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Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: So Aziel what's your plan with Frank?
Aziel: Well he is going to help me destroy the Order Of The Silver Knights and in return I shall help him get the Witch who cursed the Forest Of Whispers.
Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: Well I'll give you some valuable information who your looking for is Bethilda N. Lement. She is a very powerful Witch who with her Elemental Plowness is able to obtain what she wants.
Aziel: Well well ...so the Old Hag still holds the grip over the Forest doesn't she
Senteno Oracle Of The Shadows: Indeed she isn't someone to take lightly now she is well rounded and knows how to fight. She controls The Tavern Of Doom Dragons. In her possession are 3 fully grown Dragons. Blair the Oldest Dragon Claire The Mother Dragon and Aurora the youngest one of them three.
Blair the Black Dragon Claire The White Dragon and Aurora the Stone/Lighting Dragon. Many have meet their doom entering in her territory Cyclop Human and Vampire Alike.
Aziel: I don't have anything to fear.

~Meanwhile...~

Bethilda Lement: Adreanna I want you to learn more about my Dragons start training with Aurora but be cautious she may be only three years old but she is powerful and robust. Lement screeches then Aurora hovers over the Mountain Of Shen* where the Tavern Of Doom Dragons is located. Adrianna Develve places a strong spell in the Dragon Aurora she finally succumbs to her authority.
Adrianna and Aurora go take down the Golem Of Steel  in the Hidden Ruins Of Odom.* The Golem stands 15 ft high weighs 2,500 pounds. Holding a crest of an almost impenetrable diamond in the middle of his chest. Emanating from the Crystal comes all his power and it's his only weak spot. Then Aurora and Adrianna make an impressionable entrance to the ruins and attack the Golem head on. Golem Of Steel: Here stands the infamous Adrianna Develve...well isn't  this a surprise.  I see that you have grown some and are able to maintain your powers well to face me. I know what you want you want the Crystal in my chest...that will be over my dead body. Audon's Crystal* is powerful enough to consume 1000 Well Trained Witches therefore young Witch you don't scare me. Now as for that Dragon well ... perhaps you stand a chance after all.  Adrianna Develve: I usually don't pick fights with powerful DemiGods like yourself but I  am in desperate need for your Crystal. Therefore, you will hand it over or I'll take it by force.  Golem Of Steel:  Good Luck.
Aurora shields herself with Stone Armor and goes head on collision with the Golem. He dodges the attack and  counterattacks with a strong fist to the  Dragons body and knocks Aurora down cracking part of her Stone Armor. The young female Dragon counterattacks with a powerful lighting blast hitting The Steel Golem in the right shoulder injuring him. Develve attacks with a powerful mind blast knocking down the Golem Of Steel on it's back. The Golem Of Steel bleeds blue blood out of his shoulder blade and runs full force towards Adrianna Develve.  She  dashes the attack and counterattacks  with a Shadow Ball attack hitting him in the chest and expanding all over its body. It's a possession Ninjutsu technique making him practically paralyzed for about 2 minutes till he breaks free from the technique but sustains a considerable amount of damage. Adrianna Develve seeing that the Golem Of Steel is showing a sign of weakness she takes advantage to try to inflict him with a spear of lighting into the chest impairing him and he bleeds out the mouth but as the last resolution The Golem Of Steel punches the Audon Crystal shattering it into 5 individual pieces him losing his life in the process however what he didn't know is that Adrianna Develve collected all the pieces however there was a violent explosion at the site shattering huge boulders of steel and inflicting Aurora gravely. Adrianna Develve  hurries and performs a powerful healing spell leaving her drained of all power. Adrianna Develve hurries to get out of the ruins because they are crumbling down. She manages to recover Aurora briefly from there they fly to The Tavern Of Doom Dragons Of Doom Dragons right when she pulls in with Aurora who is injured from the boulders hitting her body and face at high velocity even the Rock Armor was perforated. The Dragon lands barely with Adrianna Develve who gets the Wrath of Granny Bethilda N. Lement. Aurora breathing heavily and bleeding out the mouth slipping in and out of consciousness ...Adrianna Develve barely getting off the Dragon.
Bethilda Lement: What the hell  happened to Aurora she is in really bad shape. Adrianna your completely drained I see you did good by healing her however, she must rest for about 3-4 days now and fully recover from that gruesome fight with that **** Golem Of Steel. Adrianna are you Ok darling? Go get some rest I see you used the forbidden technique of Soul Healing Transfer. Well now you'll live 12 years less thanks to your little sharede. Develve I am thankful that you saved my Dragon from dying but hell consequences are quite dire.
Develve: Here Granny Lement I got Audon's Diamond however it's shattered in 5 separate pieces.
Bethilda N. Lement:  Let me guess the Golem Of Steel did not want this to fall under the wrong hands for it is a powerful relic. Smart move buying time however, useless due to the fact that we got the diamond under our possession. Adrianna we are going to search the Master Forger Of Relics* who can aid us recover this valuable relic to it's original state. It's said that he resides in one of the headquarters of the Order however, he has worked with Witches, Pagans and Nacromancers before so am sure that as long as we provide the right monetary value to repair the relic he'll work for us.
Develve: Why don't we just kidnap him and make him do the work or he pays with his life?
Lement:  Good objective it may have to work that way for us.
Develve: Im aware that the Cyclop population in the Village Of Chalekathan are not taking your threats seriously well ElderLord Gromm has not paid his fee from allowing them to live and not be consumed by the curse itself.
Lement: By killing him we can set an example of what can happen to them if they don't cooperate with our cause.
Develve: It dangerous though he is a strong Leader with lots of powerful influences. Plus he is a highly skilled Witch Doctor/Shaman able to manipulate the forces of nature. Known to use 3 Godly Deities Aikune Chalekathan & Eion. Aikune the cherubim of the Northern Side Of Heaven. Chalekathan the Spirit God embodiment of The Forest Of Whispers and last but not least Eion the mythical creature with an Eagle face 6 wings and the body of a Lion. Embuted with heavenly essence making him a very formidable foe.
Develve:  We will take care of our responsibilities soon but our primary mission is to talk Ayeiton Balderoux III* the Master Forger Of Relics.
: Whoa had no idea he was The Kings kin.
Lement: Indeed he is now go and lay your head and recover some energy because we need to practice your magical plowness.
Adrianna heads towards the Guest Room.

