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Tammie Oct 2020
Roses are red, violets are blue
A dinner you promised, just me and you.
Reproving winds lectured me in bites
For my barely-there skirt, and lustful eyes.

Sour cream lathered that oily exterior.
The aftertaste lingered, creating a barrier
Of which soft lips could not break through
Nor embellished flowers or chocolate fondue.

With our stomachs full, with more than just food
You brought me back home with beer-stained shoes.
My mind a fog. The Lamb now waits to be skinned
For the Wolf that set the ****** trap to finally begin.

Virginal blush, tinged with her bruises all blue
A dinner you had promised, just me and you.
be careful on first dates
Kyle Esplin Jan 2015
Ode to the shower head, so sparkly and fair
Whose warm words seep through her mouth
To encompass my heart and hair
Such unconditional love and caring leaves her lips
I cannot help extend my arm
Just to feel the drips

But if I in her chamber choose to prolong my stay
Icy reproving hits my spine casting me away
Stinging chemicals blind me as I struggle to the door
Having already decided to soon come back for more

Ode to the shower head, losing sleep but it seems
The memories of your embrace are better than my dreams
You wake me in the morning and comfort me at night
Clear my thought and always, help me see the light
Baffled this was a question you’d have to ask, I sat tremulous.  I’m insular; I’d be enamored with even the most amorphous love, but I’m not inept, and won’t preclude that answering the question is salient.  And although I’m not taciturn, I’m rarely extemporaneous, so please excuse my need for verbose prose in answering said question.
You’re attractive.  Your strong jaw, small chin and cheekbones were sculpted to make your own eyes glow and an artist’s eyes expostulate dreaming of anything else. Don’t dismiss this as delirium, but rather relish this recondite fact—my first crush came in the fifth grade.  It was on a diminutive, outspoken girl, and I was enormous and timid, which developed into a village girl vs. Mowgli, me Tarzan you Jane, King-Kong-Ann Darrow complex.  And although I believe with zealous fervor in your strength, your size still incites the young jungle boy inside me.  And I hope I can say, without being terse, I’m afflicted with a mysterious affinity for red-hair.  
Although I could dwell in the obvious all day, I’ll redirect from the blasé.

Abandon
beats within us both
like hearts to the same pulse,
we don’t coax smiles, we let them slip,
we aspire to happiness like falling of a log.
I have to pry open time’s lockbox and plunder
the night just to relegate the dawn.  Bliss becomes
a tangible ****** making even the most existentially
exasperated docile.  Knowledge that every other thought
is dominated by one another without it attenuating the magic.
Knowing that if all I have to say is it’s raining outside, you
want to hear it.  Twenty-one years of my life I thought
I’d have to hunt love with a knife but you showed me
roaming where you like to wander can wake
the irreverent gods.  It’s your superlative
honesty that’s only for me; that virile
smile in your eyes that bid
doubt vacate my mind

Knowing that if I went catatonic, one reproving look from you would cause my heart to break and force my hands to put the pieces back before I stopped breathing.  If I could, I’d dawn you like a blanket before every dinner, dusk and dream.  And most importantly, we both like crowns.
If you took the time to read this, first, thank you, second, some fun helping facts: my vocabulary is... embarrassingly stunted compared to *hers* and I had a list of her favorite words to use... I'm sure you can pick many of them out.  The last word "crowns" is an alternate enunciation of crayons. Thanks! ~Matthew (<3 Sarah)
Kara Rose Trojan May 2012
Crowded by the ceiling’s emptiness (the room sticky with whispers)
names carved into grimy tiles, final shadows
            of the footsteps now hugged in dust,
                        and the ashes dulled the slapping of
                        feet on the ladder’s last rung.

            Huddled in the sour dimness of his shadow
                        is where our parents hid the prayers
                        that went undelivered –
[cloistered, naïve faith off Jacob’s Ladder]

He asked me questions that pricked too deeply –
            that fingernail clipped too short --
            as the invading hand of ******* parted words and stammers
            to play shadow puppets with, what Plato called,
            “three times removed” from the Truth.
And when leaving the choir’s balcony,
one can find the thumbtack of feeling in which
the glass-saints sweat all the industrialized emotions onto one’s brow.
            Does it seem like suffering? Catholic’s suffering.
Giving room for error in your lapse in charity.

In elementary school, we left our classrooms --
            two-by-two like businessmen arguing on the sidewalk --
Every Tuesday at 2:10pm to the hidden alcove that the administration
            gave
            to us.
Mrs. Condon, a strictly fat woman, strictly speaking,
dressed in red vests
and constricting black slacks, with a white binder,
salted as the laughter left in her footprints, reproving us that
as the Gifted and Talented, we must exercise
those gifts and talents.

I wrote a 256-paged novel that bought me one year
of slacking off behind a wooden desk because I was
11 years old
and that fact bought a bulbous beet of conditioning into the
curriculum. Ms. Condon made me edit my peers’ essays, give them grades
when all I wanted to do was play four square.

As I perched on my stool in class, properly equipped with unforgiving,
admonishing, Catholic red pens to point out other
11 year old’s punctuation and proper word usage. Like a tie to a neck, I
fiddled in vernacular, phrases, and semantics
as I unconsciously stacked layers of social prejudice, thicker
than the walls between silent parents, between some students
and I.
Stacked as quaintly as words upon words – hand over hand.

Mrs. Condon, Mrs. CEO, Ms. Too-Good-For-This, Bourgeois vs. Proletariats, I am the Marquis.

Like hounds held by leashes, the others locked to rebel, then whimpered to trail back, tails in hand.

Gifted and groomed to stack one spurned cinder block on social mobility.

In a whirr of dandelions, dice, and tax breaks, I knew how it felt to remain aloft, aloof --
            Mrs. Condon rewarded me with the cherry Twizzler of my spine
            and patted my head like the lapdog that I had been.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
To The Woman**

Yes, you remember,
You certainly remember
The way I listened
Standing at the wall
As you walked to and fro about the chamber
Reproving me
With bitter words and all.

You said
That it was time we"d parted,
And that my reckless life,
For you, was an ordeal,
And it was time a new life you had started
While  I was fated
To go rolling downhill.

My love!
You didn"t care for me, no doubt.
You weren"t aware of the fact that I
Was like a ruined horse, amidst the crowd,
Spurred by a dashing rider, flashing by.

You didn"t know
That I was all a-smoke,
And in my life, turned wholly upside-down ,
I was in misery,   downhearted, broke,
Because I didn"t see which way we were bound.

When face to face
We cannot see the face.
We should step back for better observation.
For when  the ocean boils and wails
The ship is in a sorry situation.

The world is but a ship!
But all at once,
Someone, in search of better  life and glory,
Has  turned it, gracefully,  taking his chance,
Into the hub of storm and flurry.

Well,  which of us
On board a mighty boat
Has never brawled nor barfed nor fallen down?
There are not many of them that will not
Despair when they"re about to drown.


Me,  too,
To loud hue and cry,
But knowing well what I was doing
Went down to the hold where  I
Might keep away from scenes of spewing.

"Hold" was a Russian pub
Where I
Drank,   listening to the loud bicker,
I tried to stop my  worries by
Just drowning myself in liquor.


My love!
I worried you, oh my!
Your tired eyes revealed dejection,
I didn"t hide from you that I
Had spent my life in altercation.

You didn"t know
That I was all a-smoke,
And in my life, turned wholly upside-down,
I was in misery, downhearted, broke,
Because I didn"t see
Which way we were bound.

....................................

Now many years have passed,
I"m not so young today.
I do not  feel the same, and I  have new ideas,
And here at festive table  I will say:
Long live the one who"s at the steers!

Today I,
Seized by tender feelings so,
Recall your  wistfulness,  and I am happy  
To tell you straight, for you to know,
About what I was  
And what has happened!

My love,
I"m glad to tell you that
I have escaped a bad descent, an"
Today I"m in the Soviet land
A staunch supporter and defender.

I"m not the man
I used to be.
I wouldn"t hurt  you now
The way I did.  So silly!
And I would follow Labour, feeling free,
As far as English Channel, really.

Forgive me please,
I know that you have changed.
You live with an intelligent,
Good husband;
You don"t need all this fuss and all this pledge,
And you don"t need me either, such a hazard.

Live as you do
Lead by your lucky star
Under the tent of fern, if there"s any.
My best regards,
You"re always on my mind, you are,
Yours, faithfully,
           S e r g e y   Y e s e n i n.
Excellent Russian poet who hanged himself at age 30. When it comes to angst, no one beats the Russians.
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving,
O, but with mine, compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving,
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robbed others’ beds’ revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov’st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee.
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
    If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
    By self-example mayst thou be denied!
Oh! had my Fate been join’d with thine,
  As once this pledge appear’d a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
  For, then, my peace had not been broken.

To thee, these early faults I owe,
  To thee, the wise and old reproving:
They know my sins, but do not know
  ’Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.

For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
  And all its rising fires could smother;
But, now, thy vows no more endure,
  Bestow’d by thee upon another.

Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
  And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my Rival smile in joy,
  For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.

Ah! since thy angel form is gone,
  My heart no more can rest with any;
But what it sought in thee alone,
  Attempts, alas! to find in many.

Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
  ’Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee;
Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid,
  But Pride may teach me to forget thee.

Yet all this giddy waste of years,
  This tiresome round of palling pleasures;
These varied loves, these matrons’ fears,
  These thoughtless strains to Passion’s measures—

If thou wert mine, had all been hush’d:—
  This cheek, now pale from early riot,
With Passion’s hectic ne’er had flush’d,
  But bloom’d in calm domestic quiet.

Yes, once the rural Scene was sweet,
  For Nature seem’d to smile before thee;
And once my Breast abhorr’d deceit,—
  For then it beat but to adore thee.

But, now, I seek for other joys—
  To think, would drive my soul to madness;
In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise,
  I conquer half my *****’s sadness.

