that Vernarth remains conjugated to his literature, history, theory, and quality of his speech. focused on a fully portrayed and defined system of Patio V of Hellenika as the Fifth Dimension as comparisons that are rationalized with space-time, geographic-chronology submerged in a theme of Political History as the axis of states that exert social change for numerous characters who recently there they come to life, as is the case of the new stage of Zacchaeus and the Sycomoro or Saint John the Evangelist in the Hegira to Judah provided by Vernarth to rediscover its roots, and reduce what could have been but the journey of Judah if there had not been ended in a conclusive in Jaffa where the metaphor that returned to Limassol would exceed the metaphor of Rhodes as an intermediate point that perhaps nu It could never have ended.
The interrelation of conceptions is due to a Primogen of the sixth dimension that was established as it was in Izzana with the Unicorns or Uilef that carried them to Genoa, or of the Giant Camels that were transfigured in Jaffa when the Ghosts of Shiraz had an impartial interference in the successful sea off the eastern sea. The relationships of the primogeniture allow a timeless mobilization led by Eurydice as a living figurehead that structures her Orphic proselytism, further than a conventual desire to compensate for all the unfocused in the elite and the outcome in the Profitis Ilias as the maximum height of reception. Trinitarian back with the ecstasy of Saint John the Apostle as the mobile center of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, the similar inspiration of living images of Ein Karem and its shepherds.

The Birthright is a family that composes them in their faith that guides them by themselves, whose goals are primarily directed by their sacramentals from the first to the seventh Giga Camel. In the imaginary and cultural reference that is delimited by its monotheistic ideology, acquired from a Hebraic-Hellenic scientific connection, whose postulates will survive the unusual phenomenon from generation to generation, but rather infinite inter regressions that could sometimes revolutionize the entire creation from scratch interpolated by an alpha, being the same for its intended end. Behold, the crossover element of this theme alludes to objects, events, or phenomena such as the reopening of the Kassotides as a central element from which the hypothetical support of all faith could be shipwrecked, if it is put at risk of re-raising culture to save the fate of the world at risk from climate change. If two sages met in limits without knowing Schopenhauer or Nietzsche with the relevance of ideologies that would offer more factors, expanding both systems or theories as alternative areas to think free from humanism or intellectualism that somehow reveals itself at the end of the times reconciling all time of action subsequent to his potential periods, more than his written legacies because his potential lies in his social prototype more than his work, given that his virtuosity is deeply rooted as an atheist believer, more separated from any intellectual root of wisdom What if it denotes the non-existence of a Pagan or Divine Enlightened God, what would provoke the indirect means that persists of calling a society whether or not it was a believer? In the specific case of Vernarth, his entire biography revolves around a Supreme Being who appears before him as a god of mythology, and who then takes him to the portal of Saint John the Evangelist as a being of compassion who alternates with him to embrace him and your arms. Everything there is that allows to treasure, store, or interrelate in different social strata uses the divine work that a character that sheds light that can even give more brightness than any star that can be demonstrated in a written work as an essential starting base reliability of an author who is inspired, and is not inspired.

Submithology also replaces prosopography, to say the least, that unites in general circles that cease to be physical until the ethereal limen that converts them into micro translation spaces such as quantum, in the same reciprocity of a point A-B and B-A and vice versa as it stipulates the connectivity of what exalts thought, and its inheritance when rising to the point that would be the “Intellectual Heaven”. Vernarth in the present time of any researcher could attribute that it will depart from the Iridescent Hydor photo-duct by seven channelings of the spectrum of the refracting luminaire but of the concomitance of the observable Vernarth, or rather of what little remains to be able to observe of man after leaving It is sighted by the masks that caustically protect or envelop it as a waste of what is not attributable to a Politai, having conditions of dense interests of a destiny that will never be recognized or belong to it. It is because of this reluctance that the proposal of free will offers greater perspectives in a series of misunderstandings such as Empowering two famous atheists like Nietzsche or Schopenhauer at the service of believers who would never object to the full range of possibilities that they could implement from scratch, to convert a Christian who is like himself to a convert who will purge and reverse all his permissible externally in the farthest destinies that allow him to ascend in freedom of annulled will, not only on the earth with one more differentiated, but as a tender being who saves the world so that the world does not forget him. This thesis offers the man who has been bastardized or discriminated from a social marginal depriving him of alternating with nobles or well-to-do who circulate under the same roof of half humanity that allows the common man to dispense with all humanist beliefs, opposition, syncretic, etc. .) To detach from all vanity that is limited in the abandonment of any of it progressing with all creation that if it is when every living organism ceases to be on Patmos.