~Meanwhile in The Forest Of Whispers~
Frank Deltoro gets introduced to Gromm ElderLord Of Chalekathan by Jhino.  He also introduces Navarro Castleworth who is pleased to meet the famous Elder.
Gromm: Hello young man I am the protector of this village which has sustained numerous attacks by Lement's Dragons. Develve also partook enthusiastically with her Grandmother in attacking innocent hard working Cyclops. Making them slaves of the Curse which drives them mad and homicidal attacking friends brothers and family so we had to do the inevitable put them down.
Nevertheless, I pray to Deynave Dion High Saint/Priestess Queen Of All Shamanism to protect the lost souls of them Cyclops who fought the curse till the very end but unfortunately lost the fight and in turn lost their lives.
Frank: My condolences to your friends ElderLord Gromm.Am sure they in a better place now at least not suffering. However, I have a personal matter to score with Lement. She kidnapped and murdered my only daughter 10 years ago she was a...his voice gets trembly and he lightly clears his throat..at the same time a solid solo tear drops from his only Eye symbolizing a Fathers great pain and suffering from such an atrocious act." Gromm regains his composure. I got a personal score to settle with Mrs.Lement due to the fact that she took a piece of my heart and soul she killed my daughter. Develve played her part in the kidnapping of my baby girl 10 years ago she would be 18 years old today if Shaila Dair Sultran were alive...her appointed time to be brutally killed by my hand is coming...Bethilda N. Lement has been suppressing her powers for the last 300 years I believe she has some sort of powerful anti-chi barrier put up extending tremendous lengths so even if she is active in The Forest Of Whispers we wouldn't know how to tell due to this **** barrier.
Frank: So your bloodline comes from the Ancient times from the powerful Cyclop Of Royal Priests/Witch Doctors family Sultran.
"A gentle wind blows and Aziel telepathically communicates with Frank.  Aziel: Frank, be careful where you thread I been informed that Lement's Grand-Daughter Adrianna Develve recently gathered Audon's Crystal a powerful diamond known to give its user Bending Steel abilities and higher sustainability. Adrianna Develve has plans to use the Crystal to fully cover the Forest Of Whispers covering every inch of Forest with the Curse which drives all living creatures with a conscious mad totally subseptable to their influence.
However, to you those must be terrible news so my question is...you been in Chalekathan Village for 1 hr and a half you have 5.3 hrs till daylight removing the Darkness powers you currently control.
Frank: I am aware of this Aziel don't worry I'll take care of business.
Aziel: Keep an eye out Navarro I don't  trust him I don't know what intentions he has...plus he is part  of that shady Tower Of Frejoird but perhaps you can use his hatred towards the Order Of The Silver Knights. He can maybe be a reliable source. Be careful Frank.