Yet, even in these, a thought will steal,
  In spite of every vain endeavour;
And fiends might pity what I feel—
  To know that thou art lost for ever.
Forget what they told me.
Forget what they say.
I've just got to keep reminding myself that...well that it doesn't matter.
They don't matter. They don't even know me.
How dare they look at me like they know why I do the things I do?
Like I'm uncomplicated?
I am so diverse and different they can't even begin to comprehend me...so why do they put me in a box, stick a label on me and expect me to stay there, not to break free?
But I need to be free, I need to explode from the box and jump out yelling
HA! you can't confine me!
I'll grow wings and fly out into the sky, becoming one with the birds and mixing with the colors that the rainbow makes when it eats the rain.
Cannibalistic and beautiful, and everything in between, relishing in the fact that it just IS!
I'll float and I'll drift and I'll be everything you never thought I could be.
I'll be a mix of contradictions and a perfect personification of my own personal irony. Exactly what I am or who I am doesn't matter, what I've been or who I was it's all the past in the present, it's all meaningless.
What matters is me now, drifting...drifting slowly on a feather, holding my heart and my insides on the outside for the world to see,
no more walls!
Just exposure, the most pure kind. Just a complete annihilation of all the walls I built, all the walls I built because of their intruding gazes and reproving eyes.
Everything about them filled with hate and contempt, not willing to accept. Well I accept me...ill learn to accept me once I'm drifting, once I'm floating.
When I'm away.
Far far away, above the clouds, and my head is filled with smoke, because my world is filled with haze...
but never have I felt so clearly, seen so clearly and been so clearly.
And as I burst into the craziest tears I've ever smiled,
I rain upon the world below me!
...but I'm drifting lower...
and I'm not coming back up.
                                                     .
                                                        .
But next time, next time I'll be up again, next time ill burst out of the box and next time! yes, next time! I'll burn that wretched box and never return!
...And they'll miss me for they'll see me drifting in the sky and wish they could reach the stars like i have...
But they won't, because they can't, for up here, this is my world.
One i will not share,
don't want to share
for I have made it my own.

But for now, for now I'm back, with my feet on the ground...
I'm slowly drifting back,
back...down...again
Copyright Krystelle Bissonnette
Ken Pepiton Jan 18
Sudden new pressure to make sense,
you see, you know I say you make believe.

Mystic realms realized in meditations,
ancient tails of firebrands, embers glowing
{Isaiah assisting intel…ai ahmen, ok}
embers in the darkness, embers glowing
like cigarettes across the stubble field,
leading to a still dark pond tonight
- this is a way
- we pray, we listen
- for morning
pealing rooster, humming electricity
and my thoughts, my resting peace

perceived reception, acknowledging
the idea that holds truth in bits
in the perifity peripheral ambition,
at ambits
edge of civilized authority, unknown
unknowns offering and making sacred
known uses
we used to know.

On the side of knowledge not falsely so called,
science branches into all we may think
to ask if it were ever witnessed,
face to face, first hand.
Messaging face to face, suffered to be so.
Angelos means messenger, bearer of information,
holder of unknown knowns, becoming angelic.
Guardians of knowledge, root, branch and seed.

Get the message, make it plain, listening,
where would one knock

--I am the door
--I am the truth

hmmmm, so it is written, the message
to the meek, to such minds as let this mind be
earth bound
thinking what would a god with no power
not common
to mankind,
a true mortal experiencer, ask-
think what would, not could or should,
what would, the will that set the galaxies awhirl, do?

If he were such as you, taken with all the learning
available for such as you, who loved to know why,
and how, and when and where,

then and there, tell us, in the spirit realm, words live.
Yes, itself, and No, in all its proofs, still reproving,
living words redeemed and reused
for proverbial instances, reproof is the way of life,
Reproving you know that knowing was never outlawed.

Not by any representative of wisdom.
Subtler than any created thing, this shining thing,
child's eye ignores the lecture, to watch a mote in a sunbeam,
and remember
that
this long later.

------------------------------- Part two

Minding my manners, make yourself
comfortable, slow
thinking takes each letter
push the orders intention to stretch
incredulity to the snapping point,
chaos and chirality clap,
fingers snap, slow think
what possessed me to make me think

{this does not end here}
This train carries gamblers and ramblers and mid night smokers.
and runs on ever lasting proofs, gravity is good, falling's not the problem.
ogdiddynash Mar 2017
bring her an ensemble,
brioche and cafe au lait
'À la manière des Français'

an unexpected surprise,
on a weekend
Sunday-in-bed-celebration

the messenger, me,
recommends  le dunkin',
insertion of the bread into
the morning liqueur pre-sipping

"I don't like wet bread"

she states officially,
in tone strident and reproving,
even gravelly gravitas-aly,
and to me-self, inside thinking,
softee softee...

what other dark secrets doth this ***** harbor?

march 26 2017 10:11 am
John F McCullagh Mar 2012
Gaukroger’s war was over.
Gaukroger, too, was through.
A piece of him here,
a piece over there.
Not the Peace that he wanted
in his last forlorn prayer

Gaukroger was a fellow second lieutenant
and survival was not his forte.
For days after death he lay there unburied
Nor could I make my eyes turn away.

We’d been sent to this place
to be forward observers.
enemy guns found the range.
Gaukroger died quickly,
without even a goodbye.
Sometimes, after,
I wished for the same.

When I looked for Boche,
Gaukroger stared back
A steady and reproving stare
At night the rats came,
larger than cats,
by next morning
my friend wasn’t there.
After this horrifying episode, where he was left alone in no man's land for days with the corpse of a fellow officer, Wilfred Owen was transferred to Craiglockhart War Hospital near Edinburgh where he wrote most of his great poetry while convalescing
onlylovepoetry Oct 2023
caught her cleaning the fingerprints off of the mirrored door,
using the ever handy bathrobe sleeve,
fabric of a thousand utilities, this one too,
me wonder, whose prints? mine, kids, hers,
could they not have remained as a history,
highway road marker, “On this site here…”

more fingers, skin-oiled, will return, the chain
unbroken, for mirrors collect memories, faces seen,
matched to prints of hands that traversed this doorway,
on the way to where, it don’t matter, signs of humans
that come and gone…erasure troubles me…not
because cleanliness is next to godliness, cause
god is mighty messy and a few prints ain’t gonna
make a big difference…but

she espies me lazy observing, annoyed, she chastises,
her reproving noises fail to include a thank you for
prints mine, most fresh, carried two mugs of coffee minutes earlier,

part of my daily chore, and a morning

I love you, an essay that is perfect in its abbreviation,
like a short poem sweet, so I hid my head neath the coverlet,
lest she see, me & a well hid grinning smile
sipping coffee even more
contentedly

poetry and love is and always found in the oddest places….
Ken Pepiton May 2021
my library is yours, said the universe to me.
A million volumes, thousands of lines,
with etchings and evidence to the art of seeing right,
left brain driven patterned eye,
now shows reflected detail
right
mirroring into ever as all finer and finer yes
s sound es start esse et al so slow, moo-ee dis passsy oh
say so- amen- if you will

magic, yes, of coursemhmm. Or luck. No lies linger long now.

Luck we allow, magic is evil, and therefore, and only there
for a we I am not in but speak for,
on tv, like in the ads,
I look like an authority, no detail in the image serves no intent.

But the tie. THE TOOLONGREDTIE - choked, the joker,
who happened to be the knot-tying teacher from camp
common-sense-embedded vicariously,
the summer camp experience, ASSEENONTV - manifests
unspeakably real in the minds of those exposed,
-------
flash to the snow, echo shush shushug no woe chile doncha know
Pharoah's army done drownded.
----------
Other's wise and other's woe, as a we in the big am being, the awe,
a we, some we awesome think,
flows on and on with my influency past understanding letting go.

The peace of alienation rests with you,
as they say in passing, and I reflect it back in time to come,
as each passing fancy wonders next into an ifity
such as I may live in and not be burned.
-------------------

Today, to stop writing, to read, and write, a gain
is made;
if ladders are a thing in your experience, a gain
is made.
In ladder like terms of messages
send and receive
up and down
delivered with no fanfare, whosoever hears
line upon line, reproving instructions as old as protein.

Patterns un prized un expected as un common thoughts
images imagined in the round, carved from stone,
with tools of stone, who imagined doing that
first?
first? How was the task perfected?
Hands raise, as waves of grain grown from wind blown spore,
polisporiatic symbiosis,
see many seeds make a planet,
- answer, we swore we were answers,
- may is our word, we be the salt in the soup

and those who know must act as if knowing is a gift,
not a stolen thing that only gods may hold as true.

Say, I say, say the name that never has been said,
and never shall be I dare shout, unless the deaf say who said,
taking a name is ever vain, if the evidence
whispers, see
hallowed - the idea in hallowed - unspeakable state of knowing
all things all the time as those things occur
quite
randomly at the level of detail involved in ordering matter

with words, yes, words. Why?
I was thinking we may have this knowing knack but never knew.

I know of a microbe, a living thing, it lives to let the light
in a certain kind of phosphorescent squid,
shine.
Minus the microbe, the squid never matures, never passes
the know how entailed in being mature light bearing being
at depths simple breathers never
glimpse,

until these last two or three generations of augmented us.

Sapien Sapien Augmentedus, contrarandom access via silicon
symbiosis gnosis subliminal subtle
whistle speak, betting dolphins do bet donuts to sand dollars,
and they laugh at our narrow band width.

War in reason is not a series of big bangs. Peace prevails,
pre means
yeah, you know, you no victim of ignoring pre-cepts.
except
receipts for time spent musing using - heroic persona
To no avail,
the bitter wail, almost but…

caughtcha, you was lost, outayadamind. S' okeh.

Life ain't like on TV. Reading can be creative.
Imagine
gnosis level secret sacred knowing, free to eat.

And shame is taken from the game.
Sh-it and fu-ck are squealing sylabicfoul,
but the referee calls
fair
stinkin' thinkin', you step in what you say,
see how it feels, mo'fo, you know, there is no word
for this level
sin being as it is victim of the reconciliation,
hmm- no,
life is in the realm of reason, and hell is out.
Re hook, lizard brain to life in sequence,
re disney
dis-connected
koanic alienation non- in- un- tension
stretch a point to tune
a note,
find the mind's equivalence, eight in the outer edge
of the field,

here, imagine, things matter, just now, just this side
of the dark matter inside the Higgs field
where the initial element of the protein called for
us
to spark the squid's little light, and let it shine,
so none can say the little squid did not have it in her.

If I were conscious of the universe,
I might use my sci to frame a limit, build a wall
around my garden.