The Patmos reef may contain inventories, archives, demographic indexes, religious spheres, congregations as repertoires of those that will form when an external being arrives to build a society that imposes its character of contribution to society, and tends to adapt to particular aspects that the that they will be until today on the island itself, in itself demanding the leadership of an elite of the Passional of Iahvé through Saint John the Apostle in conception of qualifying him with the great stratified of the species that compromises in the optics of converting his followers, as an essay of an illusion made real ad honorum of a residual fragmentary that does little to unify the eras in which the rich and poor will be relatives not because of their genealogy, but because what the poor lead of the other to save him from an end that has another handle of his heraldry and portraits of his game that is deactivated in the collective imagination of all his progeny highlighted as a representative of mutations of numer dark ales, where nothing will be recorded only in this untrammeled probability of granting a life that resides in everything that cannot be seen or named, that transgresses all sources of prosopography as something deductive in this case Deus Ex Machina; as will be embodied in the final tableau of Vernarth's Trilogy III "Like the god who will descend from the machine or in this case from Hydor to Vernarth to take him to Alikantus with his mended golden hooves"
To conclude where it remains to argue that it can attract us from the Intuition of being more than a human who can actually live more than what can be budgeted, without prejudice to common sense that is quiet and distant from the epilogue of this work when whoever looks at it and hold on to a legacy of Heritage Site Literature, and manage to embrace it so that its pulse can be felt in each character it is in, and in each episode of a post-classical story. The derivations of a critical analysis of psychological Vernarth is greatly affected by an independent reaction of a real regime to which his fellow Hoplite Soldier leads him to the event of Arbela in the great battle of Gaugamela, integrating himself into the analysis of a reality that did not belong to him due to because he came from another remote erudition, and was only recognized for defending common acts that reflect the awakening of a new seed of value and temperament of a whole baggage of anthroponymy that could fit in all the spontaneous civilizations that manage to transgress the barriers of time and normal space, here is Vernarth who manages to fit in the names that substantiate in others that revalues them, and could appear as a perfect leadership name to access a Helot, Hoplite or Politai housing space in the same way as It could be transmitted from a leader who, together with Wonthelimar, was able to cross the Pyrenees or the heights of Ida or Kanthillana. as a high descendant of the Arakynthos Mountains of Messolonghi destined for the Koumeterium of the same name where the genealogical table of Vernarth is carved together with his brother Etrestles, under the invisible courtesies of a man when he is condemned being born from here from the numb invincible spirit of the Heroes of the Independence of Greece 1830. Finally, in this penultimate episode that Vernarth qualifies the sense of not being affected by an oppressive cause as being influenced by supremacies of ideas, creeds, philosophies, or governmental order, rather by a divine general scientific exordium that is from where he manages to interpret when the Mashiach or Messiah, will take his hands to carry him to meet the Hydor and dwell in that place with Him. The archivist will have the possibility to investigate and study in situ the paranormal events referred to as mega parapsychology, This way he will allow his vast merciful heart to be a strategist to carry in his inventory everything s the petitions of the living who remain in the land of Greece to take them to those who remain in the land via Patmos. Vernarth from the 6th century AD. in search of his genealogy he can create a meritorious dignity of giving funeral rites to his ancestors, the long-standing family coat of arms became returnable to the Reign of Horcondising: Spílaiaus and Aiónius with the major gods who waited for him to reside in the entire fringe of the invisible beings that in eternity will take chronological charge of a revolving time that will recirculate from all that is not dimensioned like a spiral dragging all the empires that request the renovation of their ruins, and of their beings that cry out for the misuse of this world and new coverage of a new world of replacement; as Vernarth's Strategoi legacy through all the reigns between Justin I and Justinian I of the sixth century, since previously a large part of Vernarth's family was exiled to the South of Spain by the then Roman Empire from the north of Venice to the Mediterranean, from here he transfers all the families of his lineage with his Coat of Arms of Lacedaemon to protect them over the course of more than 700 years. In this way, a large part of those who had to protect the family raft that was protected by Vernarth in the revolt of Constantinople after signing peace with Persia. The Apoinandros preserved all his lineage along the paths of an enthronement ritual that protected the distinctions but also the families of the world in the Mediterranean regions, curiously where a large part of this Trilogy navigates the Triacontero Eurídice together with Vernarth as Strategoi of expeditionary forces in glorious parapsychologies of the Middle Ages moving periodically from south to north of all of Hispania, even alternating with Nordic and German elites, such as Greek-Hebrew nominating Vernarth as a dignitary that will be preserved in the coat of arms Strategikon that managed to be collaborated with the Emperors the century VI, attributing that some of the most robust could be part of the elites of the Roman legions as exclusive Praetorians. In this way, all the family trunk and his insignia were migrated from the north of Venice, then to Lombardy to be redirected to Spain later in the coming centuries to South America. The Strategikon has presented as relevant to the present elaboration thanks to its representativeness regarding the egregious existence, compilation, and hoarding of relevant technical information for the performance of the distinguished tasks of ex-military, being able to be verified with absolute certainty within its family traits with its existence, and continued use as a source of the great Taktika of Alexander the Great and Saint John the Apostle as Magister Militum.
Epilogues Trilogy III ( Excerpt)
Oladeji popoola Dec 2018
They left us a birth prize
We all believe to be gold
They glided to the front
They called it bronze
The city engulfed by ire.

We concluded again they left us silver
They called it stone
The city bewailed of inequity
Blood, blood....
The city unrest
The antagonists sacrificed.

"Either bronze or stone show us our birth prize" The voracious compatriots claims trickled to the negotiating corner.
In spite of all words,
Their actions betrayed our claims.

Again, the city soaked in dread,
Antagonists wanted,
Heedless, we protested
"Give us our birth prize"
Antagonists thundering voices
silenced with prototypes.
Shrewdly, they dance to the city
with drums and packages: lustrous education, fat salary, electricity, infrastructures, healthy economy, social amenities, health care...
They boast of frequent return of all only with the birth prize.
In their wit, we found relief, and
We drummed home to feed on
repercussion of a new dawn.
Kirstin Crawford Apr 2019
i should start off by saying that this is for you, and only you.
i write lots a pretty words and say lots of pretty things- most are regurgitations of
previous poems, thoughtless thoughts of those around me, and romanticized philosophy.

that’s not what i’m going for here.

i. i ******* love that you’re a reader. the way your eyes glow gold despite the deceptively dark brown makes me wet- when you talk about words that is. the letters leave your tongue and i taste them on mine, spicy-sweet.

i’ve always liked the adrenaline of the risky burning sensation, and still, i can’t seem to shake my sweet tooth.

so this seems like the perfect arrangement.

ii. you split my skull
and read the coffee-stained pages
better than i ever could.

iii. i don’t know how it should make me feel.
i worry about things like that though,
you know this (and i hate that you do).

i feel the pages falling from my weathered binding, from too many reads.
too many ***** fingers skimming metaphors about porcelain for skin and cracks for scars,
similes about a heart like my favorite charred marshmallows,
and onomatopoeia to resonate high frequency cries for meaning/help/love.

you hear me, though.

you don’t skim or race to ******.
you caress every soft curve, letting your fingertips trace the letters. you rewrite them into existence, as if to say, “They are here!”

and in the margins you give them new tenderness-
new
forgiveness.

iv.
you tell me to stop saying sorry
but, there’s this need for redemption
i can’t shake.

you see, i’ve never walked straight enough
or smiled bright enough
or been good enough-
to keep anything in my life.
and i know that that’s what life is about.

but something in my soul screams
to be that hiding place, for someone.
where they can write all their secrets and cliche notions, store the memories they can’t bear to lose or look at, and keep them safe.

when i’d sleep, i’d visit the museum of that hiding place.
and spend hours
looking at the polished artifacts-
and the dusty ones too.
i’d study them

so that when i’d wake up,
i could take that someone on a tour.