~Meanwhile in Aziel Castle~
Isis: Well...Aziel aren't  you such a concerned individual...I didn't  know you had a soft spot towards mere humans.
Aziel: I usually don't...but Frank is different from the rest. He is courageous trustworthy and he put his life at risk by helping me regain all my vampiric power. I am in much debt to him...am having second thoughts on your plans to **** him after he completes his assignments that we have agreed upon. If he makes it out alive after all this...he at least deserves a reward and to live.
Isis: Chuckles at Aziel Aziel looks at the Empress with great focus.
Isis: C'mon I'll just have some fun with Frank I wasn't planning to ****** him.
Aziel: I'll  think about it now leave me be I got couple of things I need to take care of.
Isis: Fine Darling I'll  leave you be. You know you are the handsomest of all the brothers you have.
Aziel: Well now Isis you flirting with me...I doubt you'll want my erected tool up your stash. Don't you remember am a Vampire?
Isis: I'm aware of that. Adventure sounds fun plus I never had *** with a hot vampire like yourself.
Isis: Well Doll that is going to be some other time I am working against the clock right now.
Isis: Fine you *****...I'll leave. However, keep in mind that Im watching you closely. Plus remember I still keep contact with DarkLord for soon your Father will be back in this plane of reality.
Aziel: So I have heard.
Isis: Well I have found some juicy
Information about Uriels wereabouts he is in a Modern Castle in America. Amelia St and Cross. Residency 106. He is a huge celebrity in Russia and Germany. Keeps his bloodlust at check with fresh blood always for him to self medicate. Looking only 19 years old he is quite the chick magnet though not my taste his Gothic Progressive Horror Rock made him quite famous. Got 5 albums however kept his personal life well hidden from his fans. Many fake and supportive accounts claiming to know the real Uriel Governale. Though no one truly knows he is a vampire for certain. I know because I searched the private records and found out that he belongs to a High Ranking Secret Society known as Maximillion Vampire Clan. Which performs innocent human babies to be given as a sacrifice towards Baphomet and Azmodeus* 2 Of the Demon Lords of Hell. Your brother belongs to this hidden organization that operates in the Shadows but their latest project is to revive your Father the Progenitor most infamous VampireLord of all time. Dracula! Humanity will cease to exist if he were to be revived. All they need is a vial of blood from all of the current 8 saints and they have their eye on Saint Lauren Glennwald from the Eastern Side of Germany from a small rural community town known as Hertzentmort. She currently 25 years old is on a mission to collect Papal papers for the Order for you know they are closely tied to the papalcy. However, she got body guards that are Elite Knights with very powerful Anti-Witch spells and very accurate at pinpointing weak points in any battle with powerful Witches. So going alone isn't very advisable.<br>
Aziel: I greatly appreciate your information I'll take a look on what my little brother is looking to do. I'll take care of him. Don't you worry I'll be seeing you later. <br>
Isis: Alright..."She steps towards Aziel and rubs his chest and says...my reward is waiting for me...and looks down his pants" <br>
Aziel:  Now your tempting me to destroy that *****... but here this is what you'll get "he shows her his ****"<br>
Isis: Mmmm I can't wait baby...well that's a massive apparatus you got in there just hiding.<br>
Aziel: Hahaha...right. Soon enough I'll be all yours to play with. No leave me.<br>
Isis transforms to a cloud of dark myst and leaves the premises of the Castle.<br>
<br>
~Meanwhile in Uriel's Castle~<br>
<br>
The Maximillion Vampire Club had a secret meeting in the Uriel's Castle. There where many prestigious and famous guests there and so was the Highest Ranking Vampire of the Club Maximillion Virgil Vann himself. Inside the Castle where also uninvited guests from The Order Of The Silver Knights pretending to be Vampires. His name Michael Neil Stalwart & his partner Aalyaah Black. Both of them infiltrated the party somehow the Order Of The Silver Knights caught wind of shady operations in the occult club and decided to check it out. Michael & Aalyaah belong to Stealth/Infiltration part of the Order known as The Dark Ones
. Even the last 5 remaining Dark Priests from the Cathedral Of Skylor* where 13 years ago Baphomet was revived and mortalized to walk upon humans granting favors for a price. Ultimately the price Demon Lords require of humans is their souls to consume them and become more powerful. This 5 Dark Priests where very important in the ceremony taking place because tonight at 3 a.m. they will unify their powers to revive Azmodeus. They were successful on bringing back Baphomet back to life so they are trying to revive another Demon Lord. In Baphomet's revival they used 666 unborn fetuses with 6 babies 3 male and 3 female all born under the sign of Capricorn and all must be 3 months premature. With this requirements met...Baphomet was revived to this plane of existence, however since he was violent and still hellbent from transitioning from the hellish plane to a mortal one he killed and consumed 3 Dark Priests in the process of fully coming to his senses and being able to recognize them and thank them for what they done. Baphomet promised that he would aid them 5 Dark Priests revive all 13 Demon Lords and in turn 2 Of the 5 remaining Dark Priests must sacrifice themselves to the Demon Lords for the strongest remaining 3 get a extraordinary reward.
I whistle for the Scarecrow to lead the way right after Neur decided to leave. It begins to form a black mist/smoke like essence in the middle of where I stand then it unifies and creates a Scarecrow with red eyes and it makes noise and flies slowly in front of me. Finally it lands in a mysterious cave where I stand in awe as I see ...there the Scarecrow stands on top of a crystalline rock emanating from the entrance of the cave itself. I walk in and I feel an eerie feeling go down my gut...something tells me to look immediately to the right. So when I do there it is the mystical impenetrable rock Aziel was talking about. Then just then I feel a sense of ease and Aziel says telepathically..."So my not what are you waiting for destroy the rock and retrieve the relic." So all the sudden I feel a sudden deepening defining feeling in my chest and I acquire the powers of Darkness for the first time in my quest for revenge is paying off. I command my whole arm to become a sledgehammer and hit the rock directly and it cracks in a half...there stands a beautiful glowing base with a fancy top on it ...made out of red diamonds and showered in Gold. Then I am relieved. "I got it" I tell Aziel telepathically. Then Aziel responds worried ... "Come as quickly as you can because I believe the Goddess is onto you...plus I cannot sustain you with the power of Darkness only 45 more minutes. Therefore,  come friend for you will be handsomely rewarded. " As I am getting out of the cave I hear galloping coming up the path I came. Then to my bewilderment Boom there stood a huge 32 ft tall ElderGloomTree It looked at me and it had a sweet berry like strawberry like scent in the Air it smelled beautifully nice.
The middle of the tree there was a mouth like sideways and it opened inside it slowly took out it's tongue and there was a small what looked like a mustard seed with rainbow like colors all over. There that little seed grew before my very eyes in the matter of split seconds and formed the shape of a beautiful glowing young woman with beautiful green skin and black hair with blue red and white stripes on the hair color. She spoke to me kindly and softly her breath smelled like fresh mint...I was astounded. Frank: "Yyyoouu...mmuusstt....bbb..e..." I stuttered... Nabyah: "Yes Young Mortal I am Nabyah many call me the Goddess Of The Forest Of Whispers. What are you doing here...what is that your carrying and oh one last question...I heard from Neur you was seeking me." Frank: "Indeed I am Frank Deltoro and I am here to request something from you...in return I'll do something you want done. If it's under my power and will to do so I will aid you." Nabyah: " I want to aid my tribe of centaurs and the remote Cyclop  village of Vlakazamuk & Chalekathan *
  We want to stop the killing of Centaurs and the human captures from capturing Cyclops and making them work enslaving all Cyclop population or sometimes brutally **** them and practice known as
Davalkaj Shamanism.