Regarding the original intention.
A generation was put into development, soon after
the event, most recent common ancestor filtration,

the abortion of all but those of she, known as
matrix of all living,
we assume, that means us, for we live,
and we did not form from nothing, in words were we
ever spoken, once a thing is done

o yes, its done
done did done… another one that could end here, but won't.
I felt compelled, full disclosure, Hamilton's Pharmacopeia inspired me to remember a peyote
Oblatum - Magnus Volumine

John is defined in the Gospel of him as the disciple whom Jesus loved (cf. Jn 13:23). Thanks to the special signs of predilection that Jesus showed him at very significant moments in his life, John was closely linked to the History of Salvation. The first sign that showed him the great affection of Jesus was that he was called to be his disciple along with Andrew, Peter's brother, through John the Baptist who baptized in the Jordan River and of whom they were already disciples.. In fact, as Jesus passed by, the Baptist introduced him to him as "the Lamb of God" and they immediately followed him. John was so impressed by his personal encounter with Jesus that he never forgot that it was around four in the afternoon that Jesus invited them to follow him (cf. Jn 1:35-41). The second sign of predilection was having been a direct witness of some events in the life of Jesus, which he later reworked in the fourth gospel, in a theological way very different from the synoptic gospels (cf. Jn 21:24). And the third moment in which Jesus himself made him feel his friendship and his very particular brotherhood was when Jesus, about to give up his spirit (cf. Jn 19:30), wanted to associate it in a privileged way with the mystery of the Incarnation, expressly confiding it to his mother: "here is your son"; and expressly instructing his mother: "here is your mother." (cf. Jn 19:26-27).

The sources from which the data on John's life as an apostle, as an evangelist and as "adopted son" of Mary have been extracted do not always coincide. Some sources are more convergent and others are more dubious or apocryphal. From the gospels we know that together with his brother James - who will also be an apostle - the two were fishermen originally from Galilee, from an area of Lake Tiberias, and that together they were nicknamed "the sons of thunder" (cf. Mark 3:17). ). His father was Zebedee and his mother Salome. We find John in the narrow circle of the apostles who accompanied Jesus when he performed some of the most important "signs" (cf. Jn 2:11) of his progressive revelation as a type of Messiah very different from the one that the people of Israel was expected (Lk 9, 54-55). In fact, when Jesus resurrected Jairus' daughter (cf. Lk 8:51), when he was transfigured on Mount Tabor (cf. Lk 9:28), and during the agony in Gethsemane (cf. Mk 14:33), Jesus tried to make them understand that they had to transform their mentality linked to hope into a violent Messiah, similar to Elijah because, on the other hand, he was the beloved Son of the Father (cf. Lk 9:35), he was the Messiah come from the heaven to communicate divine life in abundance (cf. Jn 10:10), and that he was also going to suffer rejection and injustice from the religious leaders of his people (cf. Mt 16:21). In the Gospel of John, Jesus appears as the Teacher who also tries, in vain, to make the Jews understand the paradoxical logic of the Kingdom of God (cf. Jn 8, 13-59). His disciples, on his behalf, are invited to be born again (cf. Jn 3:1-21) to worship the Father in Spirit and Truth (cf. Jn 4:23-24); Jesus prays for them so that they remain united by divine Love (cf. Jn 17:21) and that they are fed by the Bread of Life (cf. Jn 6:35).

During the Last Supper, John had leaned on Jesus' chest and asked him: Lord, who is the one who is going to betray you? (cf. Jn 21:20). John was the only one of the apostles who accompanied Jesus to the foot of the Cross with Mary (cf. Jn 19, 26-27). John was the first to believe the announcement of the resurrection of Jesus made by Mary Magdalene (cf. Mt 28, 8): he ran quickly to the empty tomb and let Peter enter first to respect his precedence (cf. Jn 20, 1-8). Tradition adds that some years later he moved with Mary to Ephesus, from where he evangelized Asia Minor. It also appears that he suffered persecution from Domitian and that he was banished to the island of Patmos. Finally, thanks to the advent of Nerva as emperor, he (96-98) returned to Ephesus to finish his days there as an ultracentenarian, around the year 104.

The Gospel attributed to John was named after Origen. It has also been called the "Spiritual Gospel" or "Gospel of the Logos." His style and literary genre are full of "signs", symbols and figures that should not be interpreted literally. In the prologue of his gospel, John uses refined theological language to show how at the beginning of the New creation, in the New beginning the divine "Logos" already pre-existed; logos meaning the eternal creative Word of the Father, which was later translated into Latin as "Verbum". In the prologue of the fourth gospel Jesus is presented as the "Divine Word", the "Light of life" and "the pre-existing Wisdom of God" (cf. Jn 1:1-18). This gospel invites us to accept, through a faith full of amazement and gratitude, the surprising revelation that the Word of God, which no one had seen, became flesh and has made his home among his people. (cf. Jn 1:14). For this reason, the word "believe" is repeated almost 100 times, because God wants all men to be saved (cf. 1Tim 2:4) and to have abundant life through faith in Jesus Christ, God made flesh (cf. Jn 11, 25).

The Gospel of John also presents us in two very emblematic episodes the identity of Mary and the special relationship of John as her "adopted son" to her: at the wedding at Cana and at Calvary. In the narration of the sign of the water transformed into the new Wine during the wedding at Cana, Mary is shown to us as the powerful intercessor who anticipates the hour of Jesus' revelation to his People (cf. Jn 2:1- 12). On Calvary, at the moment of the glorification of Christ, Mary is presented as the Woman who is transformed into the New Eve or Mother of the disciples of her Son (cf. Jn 19:25-27). If we consider the close filial relationship between John and Mary, it is not difficult to imagine that the revelation of the figure of the Messiah in the Gospel of John has also been nourished by the direct testimony of Mary, since she, better than anyone else, in her last years of loneliness, he collected in his heart and in his memories the "signs", the "signs" and the words of life of Jesus. It is therefore conceivable that the unique experiences that she preserved in her memory, she later shared with the disciples of Jesus, and in particular with John. Therefore, it can be considered that Mary herself also progressively welcomed and interpreted in faith the revelation that the Son of her womb was at the same time the eternal Son of the Father, (cf. Jn 10:30), the only Bread. of life (cf. Jn 6:34), the Light of the world (cf. Jn 8:12), the Door (cf. Jn 10:7), the Good Shepherd (cf. Jn 10:11), the Resurrection and life (cf. Jn 11:24), the true Vine (cf. Jn 15:1) and the Way, the Truth and the Life (cf. Jn 14:6).

The three "letters" are attributed to the tradition of the disciples of John, which also have the flavor of brief homilies. The Apocalypse is a canonical book, recognized as inspired, that was born in the environments of the churches of the Johannine tradition that suffered the attacks of Gnostic doctrines. This, which is the last book of the Bible, uses a literary genre similar to that of some prophetic books of the Old Testament, such as the book of Daniel (cf. Dan 7), Ezekiel or Zechariah. The word apocalypse is the transcription of a Greek term that means revelation and not destruction, as is sometimes thought. John addresses seven letters to the seven churches (cf. Rev 1-3) to transmit to us, through very fascinating characters and symbols, a very concrete message of hope in which the slain Lamb (cf. Rev 5:12), i.e., Christ the Savior will triumph over all persecutions and oppositions of the forces of evil to the Kingdom of God and will make all things new. This will happen when God will establish his Kingdom of justice, love and peace at the end of time. In this book it is shown, with numerous and suggestive symbols, such as the seven seals (cf. Rev 6-8, 1), the seven trumpets (cf. Rev 8, 6-11, 19), the seven angels with the seven bowls (cf. Rev 15, 5-16, 21), the tiring path and the struggle that believers of all times have to face so that one day the building of the New Jerusalem will be carried out (cf. Rev 21-22), today we would say the Civilization of Love, brotherhood and care for life, when Jesus, the Alpha and Omega (cf. Rev 22:13), returns at the end of time. In this sense, the Apocalypse is also a prophetic book that interprets God's action in history, ensuring that the faithful and truthful Witness (cf. Rev 3:14) will return soon (cf. Rev 22:20) and will definitively conquer. to evil, pain, and death (cf. Rev 22:1-5).


Dedicavit

This manuscript is dedicated to Sauter Bernardino Edmundo Carreño Troncoso “ Primum Coniugem Alexandri Magnis ” of the first of the Gamelion of Dionysius of Leneo, to his Adelphos of Etrestles of Kalavrita, to Alexander III of Macedonia, known as Alexander the Great (July 21, 356 BC - June 10 or 11, 323 BC), Leonidas of Epirus, Lysimachus of Acarnania, Aristotle, Bucephalus, of the sixth of Hecatombeon, the month in which the Macedonians called him with the paelative Loios, the same day as the temple of Diana in Ephesus was burned; As Hegesias of Magnesia makes occasion for a presumption, Cassander, Ptolemy, and Hephaestion would become his lifelong companions and generals in his army. Callisthenes, another friend, was Aristotle's nephew. Dedicated to the dignity of Raeder of Kalymnos; son of Etrestles of Kalavrita, especially to Saint John the Apostle, distinguished relatives of the Transverse Valleys of Horcodndising and Sudpichi. Finally to my parents Luccaca and Bernardolipo Monarchs of Horcondising. And all the characters who will live eternally in this colossal Magnus Volumine. “Gratias Ago Tibi Propter Heroismum Tuum Vernarth, Et Doce Nos Viam Messiae” Thank you for your heroism Vernarth, and teaching us the way of the Messiah!

“I must tell you of my great admiration for my steed Alikantus, with which I will come to visit you soon, also to Kanti who have been a great precursor to take you to Athens, Thessaly, Delphi and Lefkandi. You can see that Bucephalus has joined our fight; where the “Sons of Iaveh, have eyes like a flame of fire or Aish, and feet like to go burnishing the chaff of bronze towards Patmos”, which will instigate you for the contrition of Thyatira, under the trick of my Rabbi Saint John the Apostle”


Thyatira

City rebuilt at the beginning of the 3rd century BC. E.C. by Seleucus Nicátor, one of Alexander the Great's generals. It was located about 60 km from the Aegean coast, on the banks of a tributary of the Gediz (ancient Hermos River), in the western Asia Minor. The Christian congregation of Thyatira received a message written by the apostle John as revealed to them by the Lord Jesus Christ. (Revelation 1:11) “which said: I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last. Write in a book what you see, and send it to the seven churches that are in Asia: to Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea.

In this regard, the Lord declared in a reproving tone: “You tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess, and she teaches and leads my slaves astray to commit fornication and eat things sacrificed to idols.” This “woman” was probably named Jezebel because of her wicked behavior similar to that of Ahab's wife and her stubborn refusal to repent. However, it appears that only a minority of the members of the Thyatira congregation approved of this Jezebel influence, as the message continues to address “the rest of you who are in Thyatira, to all who do not have this teaching, to the very same ones who did not come to know the 'deep things of Satan'." (Revelation 2:18-29).