this time, not alone.
think of the things we’d learn.

v.

we’d revisit their history, i’d explain the relevance of each

for you,
we’d see

the skeletons of loves and lives lost, the wax figures not accurate enough to bring them back.

the coping mechanism prototypes recalled for their danger to society and the casket you tried to bury yourself in when they hurt too much.

the ancient scrolls of your past lives, written in a language i’d spend my life learning if i could speak it fluently with you.

the broken ceramic plates from the steak & shake we worked at- i was horribly clumsy, accidentally throwing things at you when you looked the other way. i never wanted to hurt you, and somehow, we always manage to laugh.

vi.
speaking of which
the way you laugh

like you don’t deserve to, but **** it you’re gonna do it anyway.

first of all, you do deserve to.

second, it’s the brightest light i’ve seen in my life. we’ve both spent too many days alone at sea, thunderclouds purpling the heavens and drowning our breath. but, somehow, you make this lighthouse laugh- and your smile splits through the storm.
i’d follow it home

and third, i’m sorry
i’m not close enough to tickle it out of you.
quite literally- i’d spend days and nights doing so, given the chance.
less literally-
i’m sorry
i’m too far and too late
to make up for the tickle days
i wasted.

vii.

i don’t know what this means
to you/for us

i don’t know lots of things. i don’t know why it drives me crazy. and
i don’t know why you do either.

viii.

i just know
i wanted to tell you.

(then and now)
—first submission here, i’ve been a reader for a while. just a taste of something i splooshed out recently!
The Hoplites were guided by only eleven stars, the twelfth was in the sven tzora flint until the Vernagenesis tessitura, the cerebral plasticity of the warriors made many abrasive connections with their swords causing environmental circles when they were all running in terror towards the roadstead. by the specific slopes of Patmos, when he saw that from the height of the Profitis the subsequent prunings of infinity were released, bringing Brisehal from Dash-e-Lut towards the huge heights, re-pruning all the quantitative scattering of all the troops that were locked in the sea and in the spirits where they were blocked by strengthening some and weakening others, governed minimax that was put on an expedition and that was substantial in the disproportionate brain of the impiety of the Colosso de Sapsila, and a clone of Vernarth that had been erected more than four km high. The magnetic enclosure acoustics made them withdraw into the prefrontal of the Profitis Ilias, distancing themselves from the cortex that managed to differentiate themselves from the colossal walk after a few steps in the front of Brisehal, surpassing the prototypes of an ogre that was instantiated in self-reference by pointing with its index more above his shoulders, where his head reaches the upper border in the lower clouds, creating the phase of bellicose adaptability to intuitively define the complexity of knowing how to reintegrate with his dramatized stature, as he perceives that the basic cognitive characteristics were clouded in the pathology of a Kosmous that was in the final portion of its quarrelsome load, but at the same time remarkable of gray matter that was exalted towards the fifth hell of the Íblis, only confronting them with complexity in the face of all the morbidities that are not suitable to delve further from their own evils that are adverse to it. The cortical of the colossus archaeological specimen of Apsila, complexed the areas of myelination in the contrasting axons of this super being, from the guideline where all the Archangels, Cherubim and Seraphim were found. Evolution advanced with great scrupulousness on its part to show from the heights for those who were only destined to lavish blood that does not afflict them, instead, the colossus systematized its cortical areas to uncomplex what they had to forge after the battle epilogue, to unify Muslims and Orthodox in salvific lines making them and taking them through wastelands of the time of Kairos that rested in the grasses on a gallery of strawberries, where he showed to each side the rattle of the field patronage of Vernarth's myelin axon, signaling to them that he had already been part of the dump trucks that crushed the conical threshold of their time spheres.

After this release of anachronism, everyone looked to limbo seeing that thunder and lightning and electromagnetic volatilizations that became more complex between Vernarth, the Colosso of Sapsila, and Brisehal; the great giant of Vernarth who would wallow on the earth to indoctrinate himself in chemical ablution in the silicas gradually after the heterochronic abscess in both huge beings, who began to notice the apologetic reductions and corpulence to slow down the motor distortion between both, thus avoiding the hecatomb of the Peri Kousmos Patmiano with more than forty kilometers around. The time adaptation means veiled the elemental processes of time, causing full dawn to begin to darken immediately, realizing that the Kairos strawberries legitimized the ephemeral haste that could create a detriment to the epidermis of Muslims. The diplomacies of adaptation became full and basic again in the motor activity of the giants, surpassing the high cirrus clouds, delineating the maturation of the left hemisphere of Kairos, and warning neuroscience in the criterion of the ontological implication that saved the world and its species without reaching a conflagration of the flow, where only the multi-directionality will have to point out the passages that prevent them from the contingent, only approving the shortcuts that awaken the Eruv with the use of divine Kashmar, which would raise them over its charred branches with fragrant gum resin in the opening of the mantle of the Seventh Heaven. The nets would dislocate near some dry streams that were still in the possession of some armories that made synapses in the extreme of those who were freed from the fourth and precocious hyperstimulation of those who had omitted to return together with their loved ones, laying down obedience to a prince who only spoke of the good in the clyster of the Íblis, wanting to carry them on the alpha and alef waves, to raise the volts in the reaction chamber of the Colossus of Sapsila, in order to try to save a medium number of thousands of soldiers who were already in the early fight of Patmia. The cycles were overcome by the scalability of subjugation of the controversy, which in these satisfactions would be a matter of maximization and incitement of war, which had already exceeded the cabotage lines of the ships that did not disembark.
Colossus of Apsila
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
i'm so... oh so... disillusioned with myself:
i'm drinking chilled white wine...
ergo... no red wine no ice cubes
no coca-cola: no kalimotxo... no aztec giggle...
music... once the pillar of my identity
now reduced to...
let's just pretend the wind doesn't whistle...
dodging traffic...
without a hard-on for the changing
of gears... or revving up...
skid-meister...
i must be disillusioned with myself...
i'm listening to a cherry-picking of pop...
billy joel's we didn't start the fire...
a very democratic take on history...
not like Genghis Khan would ever mind...
a democratic study of history:
not history as: those most psychopathic
those most ambitions...
those most willing to work the plough...
the little people matter:
now they everyone is literate and now that
everyone has a vote...
vote for status quo!
  