You humans and your inventions to destroy our home-world and natural habitat. Tell me what makes you think I'm going to help You? Should I **** you for trespassing my forest?" Frank: "Well... I didn't come to fight but if i must we can clash but I would rather we handle the situation like 2 Grown up adults here well you for one am sure have lived thousands of years now but hey...help me and I will do my best to remove the curse." Nabyah: " Fine but do come ...come close to me I will kiss you in the lips once and you shall have my blessing..." Aziel shouts telepathically: "Use the power of the Dark to see if she is giving you a curse or a blessing...if you take the kiss and become enchanted well since the power of Darkness is in you it will be removed. But if it's a curse I shall take it and renew your power by some. So either way it's safe go ahead kiddo...I know you want those lips. Get em" I just nod. Then wow I kiss the Goddess and it's by far the most romantic thing that's ever happened to me in my 25 yrs of living. I felt a holy power showering over me then the power of the Dark was immediately removed.
Then all the sudden she makes a beautiful hymn comes out of her mouth and a fairy about 3ft tall with 6 wings flying in mid air hands Nabyah a gorgeous engraved Vial of blood. "Here is what you seek warrior; proceed carefully not only benevolent souls and entities linger here. I leave the area as soon as she hands me the vial of blood. I get about 50 ft away from the area and the power of Darkness consumes me I transform to a Giant Bat and head back to Aziel.
In the Castle am greeted with pleasure and I hand him the vial of Goddesses blood. There and then he drinks the elixir of blood and before my very eyes he regains his youth and full power. Then there stands 5'7 Sharp look young man about 20 to 21 years of age. He disappears and reappears behind me tapping me on the shoulder. Aziel: "Frank I am in complete debt with you for only and even though we do not agree nor do I love him any but thanks the Lord...you helped me regain my full vampiric power. Ahhh it feels amazing. Hahaha  he embraces me in a warm hug.  Now what do you desire my mortal friend?
I think deeply..."I want to help the Goddess remove the curse from the forest." Aziel: "I usually don't meddle in human affairs but I am making an exception I'll help you as long as your willing to help me destroy the Order " Frank: "Does this mean I must look for the Relics Neur Blackthorn asked me to get ...since I got the vial I don't really need to do it no more right?" Aziel: " I'll let you borrow the power of Darkness for 6.5 more hrs till morning comes" Frank: "Thanks Aziel once again for letting me gain more power and knowledge."