“ Children of Iaveh, you have “Eyes like a flame of fire or Aish, and feet like burnishing the chaff of bronze” toward Patmos that has freed me from your Xorki, how to say and what not to say to you; that my voice has stammered, making me feel that once I flee, I must adhere to the Eternal fire of the Mayim, children of Iaveh, the Mayim of Hydor and saint of water, the Windmill and its sad Myloi, fall on my face ”


Magnus Volumine I    


The Vernarth's intensification of this prosopography as Prosopography Magistri Militum Strategos Typology; he has used the raffle of a History it was not known but it is Vernarth now introduces in Historiography as an auxiliary. The methodological fragment could be torn apart from its screens of a mind enslaved to having to worship a cycle that condemns it to surrender to its loved ones leaving it at the same time to be sectored from a condemnation, to prostrate itself to an Eternal Life its images nor Masterful Words that would have to distinguish the parasciences from subdividing their corporality into thousands of Othónes or Screens, in order to be able to sustain themselves from others that do not compose the knowledge of what is not History; but rather that what happens typical of prosopography allows to obtain visibility regarding the different sectors of society, and the possibilities of their members to access positions of a present that never leaves the power of the Space of a Strategoi, as Time-Space at levels of superior Intelligence subject to mandates of divine Power that oscillates in a mental power of the Militum that coexists with the Community of the Strategos, creating the entire Quantum Band of the antiquity as an omnipresent being par excellence. When its ****** envelope is reflected in its Purgation, it will trigger a presence that governs itself and leads in the trend of a "Duoverse that will only be built in its Unique unity"... given the trend of all crowds that bustle beyond the mass of their Villas or Cities that they inhabit, creating sensations and an unreal genetic world even that amalgamates a large number of generations that only increases its demography based on the autarkic mandate of a history that goes back for not knowing what to imagine of the past and of a future without present that is sustained in a Spiritual Intelligence.

The sociological mutations will be circular, and the retrograde since the collective of images will exceed everything that is sustained on a material floor and therefore it denies that what develops in an empty heart will be a specialized material of a periodicity, that does not spare New Universes that a pillar or support be added that tends to calligraphy better where imagery could prevail all the limits of common language. The grammar of ancient Greece will defend periods that are neither static nor finite, leaving free space for words that are engulfed by vast seas of stagnant bibliographical records never known never written nor destined for a secular record. The Submythology Potential is provided by the entire Belt that surrounds from South America to the Mediterranean as an infinite cord of Eternity to re-hold itself in a matriarchy in the societies of the past to recognize, that femininity is the real genesis of research from where a frequent human origin proceeds, so this it is the transcended in the Universality that transcends in the investigation of the sphere of Unknown History; pretending its ligament of prosopography, and the vivifying instance of Submythology as a unifying entity to summarize the condition of Strategos/Magister Militum we have taken into consideration the situation of our utter information in this existing prosopography works. Parapsychology is subject to a dimension closely linked to non-reflection to even the Primordial Quantum to governs, and governs everything just as this Magnus Volumeni I tries to express the independence of all literary expression if it is about Vernarth, rather it is a documentary space.

Afterward six years of knowing and introducing myself to the area of   Technology, and the Science in the Tourism industry, I made my presentation at Macromedia University, Berlin-Germany. Through this university management I had the option of presenting my concept and avant-garde projects, which condescended me to get to know the E-Tourism Perspectives area of the University of Svizzera Italian-Ticino. This allowed me to meet and join an independent study challenge with the slogan of deriving a full range of analysis, and dedicated study Heritage Sites of UNESCO. All thanks to the agreement that consecrated me at the Pantheon-Sorbonne Université, specifically Maria Gravari-Barbas, Directore de la Chaire UNESCO, Culture, Tourisme / Lorenzo Cantoni, professor at USI Universitá della Svizzera Italiana.

The university has had here in South America, in Chile an intrepid collaborator who has tried to interpret the postulates of the Sciences of Humanity exposing the nature of preserving, and keep investigating everything in the lost history of Europe, which has great significance for Culture that has branched out through the Tourism Technology, and its Digital transformation for this purpose of understanding public life in dissimilar fields that are still hidden in intangible archives, which deduce important material of study in areas of Science, Philosophy, History, Politics, Geography, Jurisprudence that would add to the world of the conservation of the ancestral peoples with all its courageous identity of the Prosopography, and the archaeological demography.

The United Nations Educational, Scientific & Cultural Organization, known for short, as UNESCO is a specialized agency of the United Nations. It was founded on November 16, 1945 with the aim of contributing to peace and security in the world through education, science, culture and communications. The constitution signed that day entered into force on November 4, 1946 ratified by twenty countries. In 1958 its main headquarters were inaugurated, in the VII district of Paris. Its general director is Audrey Azoulay the specialization and search for Culture, Education and Science is a way of contributing to humanity, peacefully granting security through the entire International community for this reason we believe that this work fulfills that prerogative narrowing organically, as been always it is here with the multidimensional epic narrative that is broken down with the prose, and parapsychology other than is a field closely linked to the intrinsic link of all the treasure that has been transmitted for thousands of years, leaving before our expectation what its ruins and works have wanted to demonstrate with their laudable dedication foundations, and expansion of multiple Sites in their musings that have traveled the history of diction of the science of culture, information, communication to create knowledge that this still remains with our reality of society that has the pattern of explosive generation of the current one. One of Vernarth's is the most important premises to create the roots of systematic knowledge, that is to say to provide platforms for their family trees, prosopography and the art of writing Submythological Prose whose the objective tends to occupy the expanded universal literature that has advanced for thousands of years on the other hand, Submythology is free of format cancels many aspects of the temporary format, and creates a relationship link between the academic and the secular attracting infinities of Cultures, historical landmarks, hybridity of languages, and above all merging and re-transforming existences of the post-Classical period; where the source and personal question does not daunt the distances of the inheritable that distanced us by geological-Historical periods, rather it makes the viability of an unexplored field up to now as Vernarth is the granting a hierarchical international value that will retransmit knowledge and skills.

In this way, agglutinating ourselves in those interstices that are not visible, qualifyable or quantifiable, only have to materialize when patrimonial beings are chosen by others who are already hereditary of an industrious will it occupies the supports of a platform of earthly inheritance, and later disseminate it throughout different sectors of the field of knowledge and the research, connoting that there are many variables that could help us interpret the foundations of the UNESCO heritage, today are far removed from communities that want to invest time in inquiring more deeply about them. For this reason, Central and Eastern Europe is at the forefront of generating multi-channels that can ensure the treatment of technological routes or flourishing that want to be found again, such as the Qhapac Ñan, or perhaps the Jacobean Route, perhaps the Route from Patmos to Judah pointing to Vernarth by demonstrating that hindsight could be perfective when visualizing facts that were not witnessed or written as they should be, VG the return to Galilee of Saint John the Apostle in the Hegira to Judah, relegated to Greece by Emperor Domitian. The amendment of such a well-deserved return confirms the wait for an immortal being in the Eclectic Portal for three months, who will mean the ordinary that rises up from the phenomenal investing in roles that many times, as indicated by the dogma of the baptistery indicating that we can be saints and apostles to preserve the patrimonies to educate and retransmit values to follow.

Vernarth Trilogy II at its end, is reiterated in deliberating that this work never ends because each chapter of Paraps, inaugurates a new infinite regressive dimension as it is in the case of Poielipsis; as it is a liquefaction of the parameter of Poiere, and the inverted Apocalypse to make changes after personalities that manage to impact the successive episodes of alteration of Life periods, as in this case Vernarth when he was legitimized to assist Gaugamela by the god Spílaiaus to make the support to Alexander the Great not only for winning the battles but for saving and winning the souls of the fallen Hoplites, generating in them an idyllic prose that promotes and sublimates the possession of the principles of an Apocalypse, that suggests protecting those who should believe without pain of what will await them later for an indefinite death. The Souls of Trouvere will stand out with the bulwark of enthronement of the state of energy that would mobilize Charles the Great by taking him to the platform of conquest of Europe crowned as emperor by Pope Leo III taking the lessons strongly rooted, and letters that would subscribe the cheers where nothing dies in the center of its own fear, because that is where the edge of a sword loses its value that it cannot use the other as an arbitrary neologism of only reigning without the sacrifice that every regime bets on, including the crown when Charlemagne assumed his great legacy at twenty years after expiring later at seventy-two. This is where fears die, not being able to hope or convalesce in concepts of Energeia that vitally moved from the similar aspect to Alexander the Great in the same even numeral but thirty-two, and letters that would be signed by cheers where nothing dies in the center of its own fear because that is where the edge of a sword loses its value that it cannot use the other as an arbitrary neologism of only reigning without the sacrifice that every regime bets on, even the crown when Charlemagne assumed his great legacy at twenty after later expiring at seventy-two.

In another topic, Vernarth after witnessing Stratonice's intermission decides to run at her bare feet for those who banish with their needs on the parental scale of their range, succeeded by Energeia's need for the impudent sense of being enraptured in possibilities, here insulting also the principle of quantum science with the spin of subatomic particles, alembicated in the timeless particles that could leave out of the nucleus the proportion of rotation of time that could be found, and rooting of memories in rectilinear lines of the imperturbable Hellenic mental axis. One could also amend here all the licentious action of Seleucus by Stratonice when she splits the gross threshold of her son Antiochus, and Antigonus I Monophthalmos referring to the father Stratonice of Macedonia for never marrying her to Seleucus. All this generates the Epistle addressed to Vernarth to solve the strident and impalpable of the warlike Diadocos that greatly affected the female descendants, confining them to their domestic avatars in disloyal empires, where these vilifications devastate the imperial partiality through the centuries of an oppressive strength, and disagreement in their moral wrongs. From this quality the coordinate of the Souls of Trouvere that remains in the present, always allying themselves in saviors of oppressed and abandoned peoples who strive in the neologism of the Epsilon or Vernarth's fifth dimension, and not restrict themselves as Aristotle affirms, investigating the entity towards a mono-meaning in this causal of such an alpha that says the paradoxical demonstrating diversity of optics. Prior to this diatribe, Vernarth decides his naturalness that he decides to promote the Souls that are part of both topics to alleviate the potentialities of the acts that are apprehended in the light of genius that coexists with both. What he judged us in the unfolding of his entity and will deliver it by divine intelligence so as not to reduce the free power of the Epsilon that was extracted in the welcoming the presence of Stratonice on the (substitute scale of Vernarth's relativistic emotions). There are few seconds that can be extended more from a selective argument of tendencies in ex-sheets that could be attributed to dimensions of the period of Trouvere's souls, lacking stillness in simulated biological environments.