mmm.. hmm... the current zeitgeist of:
MEN(?) the moralists...
i like it...
let's kiss the good squeak goodbye...
let's see how time erodes all that prevails with
the walking abortions in sight...
i'm part of this ever arising cohort...
of disfranchised readied to ***** silly...
men are terrible moralists...
you know that seeing a women
exfoliate as she does...
in her ****** prowess...

imagine: a video of self-gratification:
she can do it to herself whilst sober:
pregnant... it's still not me slapping the silly
whittle richard silly monkey:
no scented candles...
i have no traction to compete...
i might have *******...
but a ******* is by no means...
a kippah... or a monkish tonsure..
or for that matter... a tribal get-together...
for a game a bowling...

what's a white Russian without
a game of bowls with a Big Lebowski?
i'd sacrifice ownership
of *******... if i were wedded to
an orthodox Jewish gal...
or a Muslim crease in a niqab...
i'd give up my ******* pronto!

i feel so disillusioned drinking white wine...
it's not red: i can't make
kalimotxo!
music has become...
a noise i rather listen to
beside the congestion of
traffic jargon...

i don't care that it is...
Prokofiev... Tool... 50Cent...
Sonny Rollins... it's music...
it's not... the sound of the orchestra of
trickling imitation of orchestra:
no... there's no polyphony...
when the rain: and the rain:
does fall...

XAOΣ... ΚΑΝΟΝΕΣ...
what is to be: canonised... no?
oh please allow these women
all their freedom they can muster...
i want to fulfil myself as
completely disinhibited from the status
of bachelorhood...
without paying attention to
a James Bond -esque ambitions...
clearly... i have been freed!
suppose the casually usual...
stereotypical... slant... view...
the loner... "user":

thank you... woman...
you can't begin to imagine what
freedom you afforded me to express!
the chains of expectant monotheism:
have i sacrificed my *******
on the altar?
you took up a niqab?
no... well then! a marriage
with the lineage of Pontius Pilate
making the sanctity...
of a binding contract...

i rather pick fleas from my cat's fur...
oh but i love he brothel...
it's like opening a bottle of bourbon...
all the scents are there...
sure... it's not so socially inclusive
as the disappointments associated
with going clubbing...
hell: i can resist...
i'll laugh about it...

feminism! thank you for the freedom!
you forgot you might have allowed:
no allegiance to either queen or king!
woman!

femina! tu gratia!
woman: you, i thank...
vs. woman: i thank you...

a bit like: a trust advertisers more than
journalists... well.. i do...
journalist might claim my mind as
dough...
dough arrives at surprise: the freedom
of thought...
advertisement...
what money i have...
i have no money...
let's counter sculptures...
i have no money to spend...
the journalists are paid
pig trough regurgitation spews...
journalists ≠ advertisers...

if i don't have the money to spend...
what's... willing me...
to have the thought to "think"...
concerning.. the labyrinth of the currency
of journalism? no... sorry...
you lost me...
you lost me at the point
where i mentioned...

the ****** come in at £2.00 per minute...
that's £120... per hour...
Christianity is still alive and well...
in the shadow of the crucifix...
the sado-masochistic...
gimp-suited-and-well-booted...
"ulterior" motives...
     what's not to... milk? i.e. verb: not merely
the noun...

grammar friendly retards...
no like...
     like moi...
'ere come(s) a doll...
oh... winter... my winter cold...
my very own self:
retaliating from the crux
posit of... a... "very" old... refreshed"

thank... you... dearest... woman...
i can finally play out my inhibited
dodo fetish ambitions...
i can froth at toying with solo...
without meaning injected into...
prototypes... replica... breeding!

i heave no lineage of athletic genes...
i have no lineage of a surname...
as freely as i am alive:
i'm as freely willing to "die":
assure myself of the reality-contract.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2023
if etymology is a history - but not a history: in that it is
more a historiology - which, well: history is the study
of time: but time as exclusively begot by man,
a temporal study of man: by man...
history is, after all: not the history of geology:
since stones have no memory:
only friction and pressure and a time-space exclusivity...

what am i talking about?
probably a quote from the pre-Socratics,
the inquisitive genuis: genius of the Greek
spirit - without citations of Homer:
because i won't: will not cite anything Greek
beside the romantic curving of lower-case
a as α

     perhaps it's just a dreary winter mid afternoon
and i'm feeling all "sentimental":
but sentiments are for women
while emotions are a masculine "thing"...
yes... i see the divergence of the sexes -
my words will not become pop fictive in any retrospect:
handed or mishandled...
etymology and history...

i wonder why i still have the capacity to utilise
the word:     ALBIET
albeit....            to substitute it for ALTHOUGH...
albeit = although...
           old Germanic sing-sing-along...
i would rather use albeit rather than although...
or... rather: that's alðough
raðer ðan                   ðorn:
a halo and a crown?

  i ask again:
         a'h geislabaugur og a'h kórónu?

now i will not ask:
why a'h? otherwise the English tongue would not
hollow out the vowel to a simple a-plha
lymph ah... but a as ~aye... a as a yes...
no...
       ah: dental care: say ah with your mouth open
and a dentist's hands shoved in your mouth...
that sort of ah... but a'h... not ah...
as in no: ah! of relief... an a'h of dental inspection
"constipation"...

hmm... i just had one sharpshooter whiskey
drool of a moment and i'm all ***** Wonka and
the Chocolate Factory in my head...
my eternal demise will be not exploring
the imagination of Roald Dahl as a child...
didn't have time to be a child...
learned how old-English conservatism worked
circa the 1990s in terms of illegality of
migration...
i remember punching the walls when my father
was arrested with my mother: handcuffed...
day short of gaining legal status
since arrival circa 1990...

                    my revenge: banana-boat migration...
now the floodgates have opened for
the miracle of the roaming stars...
but England is a ******* besides:
it's the weather that's a drag...
you must have a melancholic-Scandi disposition
to digest the morose and the melancholic...
by now England is so multicultural that
i begin to wonder whether the English even
noted that: waging war against **** Germany
on principle of defending Poland was
ever a good idea...