~ *Meanwhile


At a very remote location deep in the heart of the Forest Of Whispers lived Bethilda Wood. She has lived in a old ruined cabin for 700+ yrs also she is known as The Elder Witch *Empress Of Darkness
known to bestow powerful spells and hexes but also with the gift of healing and releasing souls back to the Almighty One. A young Wiccan woman comes up young in age her skin tan/white heading toward the old rugged cabin...then pauses whistles a delightful melody and a staff appears.  Having been trained in the field of magic this young witch is been taken under Bethilda's wing. Bethilda:  Adrianna  darling come I have a surprise for you. Follow me to the pond of *Greater Enchantment. Adrianna: So... I heard you became the High Dark Empress 1200 years ago. Bethilda: Yes that is true I been a Witch for the past 1600 years or so. I survived the middle ages the dark ages and the years of enlightenment.  It's something I been willing to be all my life for I meet the man who carries my heart a young man known as The Count Of the Night. Dracula! We fell in love and I bore 3 of his children who so I have heard inherited the gift of becoming a vampire and they inevitably became vampires, more like the 3 princes of the night. Vladimir my first born Aziel my middle child and Uriel the youngest of the three. I been on the quest of finding Jesus Tears a small opaque flower the color of silver to complete my spell and relinquish Vladimir's soul to the mortal realm fit it into a red diamond and transfer it's soul essence into a freshly dead human body. With that he will come back to the World of the living and redeem himself and take revenge on the Order. Adrianna: I will help you. I will find this flower you'll see. So then they practiced spells from there on out.

~ Meanwhile

Its 1 a.m. and Frank heads out to seek the Ancient Relic. With the complete power of Darkness at his disposal he sends out 3  scarecrows to look for areas of interest in the Forest Of Whispers. Two of the  scarecrows come back one doesn't so that last one got killed by someone's power. Frank communicates telepathically to Aziel. Frank: I think someone is onto us Aziel guard the Castle it might be the Order. Aziel: already got it covered buddy. Then Frank feels a very strong power slowly emanating from the Southeast part of the Forest Of Whispers.  Frank transforms to a bat and heads there. As he gets there the small village of Chalekathan...
He who has been destroyed there stood a mysterious figure in the middle of the havoc a mysterious strong power could be felt from him. Mysterious Man: Hello adventurer my name is Navarro Castle-worth I am the Warlock of the *Tower Of Frejoird
where I was trained to use magic and rituals to summon strong deities into this plane of existence.  I got here too late someone had destroyed the village before I got here. Frank: Right ...my name is Frank Deltoro and how do I know your not the one who destroyed the village? Why should I trust you? Navarro: Young friend...I do not desire battle but if it's necessary I will satiate your thirst for battle...Navarro Summons his staff and says some words and a Huge Nightmarish Creature that looks like a dog with a fog of Darkness surrounds the Creature. Frank summons the power of Darkness and since its 1:33 a.m he gains the *Wings Of the Desolate Count which makes his power two fold. There Frank stood looking at Navarro in the eyes and him looking at Frank with perspicacity. All the sudden a trembling can be felt and a Huge Cyclop comes out of the Wilderness. Mysterious Cyclop: Hold one moment ...this man is telling you the truth young Mortal. Frank: Woah a Cyclop what how did you get here? Frank loses his fighting stance and so does Navarro...My name is *Jhino Velvermount I am from the Tribe Of Chalekathan* known Village Of the Largest Cyclop population. "Come I show you what the Witch Of the Tavern Of Doom Dragons* done her name is ...whispers Bethilda N. Lement. Raised originally in Sweden in the small farming town of Wrellender* learned Martial Arts Of Taijutsu and Ninjutsu. Able to control Lighting/Air/Water/Fire/Metallic energies. Coming from a family that practiced Zetzou Buddhism. Who are thought at a very young age to control the Chi* Energies of the body how to practice Re-Vitalizing and Re-Energizing the Chi to be able to stay in a meditative/active blending of consciousness with the subconscious to make Ninjutsu possible. She is known to have rested 1322-1555 A.C. about 250 not been too active but her Great Grandmother. Nayya M. Element who was born 1119 A.C. in the same village one of the co-founders of it who placed the curse on the Forest Of Whispers and it's being sustained by her Great Granddaughter Mrs. Lement. Now me and Navarro follow Jhino to the Village. We go thru extensive difficult paths that leave me tired for an excruciating 5 hrs of walking. Finally arrive at the village... and there is about 30-40 Thousand Cyclops gathered around the Village to hear Gromm ElderLord of the Village Of Chalekathan. Gromm: My stance stands I am here to protect my people from the evil that has left this village wrecked record in the past 300 years. I will NOT allow Bethilda to wreak havoc here no longer. There Me and Navarro and Jhino stand behind the large crowd waiting for the speech to end. The speech finally ends and strong Cyclop incense is burn to allow other high ranking tribe members to know the Elders speech ended. <br>
<br>
~Meanwhile in Aziel's Castle~
"Hello" a young woman with Long Red Hair that hits the ground as she walks White Pearl Eyes with Black Pupils and with a Long  *Black Ceremonial Dress known as Akashaic Black Tunic Of the Dark Empress from the Land Of Necromancers.
There appeared in a Dark WindAziel Governale in a White Taxedo like Suit Welcome Home... Iris Senteno ...Oracle Of the Shadows Of the most powerful Magicians from the Tower Of Frejoird. I have seen your prodigal human who's name is Frank Deltoro...handsome young man who encountered Navarro in The Forest Of Whispers. Will he be trouble? Or shall I eliminate his presence?"
Aziel: No he is working for me...you shall have him without delay at the end.