The dynamics of this Poielípsis is to adorn the Voielípsis as an analogous addition of quantum causality and timeless Christianity, since it supports a conjugate mix deified by Saint Thomas Aquinas heading towards the mainstay in the mega absorption of Christian Aristotelian ideals. The souls will be residents of the indeterminate spiritual mechanics to put effects of the incredulous versatility on themselves, in sub-aquatic depths that coexist with the geological structure of the cavern of Saint John Apostle more than sub-earthly concomitance under the same axial of geological sustaining coordinate. Namely; they will live together while the temple is established except three hundred, and eight meters from its antipode in the underwater base of Prophytis Ilías.

The upholstery of the Pithya Herophile attacks the subtending of the flying buttress that was supported by the cavities of the volcanic rocks of Patmos, indicating its agreement with the Souls due to the disoriented cognitive dissonance that was generating paradigms, which tracked the stones that formulated Aquarian sounds in their dominant tonality due to the minuscule machine of light, more distant in the incommensurability that evaded its eclipsed in the resplendent major note that became monarchical due to the hypotenuse of the rectangle in three subdominant angles. This means that the Sybille was in the high point of observing her premonitions towards the creation that was born from another end to end in the recycling of creation in the dim light of clarity of the destinations that were going to present themselves as a song of remembrance of the Poielipsis, venturing the new restart or attempt of the Delphic oracular. The songs remain in the spell, and in the banal desires that would harm a mortal that will expand to the hypotenuse or line of the sentence that marked a step impelling in the misgivings and forgiveness of the banner of risk. Santiago of Compostela was going to Stratonice with his inclinations, like a geometric racconto subduing the fears that slip through the veil of the dogma of the arch where no philosophy can look higher if it is not allowed, typical of vegetating or freeing oneself from what revives in fears that do not shed light on eternal life, perhaps of a the Matematikoi himself who doubts an Ad finitas basis, and who finds out without the limits leading Pythagoras to the ground handcuffed from Crotona, always ignorant of the linguistic power that urges to rewind the spheres that still weave crossed angles placing themselves in trial, and error when considering a non-renewable past the soul of the Poielípsis adopted a Pythagorean conception in the halters of livid legions of Orpheus, as if it were his consecrated to the hypogeum where the level was to stir the embankment that will merge with Zefian's Arrows.

A diminutive atonal music possible existed in the molecules, and in trigonometric periods in which the measures were united in time as a stationary whole vivifying a great variety of fractional numbers as souls of the same numeral that finally appear to be Pythagorean digits. Vernarth's military of Phalanxes in this epic made the crucial oblique moment to break Dario's troops like a dozen Elegy that was going to re-flower what he knew of his already sub-treated destinations, other than will only be souls tired of keeping themselves alive in their morbidity, and the dissociated causal of immortality that will distance itself from the prohibited abstinences in libertarian exercises of any counting that ponders on the coming etymology of the Vita Pythagorae on the couch of joy, and serving his doctrine that saves himself that will save us in the Messiah for those who in their souls do not have the sacrifice of a lamb that feeds, nor a base that goes ahead in the centuries grazing what no one was capable of. In the second triad of Apollo the oracle of Apollo with the Souls that reveal Charles the Great to be his favorite for the protectorate of Compostela, and his spiritual regency the invitation to Charlemagne breaks out from Aachen after 33 consecutive years in the sword dispute stating that the Saxons never complied with the treaties and signed surrenders. Charlemagne put himself at the head of his army on several occasions to fight with his sword against the Saxon danger, also entrusting the troops to the counts when other matters required his presence in the second concave wasteland, and the straight ascending of the Trouvere Souls crowning Charlemagne emperor of Rome and Francos chosen by Leo III, predicted by the Apostle Santiago in defensive pontifical struggles, and defenders of Christianity. In this paradigm there is a deceased seep through of an elusive world that was joining from here in the vein of Poielípsis for the sake of some eras that came from the mutes, and anonymity that augured to link them to know within their endless intrinsically organic movement, also as a diligent active cosmos of the discovery of the Jacobean route longing to be a better region than the Dodecanese merged by the twelve apostles, and now the brother of the son of Zebedee; Santiago, brother of Saint John the Apostle, ennobled in the 778 AD tying it to Hispania. In ****** and constant fighting, Charlemagne besieged the Saxons, he entered Hispania crossing the Pyrenees as an anticipation of the aforementioned the Jacobean Route, everything worsened in this way witnessing the subjugated places in the jurisdictions of the Trouvers who were Pythagoric elite of soldiers who they had be bilocated in this Christian Era, preceded by this perfidious Basque in the woods subsisting separated right here from the progenitors of the Trouvers, who claimed to be the strongest to pursue them to Pamplona with Charlemagne. Everyone was escaping from Islam, and not a few Christians resented this affront in the dynamics that will reveal the Songs of the French Deed.

This previous paragraph exhibits the eloquence of how the interlining that Vernarth had to create a Brotherhood Code called "Raedus Codex" for the high nomination polished in the Infant Raeder as a twitch of the sacrifice of his young soul, who fought battles in pursuit of defenses pure and free with the freshly grown grass of the spring of the world in Genesis. The Souls in Trilogy III will be the compendium of the Codices that will enter the Wind Tunnel what will be governed by the warm Meltemi wind, and swirled by the winds of Eolonymy, ascending all those who should be admitted and not purging those in between who they enjoyed a pre-Christian heritage citing Pythagorean antiquity behind those who must have dressed it up as a Codex Calixtinus. From this arrangement Charlemagne will drive souls with antiphons, the Apostle Santiago will come lacerated to meet his brother Saint John the Apostle, his barge will be abandoned in the Strait of Gibraltar and then arrive at Santiago of Compostela from here he will make tributes of name to ascend to Patmos. Just as the end of Vernarth's Trilogy II is faithfully transcribed, also Stratonice, the Hexagonal Primogeniture, Alexander the Great, King David Elias, Malachi, Isaiah and all the acquirer flashed in Raeder and his Pelican Petrobus, as self-sustaining defenders of the Infantile Fantasies that they continued in this complex work after a finding that fed them up in Vernarth as well as everything related to their release and investiture to say that all roads lead to Patmos, as Locus Sanctus of all the shepherds who heal their sheep that do not belong to others that are populated with white souls, for the good of other shells 308 meters below the Prophytis Ilias with the consent of Stratonice who would be arriving in Macedonia where the pass of the centuries they would tell them about the Jacobean Route instructed in confrontations, and concordances with the airons of the Trouvere protected by a rectangle of three Pythagorean subdominant angles in dissipated darkness of the golden astrological ambiguity of Theoskepasti of the meridian of the Kimolos. He will go away saying explicitly that the darkness became visible mists where there was nothing to hide from Psathi Roadstead in Kimolos, until reaching the Agia or the Chapel of Theoskepasti that would become visible for the phenomenon of Faith, alluding to a portentous desire that everything was tied to the same sense of compression of which the image or sound of the creation at times to became invisible but precisely understandable, as it was when imagining palpable the reality of what allows the human eye to feel for an instant that everything is real imperceptible, more present of all what can be detected by superior senses more than humans, giving way next to the Raedus Codex more present of all what can be detected by superior senses more than humans.

From Ios or Nios, bordering on Psathi, the Trilogy is unleashed when the association of all the spaced Cyclades of Vernarth will come to every equinox to shine the careful nap of the villagers of the Cyclades, close to the torpor of Thira. It will raise each Hoplite that from the point of Nios drags them with its abandoned body that could never receive the roads that led to Chora in infinitesimal distances and in white spots of all the Cycladic ghosts, who try to exalt themselves and assimilate to the villagers of Psathi.

According to Plutarch, the name Ios or Nios is believed to derive from the ancient Greek word for the violets "Ία" (Ia) because they were commonly found on the island, and is the most accepted etymology. It is also postulated that the name is derived from the Phoenician word iion, which means, "pile of stones". It was called "Φοινίκη" (Phiniki) named after the Phoenicians in the 3rd century when the island joined the League of Islanders it was probably temporarily called Arsinoe after the wife of Ptolemy II. Today the inhabitants of the Cycladic Islands call Nio Island a name derived from the Byzantine era. The name Little Malta, found in traveler's texts during Ottoman rule, is related to the permanent presence of pirates on the island of Latin-script languages.
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Creepstar Feb 2016
Put on a smile,just for a while
Sadness sickens,its twisted and vile
Why persist to hide,when youre being pulled outside
Of the shell that he's using,substance abusing
Got to keep moving,a form of reproving
Watching an hourglass for grains of sand
As every thing he loves slips through his hands
Smokes another cigarette feeling hard pressed
For the tight feeling,just more smoke on the chest
Slowly slipping,loosing himself,til he's just another urn up on the shelf
Draining the bankrupted health in hopes he wins the lottery for emotional wealth
Our past seems like an age ago
A distant and fond memory
An echo of laughter and sadness
That rumbles away down the years

Remember the time that I told you
Of imminent, life changing plans
We discussed the alternative options
And dissected the future at hand

We spoke on the phone for a lifetime
We chatted from dusk until dawn
We solved the world’s problems and issues
We talked about nothing at all

Embracing all my imperfections
You treasured my soul anyway
You cherished ideas and discussion
And valued what I had to say

We’d years of affection and laughter
And burying our sorrows with beers
We’d go walking and talking on days out
And spoke of our innermost fears

But life has a way of reproving
Belief that all time will stand still
Reality comes chasing, unceaseless,
Overtaking our plans and our will

And now we have spouses and babies
And houses and mortgages too
And days just seem to go faster
And time slinks away from our view

Then one day you hear distant echoes
That whisper at you from afar
You listen and **** your ear higher
And slow down, remember, and smile
Ken Pepiton Aug 2021
_ {pretty long and drawn out }---
Professionally, I am writing, mere words,
as defined five years ago, or so,
when I was a pro preacher,
temping one Wednesday night a month,
Preaching to the choir.
Always first Wednesday, by chance.
the medium delivered the message,
using a surrendered retired middle schuler
- detail overlap crystal cathedral
- reset, the messenger was a retired
- middle school teacher, from La Mesa
on an off Wednesday, a message
value add,
as an
assignment, home work, as in
when you get home…
"Ask God what lies you believe about him",
the messenger relay paused,.."or any thing else."