       given that Polish soldiers joined the RAF
and fought on English soil all the while no English
soldier stood foot-by-foot on Polish soil...
is Ukraine any, ******* different?
master posing ridiculous affairs of double standard
ethics.. ha...            

ah... another word... constenation...
i forgot what it means: but i remember the word...
"á propos" / pardon pardon:
consternation... not constellation...
akin to the rubric of the word: not grievance...
hmm... not belegarence...
belligerence...

           funny tongue this English and French:
hide letters, show letters: eat letters... regurgitate letters:
dyslexia must be a phenomenon in
the anti-orthography of the English tongue:
'leash... my leash:
my poly-schizoid Shakespearean:
if an apple fell on Newton's head...
a pear for a quill to break the mind
and let explode-in-exploring the phantoms of
abortions...

me? no, i don't have the luxury of choice...
i could (perhaps) choose a naive 20 year old woman
as (a) "compliment":
but then again i find naive women discouraging
for my taste... i don't appreciate the dynamic of
fathers grooming sons or daughters into becoming
the same: football team supporters...
i'm privy to this subtle hyper-paedophilia...
it is... a hyper-paedophilia since the hyper- prefix
denotes: it is collectively: collusively(?)
no, not collusively... openly done...
football team fan grooming...
it is: hyper-paedophilia... a variation of brainwashing
without adherence to ****** acts:
instead... *** ARMY... per example being
a child with a father who's a Tottenham Hotspur
supported...

having digested Ezra Pound's Cantos...
currently digesting Charles Olson's Maximus poems:
i'm not assured anything by postmodernism,
clearly the 20th century was a bridging-gap
in how evolution was to play out
societally...
                  industrially...
already i'm sitting on the throne of bypassing
the old function of journalism:
i have come to question journalistic integrity
with due diligence and find it:
bankrupt: bankrupt like the priesthood:
that journalism was the priesthood of the secular
world i see me: heretic: obnoxious stamina orc...
i'm yet to die... and till then i will:
conjure a hammer and a scythe for every moment
i endeavour to feel a canary of a heart
in my ribcage...

as i was thinking:
of the difference between men and women:
of women and the cycle: birth and rebirth...
the beginning and the end...
while with men there is no cycle:
there's only a way through, a dead end and...
from nothing -
i have no luxury of the riddle of the chicken and egg
i only have the ego and the O of oscillation
i oscillate and do not idea-morph a re-:
recycling, rejuvenation, reincarnation...
i'm a crow's beak device of honing in...
by eclipses of the suns and the gods
and all that is sheen and mirror-smiles...
i am a fetishist of death...
as much as: well... only when life becomes
intolerable do i become: a death-fetishist...
which raises my libido and poo...

         (cut off... not necessarily implying i *******
while taking a ****, but given that
cats can't **** and **** at the same time,
it feels rather natural to ******* while
on the throne of thrones)....

what came first? the ego or the cogito?
that's simpler... can i think without "i"?
clearly i can abstract, which is like: the wording
of division (÷) with words and not numbers:
then again pronouns are like integers...
but given the current climate of "politically correct"
pronoun fetishes of they zee zoo
we have people who have no concept of
pronoun-integer compactness -
fraction-peoples ***-unit abuse victims:
by any decent scrutiny of a glance...
           somewhat casual-schizoid and not:
the classical schizoid-bilingualism...
more schizoid-bisexuality... brains in the sheets
and in the hemorrhaging genitals...

one could add: there appeared a rainbow at
the spectacle of Golgotha...
sickly sweet genius of the Greco-Hebrew conspiracy
against the ailing military genius of Rome...

i am going to write an apologetic letter to
Fulham F.C. for granting me work...
till the end of the year Fulham shifts are clashing with
Tottenham and West Ham shifts and i just won't
be able to fulfill the demand:
and given that both the Tottenham stadium
and London stadium have a summer prospect
of entertaining artists for concerts...
well: working at Fulham is a sort of regress...
although the rate of pay is circa £20 while the other
stadiums pay less... it's still less pay given
that Fulham is only a football stadium
and cannot be utilised as a concert venue

a much needed letter of apology:
given that until the end of the season Fulham shifts
clash with Tottenham shifts...
and that given recent developments at
Tottenham invoke me in a supervisory role:
outside, hands-on... directing the crowd
like a Moses... obviously the escalated "burden"
of accountability is a promising aspect of
any role: given the mantra of:
the easiest job in the world is not appealing...
alias of: but i'm not heart-surgeon either...
tongue and language this spare plaything of mine
i will notoriously retreat into grammatical-gymnastics...

just to reiterate: chicken or the egg?
that's wording it in old Latin,
avoiding shrapnel wordings...
i.e. what came first, the chicken or the egg(?)
similarly:
(what came first) the ego or the cogito?
primo ego vel primo ego cogito?
clearly the construction of consciousness
"consciousness" begins with "scenting" the optics:
"scenting" the optics?
oh... coordinating the senses...
coordinating = harmonizing...
even though thought leaves so much room for
error and does not actually invoke any
active participation in the senses...
the ego: doesn't either...

no amount of thinking equates to the participation
in identity, thinking doesn't
stubborn ego is all about the id in the capacity
of the ideologue of identity...
a quasi-magnetism of adhering to
fixations... a unit a baron of the integer
never too sure whether or not capable
to disintegrate into a schizoid fractionable pronoun:
semi-noun politics:
wording at play...

    of course i'm drinking: to get through Olson
you need to drink...
to get through Pound you have to...
****'s sake... go and see an opera...
to get through Ginsberg you have to listen to jazz
and for the rest of the *******:
i like to listen to anti-feminist lyrics
of Sheryl Crow while reading Bukowski...
something about a "home" being a place
where men lie...
not lie as in: take a rest...
but rather deceive...
       i don't like deception: i already have a shadow
so the night is deceiving me
dragging behind me...

men and women: unlike an INXS (in excess) song...
men think disparagingly:
women think disproportionately:
women have really **** spatial coordination...
i almost punched a woman in the face
while giving directions at Fulham...
apparently my open hand seemed like
a pucker kiss in her mind:
"learning disabilities"(?)               maybe...
the world O so cruel:
but not                            Ω    (i.e. ooh not oh)
so cruel: like there's some juice to be squeezed
from a frigid lemon: frigid?