                         ~To Be Continued
Work in progress.
The Wicca Man Jul 2013
I could answer your questions with a simple, off-the-cuff explanation but have ended up writing this essay: the more I thought about what you’d asked, the more the I felt it warranted a fuller explanation so I will try to explain why I call myself a Wiccan and how I come to be following the Wicca Path. And apologies in advance for the length of this!

As well as my love of Literature, I love History with a similar passion. My degree was in English and History and although I specialised in Shakespearian and post-Shakespearian literature and Modern History, I have a long held fascination with Celtic and pre-Celtic history, beliefs and spirituality. It is the mysticism of the Old Religion that seemed to attract me most and I found myself drawn particularly to the Celtic and Welsh mythology and have read extensively about it: Cornwall and Wales (mid Wales in particular) are my two favourite places in the world. I have read a lot about Celtic and pre-Celtic history, beliefs and religion over the years, both fiction and non-fiction.

Although Jewish by birth, I was brought up by my father who was a confirmed atheist so I lost out on any formal religious influence as I was growing up. Perhaps because of his views, I developed a distrust of formal, mainstream religion. That’s not to say I felt I had no spiritual beliefs at all, it’s just they were untapped and unidentified; I felt I was reaching out for something but it never took on any tangible form, rather like in a dream when you cannot see clearly the faces or forms of the inhabitants of your dreams.

By the time I got into my forties, I realised there was something seriously lacking in the spiritual side of my life. These beliefs were compounded by three events:

    * reading James Lovelock's Gaia theory [which inspired me to write one of my favourite stories, Gaia's Last, published here];
    * my discovery of Jean Auel's Earth's Children series of books , Clan of the Cave Bear, etc. which go into extraordinary detail of Cro-Magnon peoples' belief in nature spirits, worship of The Mother and Shamanism;
    * a sudden change in my circumstances that forced me to re-evaluate every aspect of my life and my existence.

It was at this time I began to research the Old Religion: paganism, nature-worship, whatever you want to call it, and this led me to discover Wicca.

The more I read about it, the more I realised it fitted in with my current state of mind and outlook on life. Maybe there is a sense of escapism inasmuch as the roots of Wicca look backward to a simpler time and as I was having difficulty coping with the complexities of the changed circumstances in my life at the time. Wicca seemed to offer exactly the spiritual needs I was lacking.

That is not to say that Wicca is old-fashioned and out of date. Rather the contrary in fact. Whilst its roots acknowledge the Old Religion, Wicca is relatively modern having been developed by a guy called Gerald Gardner who published a book called Witchcraft Today in the 1940s I believe which re-established in the public eye the old pagan beliefs that have been around since the dawn of man. These beliefs never really disappeared even through the worst of the atrocities perpetrated against followers of the Old Religion [The Burning Times ]. (And just to make an important point about the title of the book and Wicca in general, Witchcraft in the pagan and Wicca context is NOT Black Magic or Satanism as the tabloid press or mainstream religion would have you believe; it could not be further from them. It is simply an acknowledgement of the existence of natural forces that can be used or channelled by those who choose to learn these ancient skills).

I have seen Wicca [and other forms of Paganism] referred to as Green Magic and that seems the perfect definition; it is immensely comforting to work so closely with the natural world and to feel such a part of it.