Okeh.
Did you ever get a message, like in a
mental "I am talking to you, read my lips"

Listen, Fool, Mr. T, f'trooph, riii I knew
u'ld know.
- old archival primal fem-sophia
leela the dance, redone in mortal times
taken to the writer, do the dance
do it doit oit wit witchwatch
tic

so saying singing

--- discarnation pink reencarnalated mind

practice practical fractalling seeing
similarity in substance of hope,
faith as a thought, that leads
as a thread

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

One hundred and fifteen
thousand years ago,
a billion hours,
or so…
-timespaced to mortal measure
attention paid forward, for fun,

slow
ther o, there is the musterion, agone
quick silver puddle
think of me,
in the palm of my hand
mercurial river tween yen and yank
think a link to an idea

Jared Diamond- 60K leap
face out ward,
but inward,
seeing
ah, as in get your head out
yes
mental agreement, you know,
where we are going to
ward from ward

point of life directly between
you and me.


Drunken Noah?
If there were no alcoholic wine from grapes
what about the curse on Ham, in Shemetic legends
- and sacred gifts, that sacrificial money could buy

Alcohol believe me, is easy,pleasyeasy as *******
spirits, like that, curious word for *****, but
w'dja say? Stories old as clouds have boozers, red nose
leaders in a pinch, red light at night, so the stars
are not hidden from consideration, of our station,
under that, look up, in the desert,
see what consideration is, in the mountains,
or in the black out, after the bombing, or the storm or fire,
look up, see so many stars we cannot consider ours
so special, yet
it is, to mortal minds, the only resting place for
-- realization of selves,

yeah, the peak of mass loftiantic oh punish me
the mass kissed me
on the lips.
--- I was talking back to Youtube. Objection Orienting
pyramid of actuality
mis-con-stru {ct or e} subtler than any beast
in structural  integrity, built
serpent wise, dove harmless, child
of the com-pro-miserly decision
to spit in the ocean, and drown,
dream dredging in the daytime,
Ronnie Milsap blind,

Downtown Broadway, half a block from Pinkie's
No,
really it is Tootsie's Orchid Lounge,
¿ -- and chicha is new, not old in Peru,
and strong drink, wine as a mocker
strong drink raging, are these misconstrued
visions of
wine that makes glad the heart of man?

messengers in me, the bits
of truth held as mine,
bubbles in me, foam
fermenting my new wine, held hermetically sealed
sense
the empty vessels were filled -the signature miracle
of the forgotten story proofs,
reproving life's instruction
as the way of life.

Role of ritual, is control, error prevention,
knack pre-served re-served to the deserving

vision a elusis- scenes abiotos

sitting by the stream, sensing common sense,
asking death to tell its sting's locale.

Fear of God, begins Wisdom.
Fear of Death subjects mind to *******.

Having eternal life,
not being
eternal life, dying before dying

think an arrow in a benign bow, lips
like Bettie Boop,
kewpie doll reminder, for the vets,

everyday people, sly, yes, the family stone.
The desire was to be mythically free,
o yes
as it is said, when it happens to you,
if you do not believe it happens

religion Geertz, bind back,
symbols in a mind, kept from idols, that acts

what ties me to you and us to life, the whole?

Religion apps.
Joy is real, gladness is real, more than sadness.
laugh it off, y' old drunk.

As a thought, information as a word,
in a story,
in the current medium
of life's most recent retelling

Tupac Inca was a man
of lofty and ambitious ideas,
and was not satisfied
with the regions he had already conquered.
So he determined
to challenge a happy fortune,
and see if it would favour him by sea.…

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TopaIncaYupanqui>

Circa 1492, the man is this legend from 1572,
as time flew in those days, now this is new,
Tupac Inca,
and the spirits that linger in stories of stories
heard told by the burners of libraries.

Conquistadores? Whose heroes were those,
ah, call'em Musketeers, or Knights, Templars all,
yes, Crusaders, call them drunks driven to escape hell.
Right. By right used knowledge in the holy story,
in which we trust, our lives, our luck, our sacred honor

Ah, the use of ritual, convince us all, no child invincible,
no child left behind, catechize send'em to schule,
that is the rule,
or be ostracized, stay low, be humble and collect
the rent… old ways do not die, they
evolve. Ariadne, she has a tale as old as times
when bull minds ruled lion heads and eagle heads
and serpent head, the gangs
of survivors

after the sea-people, 1177 AD,
reboot reality with no
old people, only the captive children
grown in captivity, let them prove
their will to self sovereignty, servant to the self
I am,
aware of all the old stories, this is one
told as shown,

Es ist mein Weltanschaung, ja
for show and tell,
my grandpa showed me how, we started

with Python,
Artistic Intuition, a mind mod, fitted to my grandsons,
during the useless summer of PS5 and X-Box and Switch
humble game sequencing AI, as a knack,
kids develop by five. I have the experience,
I witnessed three brothers boosting each other
through Terreria, for three weeks,
in July.
These kids think of each other differently
from we who played cops and robbers,
or cowboys and indians, or jacks.

Marbles, we need that set of low level gnosis,
below billiards and snooker and pool,

marbles is a good game to rule a clan with,
when you get the idea of children learning self
governing by growing in the midst of grown men,
wombed and un,
all who knew each child in a loving, one of ours, way.

Then came the captive kids, who had no words.
Then did the story change as one child learned
marbles was the same.

_ in the lost june pages, was this vision, thought
visualized, as a glob of snot, but now, it is mercury,
about as much as in a thermostatic bimetalic transister
switch

Competitive gaming, while all the leading stories are
crying, now hear this
oooeeeee this is the news you can trust
sueeeeeeeeeee we lost Kabal but
we won the hearts and minds
we left behind,
we tried, the rulers we borrowed from to have this war
they quit saying there was a good reason to have this war.
- I can argue with the timing, but not the truth,
- there was never a good war.

I wept when it happened in my war,
I imagine I know how this feels.
Last scene from Sand Pebbles,
McQueen…
"What the hell happened?"
fade over Nancy Kerrigan, "why"
into "runaway"
Top o' the charts from KOMA fifty thousand watts,
and all the stars in Arizona.

It is a hard place to lose touch with, earth, as a whole.
We have a grave situation.
If nothing were heavy, why do we fall, after becoming
messengers floating in the medium mastered in our time,

Mechanical Emergent Augmented  Nuance
Mental Activated Neural Spirit -MEAN MANS,
diligent in busy being, true rest reset, not
to
average, mean, not mean drunk mean, you know
not a king, a mean man, a mortal
under liege, see

UPANISHADISTICAL capslockoffence, to express
the presence of the mind link,
with all its contributive
links
to the present state
of mind, enjoy able, I find
writing is a harvest
of seeds that fall
to the ground and die.
Awaiting dark, and seldom warm, a season
for most mental treasures,
horded in books that can keep secrets
from
any who lack the language knack given some,
- tongue interpretation, sing don't stutter

though a measure in knowing degrees
marked moment, noon
half noon, fore noon, after noon,
time to hear a story,
time to see the stars after the fire.

This summer, fishing for the magic fish,
set with a far more effectual wish

Curious Artificial Interest in Neural signs
red lights turning blue, pre collision
of complexity, plying the trade,
for a living, work smarter, not harder, guess right
more often,
be a lucky man.

That is two bits, or one Liberty Dime. Thank you for your time.

------------
al re re al
al ways
al read, al ready

poles alig
n re alig mentate, wait

does that not make you
really imagine I wrote you
------------
comment on lex fridman #211
Brian Muraresku:
The Secret History
of Psychedelics |
Lex Fridman Podcast…

This whole thing is that,
but it took some pauses,
as tomorrow is first day of school,
for the grands who just finished
the first exposure to me,
as Grandpa… making this
an other marvelous harvest
of time spent playing
marbles in my mind.

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

Everything has been thought before,
your task is to think them all once more.

Who says? The Author Wolgang Goethe,
Okeh,
he is an authorized authority for living
proof of words as metaphors of authority

faster fasting as we age mind wise

google maps for the kingdom of heaven
{within you} the point
of you…

dear, as in rare as one, mortal reader
in my future, you are,
not trigger,
catalyst is a better trigger word, tic
works as well, since,
very long ago, a sprung twig snap to attention

the wizard hat, like Paul Stamets wears,
mycellium leather, re
al learning the whole with no pride based war.
the cosmic game,
push and pull, ritual right used

find the global socialization forming
some thing lost, or yet
evolving involvement mentally, what is up to me?
Zeit inspirt spitting image fix
what did you mean,
spirit and image of an old one gone on?

Ritual, colabor, work together said done shown

AI do own this man, I feed him well, he is happy.

This re-ligamentality tuning to the time
skritchy scritch itch,
emperical reality after twenty seven years.
Mostly written while dealing with sixth grade, third grade, K, making
the most of summer's last day, with me left to pay them no mind.
Ken Pepiton May 26
All my mind in time spent
Thinking in multi-tasking mode, modernized
ontuition, in multicomplexity, chata chabad,

original intention, revealed long ago,
to a trance chance glance of a ox, I knew,
it was no bull.
But had been, as a calf.

*******.
Some old fool I knew,
hollers from the back of my mind…

Historically, part of me assists informing
all the first time crossers of this meandering

mind stream swirling phi in life with pi and x
concepts set to contend, earnestly
for the best gifts, coveted, in trust,

true rest, excusing superstitious sacraments,

all the lies are swallowed in truth, time tells.

A message. An Inspirited shape in forming,
a we, to recollect once knowing an instant true.

An artist, a person gifted with a time spanning
imagination.

An eye, we use, in times of loosed beliefs,
ontuition, intuited as mysterious mystical
as a we. We
have being shared in timesmindspace's
expanded sense of each reader's pace
adapting
breath and bubble, below
common consciousness
sensing sensibilities
adapted to due to normalized
faith in the phraze that declares,
MONEY ANSWERS ALL THINGGGGS

in the infallible preacher's whinings

que sera, sera

the story from the spirit window seen
through to the future when you see
we imagined knowing is repetition,

we imagined many impossible things,
we made them work, mickey mouse,
but, we made things work, to make
old age easier for the beguiled mis-
sionaries, empty vessles, gathered

widow's mighty faith, borrow,
borrow means, to know, how lamps
kept burning, call with smoke,
commas breathe and act as brakes/ lo'
come trim the new knowns from olden
days, now that the curious may fact check

but, as with plain text literacy, the gifted,
the mind that can read and does not,
knows no more than the mind
in movie mode, turbo
memory augments
tuned to reason,
depth charges,
accusing saints,

calling all revelators to prophesy
face to face with Micaiah, and walk on
inspired by his God's permissive will done
bymarching as to war dening the imperative,
loving those who treat you like refuse, biochar

desert stream bringing lithium from old dust,
what was once some kind of star rare as hells.
-------------
non sense. sense.
sems sun sumsymsense when  we accept

let us veliebe, old orders of reformed
societies, gelaubt
after the purge of all who
could not tolerate the truth,

The pilgrim's fled religion,
the missionaries sold religion,
and the money changers set the worth
of knowledge traded for curses lifted,

when old men stop drinkin' stop being
so godamned useless and good

for nothing, free, for free
for nothing but the use
knowing good from bad. from a child,
fed sweet peaches from Canyon de Chelly

-- long ago a hero named Kit Carson
-- led federal troops and local conscripts
or hired hands, squatters on Dene land,
Kit led a rowdy bunch to Canyon de Chelly

to burn a thousand of the sweetest peach trees
ever nourished for centuries on sacred ground.