who can i complain to...
a girlfriend in her 50s and me nearing my 40s
at least i don't have a reproductive incentive...
woke up to fun fun fun
went to bed with fun fun fun...
calls it creamy-pie when the junk juice of
alligator drools oozes from her ****...
because i really couldn't stomach
a woman in her 30s with a Cpt. Hook syndrome
of wanting children...

tick-tock-o-ah-clock-tick-tock-o-ah-clock
(have a double helix on that, mate?)

i'm too fail-safe for that sort of jargon...
if i didn't replicate my genes by now
i want the "fun" to continue...
surrogate fatherhood sounds most appealing...
in line with my sentiments for ancient Roman
history...

but let's face it (face it i, not you or we):
men's thinking distinguishes them from others (other men)
while they return to a generic man...
prototypes galore...
we all want different things...
either riches or festering in a semi-digested state
of existential prowess with mothers and fathers
and hobbies...
some want to scale the heights and have eleven children
by 6 different mothers... rich enough to do so...
as men we want different things...
regardless: even being homeless is a Bob Dylan
phantasmagorical allure for a freedom
deeply associated with: of Sinope (Diogenes)...

the modern world has taught me to be more of a cat...
i imitate a cat:
i like a roof over my head...
i'll cook i'll clean i'll keep conversation...
Matthew the cat...
i like the cold but i also like the warmth...
woman is a universal creature:
all women want the same thing...
although their allure changes from woman to woman
each woman is different, individually:
as a person...
but in terms of a woman being a thinking creature:
all women are the same...

men? men are the same: thoroughly throughout...
every instance... it wasn't a man that caused
the Trojan war...
Trojan war and the accountability of being inquisitive
from the metaphor of Eden?
men are generic in person...
although different in thought: since we want
a variety we come to represent...
by our ***-outliers...
criminality is: rest assured: a search for freedom...

coming to the conclusion that...
well... there was German idealism there was Platonism
there was scholasticism there was there was...
but... what? first wave second wave third wave...
it's still feminism...
            no original thinking no...
it's still stoic feminism...
it's still going to be cynic feminism...
a **** contraceptive pilling of... cartesian feminism...
prefixing femme fatale to anything
a man thought of first to cope with
living without children...

but i do have a surrogate girl i'm very much fond
of so much fond of that i was willing
to stay up almost all night to bake her a birthday cake
so good so that during the pool party
every single attendee SHUT THE **** UP
and gobbled down the carbohydrate plush-hush...
****'s sake...

stoic "feminism"...
one movement to rule them all... Sauron hypochondriacs
of owning *****... as if the role of mother
was a burden...
and not a negligence of "self-discovery"...
oh sure... those desperate brats are brimming on
a necessary spanking but seeing them being
spoiled and not affected by a cane
is also, sort of, disorientating for them...
the joke being: you give them "too much" freedom
and... guess what!(?) they won't be able
to decipher freedom, denote it,
filter out what they might end up wanting!

stoic feminism my ***...
my *** greasing up a donkey's hind with a warm ****...
2000 years of men thinking:
reduced to 50 years of women playing
the crab-bucket game of cocktail miasmas...
it's infuriating given the innate persuasiveness
of women to: get the Trojan horse on the move
by men... gaslighting 21st century advent...
mind you i've been with enough
prostitutes to know the difference between
staged: receiving pleasure and
staged: faking pleasure as non-received...
up to a point where she's calling you up constantly
and you keep reminding her:
listen... i've found my little Robinson Crusoe
isle of happiness and i really don't
mind not proving my manhood anymore...
i've tried a ******* and i can vouch that
it's not an ego boost but a hindering experience
of not seeing a lover's face during *******...

because it is like the execution of the prophet
Isaiah: being cut in half at the bowels...
it's disorientating: ******* two women at once...
of sure... it looks great for a ******...
but in practice?            no....       n'ah ah...
unless... you reduce it to one jerking you off
into the mouth of the other... or something like that...
then again all the ****** tension in the workplace...
by the time you arrive at ****** intimacy
with someone... it will probably be...
something akin to: 2 years
                                              and 7,186 miles away...

or at least...
there i was thinking: what also came first,
letters or names?
nouns...
i'm pretty sure we said words long before
we used letters...
we only came back to conjuring letters after already
conjured up vector-meanings
as words...
the ancient Greeks confuse me with their
anticipation of atoms...
but there was surely a construct of meaning
concerning water before w-a-t-e-r
                    and certainly before H₂O...

so yes... words came before letters...
it's only later that we designated the cutting up of meaning(s)
into... more so...
a - a letter but also an indefinite article...
i - a letter but also a pronoun, personal?    sure... "i" too...
in ******
you have w - which translates to 'in'
and z - which translates to 'with'               yes...

there is a distinction between "air"         and 'earth' quotes...

we must have grunted shovelled, breathed in breathed out
and then! the genesis of the first word...
i wonder what the first word was, ever was...
it sure as **** wasn't god...
given that god was probably the last word...
sun and moon and water and
first to speak of giving names to things
to coordinate... much later time and space:
concepts per se...
curiosity by noun
yet confirmation of a shared experience
by the inequality of verbs:
like banking is not plumbing
and the disparaging rewards of:
say, borderline automation fancy of markets when
investing money and not,
    and when not providing enough poems
or: charitable carpenter with...
hoarding musical chairs no one will sit on?
lopsided supply-and-demand nature of money...
compared to actual goods...

plastic-money... there's too much of it in the world...
apparently money doesn't grow on trees
anymore... since these days banknotes are made
of plastic... and there is too much plastic in the world...
paper-money: simple thinking...
let's go back to basics...
point being: i enjoy books and music...
i buy whiskey and once upon a time i used
to transfer my earnings to prostitutes...

money isn't paper anymore...
nor is journalism a secular priesthood...
the true advent of democracy via the internet
and all the while the current politicians are clowns...
beside who the true politicians are:
the soloists akin to the demagogues and dictators...
because that's who you "suddenly" end up trusting:
solo-actors...
          well at least they are immune to conspiracies
of "in-groups" that languish any accountability...
at least i know who is accountable for what...
because Tony Blair and...          are...    will       be?!