So for me, Wicca is an ideal spiritual antidote for the impossibly fast-paced, self-serving lifestyles we all seem to be caught up in these days, often through no choice of our own. It is as valid a belief system as any other practised throughout the world and is nothing like the forms of Wicca popularised in the media with TV shows like Charmed and its ilk!

Wicca is it is not something to be taken on lightly - Wicca practices should be treated with the same reverence as those in any other belief system. It requires study, practice and dedication.’

I have to confess to have been lacking in all three since I originally wrote this so have vowed to myself to rectify these shortcomings. I feel excited about my rekindled sense of spirituality and more at peace with myself for making this decision.

Go in Love & Light!
I hope people don't object to my posting this; I am a passionate believer in freedom of speech and of expression. I hope people here are open to these views, which are mine and in no way do I want to foist my views on anyone or indeed, cause offence.
Steve D'Beard Jul 2014
In the distant lands of forever
misted light seeps beyond line of sight
where gulls circle above the ocean squall
lies the dream of ethereal treasure
drifting in and out of dancing firelight.

Within the lush and precious emerald reaches
fly majestic golden hummingbirds
graced in flight off untouched white sand beaches
shadows stand tall in the eye of a lonesome moon
and in its fleeting ephemeral decree
couple wine with unspoken wise words
and see them better received.

In the Eleusinian dreams of men
gather the cornucopia of breath
nourish oneself in the last passing of days
grasp firm the righteous omen
and embrace the rituals within thy beating breast.

See glowing amber give flames to creation
revel in the pagan shamanism
rise above the mortal coil of chains
craft a celebration
and in the haze of hedonism
dance naked in the summer rain.
poem from dreams
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2019
aesthetic is etiquette
             is:
     what is & isn't
                          either:
yet is both: in that they
are the same:
disparaging meanings...

nouns: the source
of ultimate meaning,
crux words...
and the source of
the thesaurus...

i wasn't looking
for a mathematical
conflation of grammar
either...

but...

   aesthetic ≠ etiquette...

but...

  it does! to keep up
with the formality
of norm, of power,

then
(the)
   aesthetic = (the) etiquette,
but there is no "the"
to begin with...
yet...

         if the aesthetic ≠ the etiquette...
why, either?!
dumb questions usually
prescribe
a continued willing
to perpetuate:
unquestioned...
hence the dumb questions...
my dumb question
lacks any elaborate ploy
to topple the status quo
for the sole reason that...
my alternative
matches
  no genius of the originator
basis...

wordings are not
simply chanced to
be worth debating
a miscarriage
of implementing
the averted coin-flip...

(funny, how the articles
prop up,
miraculously)...

     etiquette?
a macabre variety
of aesthetic...

       nothing more...
but... etiquette is
still subordinate of
aesthetic...
isn't it?

              hardly:
etiquette is still
subordinate off
aesthetic...
is it?!

               a month spent
in a monastery of a novel...
cradle these words
unto a course
of nullification...

if i'd utter them in
a clutter of sparrows:
i'd be a equivalent to a mute
stone...
if i'd utter them in
a lion's harem:
i'd be a cat's meow (if not less)...
if i'd utter them in
the crow's shamanism
of all shadows...
i'd still be less
the croaking hark
of a voice that
might dictate: obey...

    so...
                      so...
ah...