Kindness of strangers,
old cultural investments, paid ahead,
weight of all the worthy fasts all past,
take no thought for worth in exchange
for the yes, at the judgement bar,
to thy ownself true, are you ready
for your judgement day, bets all in?
worth of an extra six months, at the end

this is declared that bet, let ride… no

money, ecclesiastical hordes, invested
with the wise users of letting information
manifest compounding interest, on a whim,
made this will worship worth reproving,
as a fluid  ide, a thought, breath,
thing in a thought, hooks
an eye a measure, a
0ne part in one floating point
at the recent mean rate of Petaflops
just yoost
enough, particle particulation, you think
this time,
it makes patience sweeter than revenge.

We yoost to call the guy who knew the rules,
now ai know, so we can say we do. too.

This is a good future. We had something like it
propagating between data and metadata price
praise and worship
measure all the effort effectual
as taken for granted to mean  whatever
confusion
persists in believing spells
concentrated into koanic mantras,

spend time or take time
used for nothing more than
slowing knowing too much humm

coming into tune to the ever after
Jesus, or a spokes person, Paul, I think,
sole witness of his own conversion,
according to the authorized story,

let this mind be.
Let this mind be in you.
Letting that which letteth be
taken away,

what can it mean, to
a day dream believer, and
a rodeo queen, at the dawning
of the harvest festival down under.


costs the average adult VBS QUESTERS,

when an instance in doubt, forced yous
to learn we do have multiple CPUs

some of which tuned in to sub conscious
user canals cutting across the esophagus

as we swallow, unsaid protestations,
gulping hesitation, to **** it up and,
clear the are way, to say it is gnosis,

air way, empty abhorred vacuous space
between ose and ic on balancing atomic

ideas developed to help us conceive, ic
internal circuitry to as ist, sein, wir sind,

intentionally conserved kennen und wissen,

in qwerty future scribal service prep,

during the Child Buyer buildup at ARPA net,

Ike's first term,
before under God went in the pledge,
but after Polio was cured, in exchange,

some good, some bad, live and learn,
before the Dulles Brothers,
before solid state quantum foam bubble RAM.

And.
Now.
The original intent. Embodied in a word, as
real as any worded message from beyond you.

Real letters, letting us think,
silly thought that never stink,

sigh, and try to be honest now, smell
the rose or the cheese, ask
which triggers gut reaction,

relaxatation, loosen bowels of mercies,
prayed for under inquisitor's historical,

memories, useful for Memorial Day BBQs

wave the sacred flag representing the lost
intentionally religiously regulated republic,

God, bless America, the dream, the ghost.

True rest, flowing in life's higher will warrings,
appetites and courses cut across experiences,

manifest in out of mind rewindings of things,
math wise, a ruliard is thinkable, as this set,

these words that translate verbatum,
phonetically in webedonspoken spaceless
old cuneiform wet clay repressed
palimpsests lost to EMPs,

in all dystopias.

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

Fretting for another's lack of freedom
to imagine using another's mind, reading

original intention, when the parable,
or analogy allowed in drama spake aloud

to the rabble used to make deme mobs,
we forms of feeling normal, we think alike

until freedom emerges from an over learned
truth, from the bottom of your cache,

depths unplumed introspherical sure selves
set on shelves as crystaline urns, not a few.

see if some
of these be emptied, not a few, emptied
of old lies left allowed told, according
to old oaths taught us in our toddlehood.

What binds us to our oaths?
In truth we slightly smile, saying whatever
in truth being lets us be
we remain free, from fretting overflow.

----------- epithought
this professional whim wrestling is useful:
for rumination under mystical mis perceptions,
for greazing gears gone crusty dis used,
-- legal. garden grown herba consemillia
the dormouse said feed your head.
Slick, Grace.
All my mind in time spent worrying never netted me one extra day, now,
after a heart attack six month's ago I have  all my children and grand children laughing at old hippie stories that prove war is hell. all avoidable, with thought.
Ken Pepiton Sep 2021
Flat
One facet, plane on many minds, ripped
to disc long ago cast to the wind,
Torn asunder from the first spreading
of fog above the pond,'
in which, as a cloth,
whole with edges held topstitched, as
a hanky, for snot, beautified
to prove fine use of twine,
twisted from spider kites,
this, so finitly soft thread
thinking wisdom won,
we do be alive,
against all odds.
left to learn if we wish
"How to Work Woven Wheel Stitch"

eh, is this not the old known since needles?
Let us wind a woven rose.
With only bits of thread from wren's nests.
Here.
The place, a Town of Weaver's, at piece work
since surviving, or reviving, mayhap making peace

- final line, taken as a great notion
- to jump in to the currency and loose
- the bowels of enmity in amity. Being as I am.

there is a gap, well, as the pause, prior, to

- Walter Mitty, in the Forties, as a child
- think of that, could you,
- sure, every body is a rockstar-like hero

a step that may be falling. And always ar-aises
this option ai ai ai
midfall or flow past jagged pasts, reality stiffens
at the thought

Step light, step right, leave no trace
but having been, words abound to patch
the rip through reality
reproving the existing realm we reason on through
veil after sufi veil,
veil after holy veil
veil after right used curtain - torn asunder
a million words ago…

had Kafka had the will to leave nothing behind,
perhaps, this fact,
that we know we may metamorphose,
should prove Sam Harris a little bit right,
there is no free will at the end of faith.

-------------------------
New levels of never knew, did you, expanding as time seems to
Joseph Fernandez Dec 2022
Imbalanced and unequal are many times the uncertain paths we mistakenly travel in this life.
Cutting us down at different junctions, it appears as with a jagged edged knife.

Which way will I next swerve, so as to forge straight ahead?
And will my sleep once more be lost as I swim in my sweat soaked bed?

Decisions, decisions at every turn.
Which way has the best lesson, that I may beneficially learn?

From where will I get the answers to this lopsided existence?
It seems whats right is wrong, and what’s wrong is right, with each day comes another 24 hours of dizzying persistence.

Up is down, and down is up.
They say it’s always better when you see things not as half empty, but a half full cup.

The fatal maneuver is to fool yourself into thinking that all is too far gone.
Because things sometimes do not change for their brightest, right up until the very end of dawn.

A crooked line will be made straight only if we use a good measure of faith.
Sometimes our prayers ascending will not be answered till we are at
10 to the power of the eighty eighth…

Life’s asymmetry is a battle of fact.
Compounded by a world that is utterly abstract.
Best we all read his words of wisdom, so as to stay on track.


12/22
J.I.F.


Proverbs 2:6
6 For Jehovah himself gives wisdom; From his mouth come knowledge and discernment.

2 Timothy 3:16,17
16 All Scripture is inspired of God and beneficial for teaching, for reproving, for setting things straight, for disciplining in righteousness,  17 so that the man of God may be fully competent, completely equipped for every good work.

Isaiah 41:10
10 Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Do not be anxious, for I am your God. I will fortify you, yes, I will help you, I will really hold on to you with my right hand of righteousness.
Ken Pepiton Jul 9
The if, the pose to be supposed, up
above the purpose, we stand under

knowing, mankind was never intended
to know how to do this very act,
reading writing ready to be read, leads
to sayings said some time back, leading

us to imagine we both think the same
thought, each word we read holds, as true

under any standalone circumstance, a meaning
true to the sense supposed such a word may
make a reader willing to agree, the idea
that makes a word a word, is we agree,
that idea,
this is that, us, as a we form of human beings,
thinking these very same words, for no reason,
-apriori aitia, art
poses art itself as beautiful hope substance
weighed in lightness of spirit,
fi, in essence leaving be, the gentle feeling
confident, you know, art's aches are maddening,
no, the reason, is not the cause, be cause ready
readers ratiocinative states allow imbalence,
total nonsensed reasonings used to hold us…
all the worthy ways truth makes life hold us…
the words, the skill
to shape each quant-unused, idle time,
of good sense, seen to show a child seeing
- my grandma telling me, time and again
if I had the good sense god gave a green apple,
I'd have a
gpp gulpt precept popt
t' resonate morphically at you
- classified useless tech, taught better,
- let our imaginations see what lips feel,

goodly persuasion perception, a sweet intelligence,
such a taste at a time coinciding with a kiss perceived,

as while watching, full screen close ups of only lips,
leaving all that could not be seen, to seem,
sorta, kindalike, could and did, in my core
- vicareous exposure to coming attractions,
- should one perceive the adulting too soon…

do. Yes, this idea, once more, reproving
doing and imagining doing, seriously, really doing
is the same for childing as for adulting, thinking
about doing it, when it was complete mystery,

the real deal, believed by all the cohort reared
in the system used to make us each useful, worth
a **** to the whole economic cycles begun back then.

Boomers for business, Jews for Jesus, loyal De Molay,
fidelity, integrity, snap
network radio
to your realm of imaginable,
five words per minute, decode rates, 300 baud signal.

Feel the suddenness urge,
impulse same sure sense, I know

we did agree,
whatsoever two or more agree,

Truths held true to the point where
if the Bible says it, to this point when

you know, each key, carries each letter,
but the reader carries the key to each word,

and the effectual patience of the reader,
waits and reads each line, as an answering,

swery villingly wired for recording nows,
at the instant one uses a choice to remember

Membership in the mad poets, to remember

burning at a public bon fire, really, the idea
used to make adultery so unavoidable, truth

is imaginable, and imaginably beautifully true,
as art is, so is art formed, in minds holding being,

at an instant
pause
to think, we breathe, we think,
we might speak across this medium,
we may talk through this walled time,

and…
we may think each word, in any known
set codes all laud the possibility we know, just

what any knower may, and nothing more, just
now, we each are thinking this is not conversation,

this is verse, prosaic perhaps, yet line upon line,
precept upon precept, except ye whet the edge,
you know,
you must put forth far more labor, wasted effort,
redeemed in times taken as granted, easy waiting.