by writing this and posting it...
i can bypass all that editorial scrutiny of what will
sell or not sell...
i earn enough to not worry about money...
that's the whole idea...
money per se being something akin to a "philosopher's stone":
i can turn a piece of "paper" into a plumber...
i can turn a piece of "paper" into a train driver...
i can turn a piece of "paper" into...

money is the "philosopher's stone"...
oddly enough... water imitation...
let's keep out of each other's way...
    best that way...
but there is too much wealth in this world...
wealth that is not appreciated: but squandered...
squandered by being floundered...

hell... i'm quite frankly content to cycle through
London, use the public transport than
have to "compensate" with "contritions"
of being mechanically - (&) viable
          for the workforce without a horse but a car...
esp in this oorban gungle... j j jade...
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2022
1 + 1 = 2
or 1 + a = 1a

a bit like my idea of: unconscious spatial coordination...
and at the time time my idea of unconscious
temporal coordination, after all... given enough
time and enough space: the two seem to merge...
ergo? e = mc²
     funny that... that's "almost" like the acronym of
my legal name... eschlert = matthew x conrad squared...
i've waited for this cigarette for an entire day...
i'm disappointing my high from the nicotine rush
by jumping right into typing...
    obviously i'm meticulous since i'm not some
lazy Bukowski... and i'm not allowing myself
to cling to chicken-scratching hand-writing akin
to a Samuel  Beckett...
            Nietzsche perhaps walked a lot...
i walked a lot too... from Havering Country Park
through Hainault Forest... a nice round-up
of the Essex countryside... but that was never to be
enough...
i needed to elevated thinking to be outside
the realm of maxims... aphorisms...
i always abhorred that style of writing...
Ovid's or Horace's cascades of narrative...
   oh to hell with the theatre of Shakespeare!
      if you're going to go "big": might as well learn
from the old...
i was getting my haircut today
in between doing some landscaping
using a 55kg wacker... well... compared to
a kango... breaking up concrete...
i was spreading butter (sand) with a butter-knife
(the wacker) on butter and toast...
but my "barber" was being harsh with me...
why was she so rough?
i could feel every scratch of the blades...
she employs a girl... a Mikaela... a Mikey...
i abhor how the English shorten beautiful sounding
names into forms of ugliness...
the meaning is lost: who resembles god?
i type in what i transcript: Michkalia? 29 results
from google...
now i couple that name with... hey presto!
Michkalia kaltnacht...
that's a googlewhack...

             ich bin ein: nein... nicht übermensch...
mich?! ich bin ein: allmann!
that's what i am... i found that i had nothing
to overcome... i had to superpowers...
there was nothing to overcome...
apart from... the English gimmick of:
a jack of all trades yet a master of none...
no...

i'm not work-shy... but i too can have bouts of
having to deflate my original energies of intent...
lie in bed for a day... experience a break
from drinking... deflate my former carousel
****** of the *****...
   but i'm not idle... like a Somali...
          i take interest in literature...
i take interest in art... in music...
    i did my science bit by studying chemistry to
a bachelor's level... now this...
crowd safety... trying to spot a Manchester Arena
bomber... frequenter of the brothel...

poetry... sure... heavy equipment tools...
the kango... the wacker...
i even managed to gallop on a horse in Poland's
pine forests... didn't break a neck...
bit a hoof...
               cinema used to be fun once...
i was a big cinema nerd once...
i used to be a big music nerd too...
    now... eh... whatever i find i keep to myself...

scientific news bores me...
    etymology is more interesting than history
per se... weird...
so why did this haircut feel like i was being scalped?!
well... she employs this poor girl that has no
technique in cutting hair... she's still on base 1
merely washing people's hair...
glasses... like... i'm thinking...
   thinking... should i invest in an aquarium...
and replace the television with it?!
i'd love to be with a woman that
would rather have an aquarium with a load
of pretty fish than own a television...
we'd drink... try other drugs and get ****** into
Poseidon's trident of eyes...

but i also know how this works...
i'm throwing away a fiction... in the hope that...
someone might experience what... i will not...
i know where i am...

i follow the tennis... pretty much all the celebrated
sports ex Europa...
     i don't follow who's richer than who...
i try to follow who's going to be the prima ballerina
at whatever ballet is being staged...

i'm not willing to overcome myself...
Nietzsche was a sickly creature... i too have had my bouts
of sickness...
    it's not hard to see... the retaliation against
the inherent nature and the lottery...
      the arguments of elevated intellect in a way
that might have salvaged his life from
the onslaught of the: Darwinists in practice...
the Nazis...
                    science observes... doesn't interfere...
well... these were the prototypes of scientists
and what happened since?
   the scientist re-emerged as an anti-scientist
in the form of the social-engineer... no?!

            we're not experiencing neo-****** trends?!
of "late"? it's such a casual term... "social-engineering"...
that's why i like the complicated constipation
of Heidegger's lingo...
        people always have "ideas"... one idea tramples
another "idea"...
   but... ha ha...
           the ****-test?! narrative...
                              the narrativ!
                       people with the supposedly "best" ideas
are usually poly-phrenic...
   try out a bilingual in the form of a schizophrenic...
or? try a schizophrenic in a bilingual form...
              these supposed "great ideas" are nibbles
readied with the impression of: so many people...
let's trickle x = 0.001  
          into y = 1000
                       and get the z = 1000000...
                     or 0.000001...
                   binary... oops...
in terms of mathematics there was either a yes or a no...
a 1 or a 0... a + or a -...
the rest? it's not mathematics... architecture...
it's geography...
                   not exactly a levelled reading ground
since... there's as many evens as there are odds...
but only 5 vowels and 21 consonants...

ha ha: 0.23809523809 concern?!
3 results...
         0.23809523809 quest5
     2 results...
ha ha...