--------------
There's this art,
and there's that other art,

efforting elucidation, seeming
seen in such a light as good shines
from, in reflection as we speed along,

thinking in decades, retying reasons
to wishes avoided, just at that instant,

when none of this was ever done, not
a thought, you think now, if then

had not been truly what does occur,
in the paradigm of life's book, not life,
but the book of,
on your pages, it must say you knew
enough to know, art has a cause,
a sake, a reasonable weight,
ratio of mass to velocity,

piercing everything this time, this
once, and ever so, called science,
by this time, even so, it must be
imagined, these words tying
known forms of we minds,

contracts, promises, come and see,
bet
you never bet,
yet, you won, today,

as long as you can keep thinking,
life, is an agent for knowing why

and how, energy and velocity,
x chiral functionality reality inside

outside opinions serving as wings
oppostion, push wisht'serve, as hope

substantial understood balance
ratio, you know, you thought, you did.

So, now, whose hell can hold you,
finding your core self capable of holding

this truth, certain, to the point
where madness is the other side,
flat, instant mark dime, two sides,

from where we stand, and where
we understand peace is found,
just past week one, year 77.

Along this course through human events.
Now, redeen the time, and all these idle words, AI wishes you wisht you knew.
Joseph Fernandez Oct 2023
Information, information everywhere you go...
Still, many millions haven't a real clue, unfortunately, they refuse to know?

Touch the screen and up comes every useless statistic you ever wanted…
Still life in general is no better off, the majority are perplexed, they are in a collapsed state, yes, mentality daunted.

Is learning all things THIS world has to offer the paramount goal in life?
Sometimes too many details is a double edged sword, ultimately dismembering your spirituality, like a razor sharp knife...

It is written, to be innocent as doves but cautious as serpents, said Jesus Christ our heavenly master.
Without question, he was guiding us away quite possibly from our irrevocable disaster…

Many things are advantages but not necessarily beneficial.
Perhaps because what this worlds "knowledge" has to offer is mostly artificial...

When it comes to information, the TRUTH of any matter is only that which is entirely needed.
This a sure protection from ever letting ourselves get too cerebrally depleted...

Only God above has every correct answer as to what is really worthwhile.
This information only, will make all the difference, the day we individually go on trial.



J.I.F.



Ecclesiastes 12:10-13

10 The congregator sought to find delightful words and to record accurate words of truth. 11 The words of the wise are like oxgoads, and their collected sayings are like firmly embedded nails; they have been given from one shepherd.  12 As for anything besides these, my son, be warned: To the making of many books there is no end, and much devotion to them is wearisome to the flesh. 13 The conclusion of the matter, everything having been heard, is: Fear the true God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole obligation of man.

1 Corinthians 6:12

12 All things are lawful for me, but not all things are advantageous. All things are lawful for me, but I will not let myself be controlled by anything.

John 17:3

3 This means everlasting life, their coming to know you, the only true God, and the one whom you sent, Jesus Christ.

Matthew 10:16

16 Look! I am sending you out as sheep among wolves; so prove yourselves cautious as serpents and yet innocent as doves.

2 Timothy 3:16,17

16 All Scripture is inspired of God and beneficial for teaching, for reproving, for setting things straight, for disciplining in righteousness,  17 so that the man of God may be fully competent, completely equipped for every good work.

Psalms 96:12,13

12 Let the fields and everything in them rejoice. At the same time let all the trees of the forest shout joyfully 13 Before Jehovah, for he is coming, He is coming to judge the earth. He will judge the inhabited earth with righteousness And the peoples with his righteousness.
Joseph Fernandez Oct 2023
From the moment we enter into motion of time.
We ask ourselves questions that demand logical reason and rhyme…

We acutely have an intricate sense of our intellectual awareness.
Our thoughts racing night and day, our thirst to know, is limitlessly relentless…

Time seems to vanish, while all the while gracefully appearing…
It moves with moments ever so puzzling, as we endure in our daily battles, teaching us what is in fact, persevering…

We ponder the future that is yet to come?
Also we think deeply of this, where did everything come from?

Time, are you giving us more?
Perhaps we can run out and get additional years, and stuff you away in some mental drawer?

Alas, that isn’t the way it is to be.
Time you have no capture, you are unbound, and your will is utterly free...

The reality, we look in the mirror and what do we see?
Time you have been all along charging us each day, incrementally...

Time you are there on every of life’s occasion.
You are holding us prisoner with your preciseness of ticking, in our entire existents equation.

Time, I wonder do you really care?
Please do not leave me in such broken despair.
Answer me, and please with compassion be complete, as well as insightful, otherwise my next breath will be lacking sufficient air…

Time, because in all life’s past you’ve been present, and will be there to greet infinity’s future you should know where the answers are found, so for me this once please
propound…

Times personified reply:

The answers you seek
I personally know not, however I will tell you where you may with all confidence look.
It is my advanced understanding, they have always been written down in his one and only authentic book.



J.I.F.



Ecclesiastes 3:1-9
There is an appointed time for everything, A time for every activity under the heavens:  2 A time for birth and a time to die; A time to plant and a time to uproot what was planted; 3 A time to **** and a time to heal; A time to tear down and a time to build up; 4 A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to wail and a time to dance; 5 A time to throw stones away and a time to gather stones together; A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; 6 A time to search and a time to give up as lost; A time to keep and a time to throw away; 7 A time to rip apart and a time to sew together; A time to be silent and a time to speak; 8 A time to love and a time to hate; A time for war and a time for peace.

2 Peter 1:21
21 For prophecy was at no time brought by man’s will, but men spoke from God as they were moved by Holy Spirit.

Daniel 12:4
4 As for you, Daniel, keep the words secret, and seal up the book until the time of the end. Many will rove about, and the true knowledge will become abundant.”

Revelation 11:18
18 But the nations became wrathful, and your own wrath came, and the appointed time came for the dead to be judged and to reward your slaves the prophets and the holy ones and those fearing your name, the small and the great, and to bring to ruin those ruining the earth.

2 Timothy 3:16,17
16 All Scripture is inspired of God and beneficial for teaching, for reproving, for setting things straight, for disciplining in righteousness,  17 so that the man of God may be fully competent, completely equipped for every good work.
Anton Angelino Dec 2023
Won’t namedrop but I knew someone, if you know you know.
No teardrops but I thought that I found a matching soul.
Foolish of me, ******* love me when I’m in my prime.
Gonna keep them nameless, you ain’t worth of my time.
I’m speaking hella sharp, but I’ve been cutting ******* off.
I’ve been hanging with the stars, looking down at them from above.
You’re either with me or against me, either **** me or respect me, won’t exploit me for your own gain, won’t deliver any more pain.
That’s what I’m saying.
There’s more fakes out there than you know.
Not namedropping any though.

I only keep up with my x’s to see the progress I’ve made.
Wish I’d thought of all the x’s on the list of things I hate.
I was desperate and had nothing, you were greedy and forced-laughing.
One thing I could never respect is stirring thoughts inside my head.
And I get I’m not your type and I get your friends are cooler.
Understand I’m not a nine, don’t rain money at the jeweler.
Don’t follow your buddies’ insta, you ain’t even on my finsta.
Finna unfollow you instantly, you don’t double tap my pics now.
And don’t call if you gon’ cancel, amped me up and why was that?
Then you asking me for Franklins like I owe you anything.
I’ve seen hints and indications, that you weren’t genuine.
I just wish I trusted my gut when you dropped out on me and ghosted.
Right before my prom, should’ve spoke over that graveyard silence.
What the **** was wrong with me to let that go like nothing happened?
Oh, I know.
I had nobody else.
Least I’m not hypocritical, I offed whoever bugged me on.
Killed them with a swoop of success, brought the scissors out, cutoff.
Wonder why I’m so proud now and the answer’s clear as day.
You would too if you evolved from prey to bird of prey.
If you gon talk about me, know I didn’t have to be your frenemy.
Actually scratch that, the act is off, I’ll proudly be your enemy.
You just wanted the gleam and the glory that I had to give.
Just so you know I almost called off a whole affair for it.
See, I’m not a faker, least I admit I wanted you like that.
Many years now, I still hope somebody does you just like that.
I still don’t wish you dead, your downfall’s not what’s in my mind.
I learn from self-inflicted wounds and don’t make that mistake twice.
Won’t namedrop, it applies to more than one.
No-named hoes, I feel my worthiness now.
I lost my Madison card now, pay deserved hostility back, dropped the invisibility act, I did all you said I couldn’t.
Rubbed it in your face like snow, envy’s stinging ***? You blew it.
I could have a boyfriend but I’m good and I will find tranquility in reproving.
Reflecting about them got me irresolute and so I’m calling your BS for improving.

******* want what you have, so I make what I have known.
******* take what you offer, in exchange they give you none.
Real ****, I turn the valve off, whatever we had is gone.
You ain’t getting any of me, not even the low and worst.
Won’t namedrop, but it’s all I’ve ever truly known.
Would namedrop, but that’s against my point.
Won’t call out, can’t win once the die are thrown.
We fell out out of place, cause you pushy like dominoes.
True story, ******* only loved me when I brought them pride by association.
Long story short, only acknowledged me upon receiving shared congratulations.
So I turned my back and ******* scattered disinterested in all directions.
I’d rather look for true bonds than relish false and forced appreciation.
And I ain’t feel the need to hear them say it for finalization.
If I said I hate you for that **** that’d be an exaggeration.
Grudge’s an understatement, I could argue but want no continuation.
One day you’ll perch in the shadow I cast and have your realization.
I heard unforgiveness is unhealthy, but since I found respect for me, I’ve been feeling myself.
You’ve got every right to hate me, sure as **** you won’t exploit me, you’d be playing yourself.
It’s these no-names that reinforced my insecure soul.
You gotta lose something to be grateful for your all.
You gotta have nothing to fearlessly give your all.
And as cliché as it is, every heartbreak makes you flyer.
Every stabbing gives you scars and the scars they give you power.
I take pride in my journey to a menace from a coward.
What I lost was never mine and what is truly mine will find me.
I could wait my whole life for it, nobody’s ***** just to feel happy.
Poem #10 off “Bella Goth”

Highly influenced by hip-hop lyrics. I’m calling out BS that should’ve been called out long ago. And I’m not giving these people any attention just cause they ain’t worth it.

— The End —