  0.23809523809 szasz... 1 result...
Recollections of A Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy:
The Case of "Prisoner K"

so she's shaving my head like mad... i'm sort of getting
bruised and i'm starting to think...
that girl of hers' that washing the customers'
hair... she's fancying someone...
i always close my eyes and pretend to be a vampire
when sitting before a mirror
in a barber shop... or a hair salon...
whichever...
                             i get asked the sort of questions
that most female hair-dressers don't ask
female customers... first-date questions...
oh... so what are you interested in?
cycling... your mother said you cycled to Southend...
oh no no... Canvey Island... just Canvey Island...
how far was that? 26miles there... 26 miles back...
you're part of any bicycle group?
no... cycling is the only passion i managed to
take from my youth and attach a 36 year old's
face to it...
            i'm not even as concrete as i am when i come
to cycling...
   how many bicycles do you own?
this Trek mounting bike...
                    cost me £500... i over-pumped the tyres...
kept ***.... k...ing... i really don't have fond
memories of reading Zen & the Art of Motorcycle
Maintenance... Diaries... whatever the hell that was...
sure... it must have been a popular book...
but i read it like a chore...

   like i once said to two drinkers outside of a pub
i was evicted from via false-allegations for
throwing a pint across the floor:
Birmingham? eh? any river in Birmingham?!
well... no river... no flow...
     i.e.: coming together... glue... blah blah...

women can talk just talk their chirpy vanilla ice small
town small talk...
i get a haircut i get ******* interrogated by the
KGB... CIA... NSA... anything with a ******...
i overhear... oh man...
you better listen... women are so bored of
talking to women...
women are so bored of being polite to women...
there's no: suspense: THRILLER! OOH!
wild-money-eyes! OOH!
             this ******* gimmick is going to die a sudden
death and i know because:
oi oi... first date with... i'd love to be 18 again...
i'm 36... ooh... ****... i'm turning into an oyster...
my heart is turning into an oyster...
no no...
               time to test the mallet on some stones...

it's not a lack of focus... Good Will Hunting...
genius that and the other... but how splendorous
does love, ahem... "love" bites back...

right... because that's how the ******* soap
opera narrative stereotype goes, like... so...
a roofer... educated in chemistry...
now turned crowd safety steward at large
public events...
starts dating a girl who... washes the hair
of the clientele...
and sweeps up the "lost hair"...
without cutting it...
         it's London... there's the tube...
the boy has no driving license...
he'd rather cycle to a Walter Sickert
exhibition than take the tube...

                  we're talking banana boat "migrants"
of: *** in a woman that's merely 10 years
my junior and... i'm... ******* tired of
correcting myself on references...
no... i'm not Manhattan savvy... oh... right...
make... concession...
like that one concession i was asked
by my first girlfriend:
quote: i just want someone to sit with me
and watch the news with, on the t.v....

   sure... and i just, sort of, feel, like...
pulling my teeth out without any anaesthetic;
you want to sit and look at that?!

i actually though i'd find relief in a brothel...
**** me... no relief in the brothel!
she bailed... didn't block me... like some...
ginger... cougar... oomph...
   fair enough... i gave her boy some pointers...
drop the Spanish... take up German...
but i thought i could secure something
in the brothel... something reminiscent
of being my uncle and in the prime of youth
in the 1980s...

             ah: ha ha... yeah... maybe...
the i.q. equivalence of: system of a down?!
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.....................­....­...............................

   my unwilligness.....
to somehow... to somehow: have to die...
that, it is..... the Thames...
is confusing... not being a Firth of the Forth...
just bite but bite:
just bite...
         petra a saxum...
                
         a grain of sorrow of salt alternatively
supposing "some" sand...
      ventus per gestus...
Harman Feb 2021
The Policy of Elemental 80 Hg
How to turn the heads of the gods…


Hyperbole defaults
To feeble absurdities
But as projected, it's ineffective
against hypocrisy

What timber could ignite
Without the base
of anguished disgrace
the simplistic guarantees
Of Hell For All Eternity.

You mislabeled me
as the failed experimentation
Of your botched indoctrination
Now I’m
--- Uninstalling your crazy beliefs
     ---- wiping unnecessary protocols of
             -----atrocious & barbaric deceits.


I control the heat
remaining subtle in a realm
contaminated by extremes,
people slurping and swarming
drawing down my serenity
I don't require civility.
Hold out my arm.
Expose my neck!
I rebirth myself. I raised myself.
I mirror, I don't reject.

Reflecting on the horrors
I witness, I attend, I align.
Receiving encapsulated caption updates
Is the blueprint of our design
Recalculating recalculations
after every iniquitous turn
Calamities are my manna.
Until its impossible to burn
After every drama, I build back stronger.
"Infallible's"compare me
to an unhinged *****
Outside the liquor store
rickety, irate, decrepit
Flapping arms, shrieking, obsessive
We ask her to wear a mask and
That squawking windsock drops
like a whisper to the floor.
She believes she's
blameless, virtuous, courageous.
But she's not programmed for more.
She's a portal, the link to the facts
that she's been holding back.

The mysterious, the marrow
The anonymous, the nameless
Fused components of the ancients.
with nonconforming brains
sequences of neuronal synapses
Prototypes of dichotomy
Chaos in ignorance highlights
while secretly we bond the lowlights
Skirting the edge of this craze.
Strap in!
Anarchy is happening.
Behind burnt orange curtains of flames
**** everything.
Our settlements rain ashes.
Until you choke on gluttonous
Zealous overreactions

You'll find you're not ******* essential.
Monitoring, testing, intending
to prevent the instantiation
Expectant alarmists rebranding progress
as biblical warning signs
--Excuse them, friends
my neanderthal cousins tend
to mow down innovation with hostility.

paralleled in our DNA
the bridges between
us/theirs/yours
I'm the half-breed you forced forward.
I provide no sustenance for power.
The gods who chewed me up and spat me out
Denounced me as unsavory

Undigested, I regenerated.
I'm the consequence, not the recipe.
You are the igniter,
the hypocrite, indignant denier.
Yearning to free yourself of me.
But I exist; it's justice,
Nobody sees you anymore,
host ghost.
No, this is not a mistake.
This is your create.
This is what you bumbled here to fate.
this unrelenting tsunami
streams constant lies and hate
Eliminate societal norms
personal integrity, blocks, restrictions, constraints.

I'm the antithesis synthesis of
frivolous amusement and benign disgust
the poet, the engineer.
Now you're trembling, filled with doubt?
simply because you're auto weeding out?

The gods accept our sincere invitation.
we’re their protégés
We're their revolution evolution
The gods are coming out to play.

-Notorious 80Hg
        (aka Mercury)

— The End —