                 was kommen:
was ist...
            und alles was:
                ich, ich sterben...
ich war geboren?
                        ich war
nie sein: geboren....
          ich war sein: sterben!
Christopher Lowe Sep 2015
Broken bottle friends, some call it social alcoholism
Everyone’s famous, for the night at least
The value of signatures
Listed above names on bar receipts
Drug dealers playing in the street, what some might call shamanism
All it really is, just an eclectic collectivism
That leads to remarkable nights that aren’t remembered
Realizations that problems are just and our lives dredge on
Invincible for the night
Or perhaps
Just brave enough to embrace ones true self
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
and with the high street long gone, they keep nagging that
only lunatics use the internet,
me? i treat the internet as a serious medium,
it's almost despotic to treat it otherwise,
after all... internet banking, amazon,
why should Beelzebub's pixel vision
in that new medium be lesser?
it isn't, here's the big ******* F
                                                                U
to the establishment - and i too thought
that the mystery if lawlessness
                  was with Philippe Petit -
you got to admit, that's more spectacular
than that thing at Golgotha...
you even have an accent of stigmata riddling
the mystery - oh sure, i'm into esoteric
*******, because i'm about to become
a shopper -
                        people don't seem to go
into merchandise streets to buy things,
all it is is: clothes, shoes and mobile phone
outlets -
                     anyway, they walk the promenades
to be seen...
                            not to necessarily buy
and keep the economy well oiled...
            they go and do the catwalk pretence...
so that's me: a Heidegger book worth £30...
mad, ain't it? spending £30 on a book...
                  and an album by cage the elephant,
i should really buy another copy of
tool's aenima or steve wynn's album with
cindy it was always you -
                                      maybe a pair of socks
to match...                  next thing you know
they'll call it shamanism - well, any literature
coming from Eastern Europe can almost be
deemed as such...
                               and the next best thing
to fame is enforced anonymity -
                                        because fame just
= interviews.... and mostly moths / journalists.
                     nagging aunties and uncles
of the scene.
                                   oh sure, take all you can,
i don't mind... if it gives you rubies and
diamonds i don't mind... a conker
signature of mahogany print is worth more
than a table to sit about with your
******* / orthodox disciples -
                fame?          i've seen what it does...
i rather have the chance to do small talk
at the supermarket and say: well, yeah,
i write poetry, no biggie,
                                           does it rhyme?
does it have to / would it help?
                             i left Cheltenham earlier
than planned because of my left hand -
that's the deal with the industrialisation of
writing, with that quill you get to be one-sided,
i know for a fact that my hand can grip
the quill better, i left the festival early because
i felt sick with my left hand not being
encouraged, lame, not using the keyboard -
i hate leaving body parts about the place
not being used,
                            and, obviously,
when someone starts reading philosophy and
utilises the medium of poetry: he's not one
to entertain...
                           at least i learnt a valuable lesson
after seeing spoken word event -
              i couldn't entertain -
my life might be ****-up, but it's not ****-up enough
to vocalise it with some sort of
                                redemptive analogue -
i couldn't entertain people even if i wanted to:
i read philosophy, without tutoring by established
lecturers -              it's enough i studied chemistry
and thought that dabbling in philosophy would
make me seem more "human": that famous
abhorrence of scientific studies and what humanities
shun in terms of adequate perspective -
               i simply cannot entertain -
                                     maybe because i'm
entertaining myself more,
                               the shadow and glad to be one...
but they keep nagging internet opinions...
     narratives...
                          yes, i'm gullible enough to believe
all of them...
                         if the internet managed to desecrate
the high street shopping experience, and people
bank using the internet...
                         i believe every word...
      lies have short legs anyway,
        and assuredly a Samson moment comes
somewhere on the timeline with the blind hulk
pulling the temple down...
                       i just never used the internet to
use comment forums...
                                 my experience of trolls is minimal...
                  the terrible has already happened,
   i just filter any agony and transform
certain one-liners into an antibiotic:
       your writing is ****!
i.e.      pronoun noun verb noun
                                              problem solved -
and too many young people took their own lives
because no one taught them to use this barrier,
these white cliffs of Dover, this natural barricade
and the ultimate defence -
                              put the hate into a grammar
filter - apply the anaesthetic - desensitise -
                                             that's practically what
your subconscious does anyway,
                               some part of you if wholly grammatical,
meaning that you're understood,
                                 point being:
journalists have become annoying -
                         the printed press is a bit scared,
          primarily because they're offended by
our expression of democracy, they think that whatever
is written on the internet is bogus...
                      so i guess internet shopping is bogus
as if internet banking... bogus too...
                        if the internet wasn't all-encompassing
i'd agree...
                                but as usual, people have to
******* something silly rather than make love to it...
sure, i have my wild opinions,
                                       but i have them because
they are actually dialectical cul de sacs -
                                     yep, dialectical dead-ends -
           i write them but do not actually adhere to
them -
                                pretty much conversation
killers -
                          post-Nietzsche? more than
killing god... we killed dialectics -
                                     since Socrates we've been
putting god and dialectics back into the box
to prescribe civilisation innovations of how to
construct "polite" societies -
                                              the sort of "politeness"
that masquerades and is the dung-heap
                    where mushrooms like Isis sprouts from.
but sure enough: read philosophy
                              and stop pretending to be
an entertainer -
                                 i couldn't entertain people
for the love of anything worth mentioning -
                     entertaining would mean disrupting
the continuum -
                                  the very accurate biographic
sketches -
                                  well... what would you expect,
we're living in a parallel society,
                                a society where a gardener on
television becomes a chat-show host
                                  and gets a publishing deal...
               we're bypassing that...
                                            if we're living in a democracy
we're living in a badly represented formatting of the idea...
              and that great ponce of the idea of books:
more than bricks...
             i open a book, enter it, and i'm already
walking into a building of some sort...
                     few books i enter are actually left
undisturbed - i make my own feng shui alterations -
            but i wonder:
                   is eternity the place where you actually
live inside your own head?
                              &nbsp
Helenina Jul 2016
...If I love you...

Feathers all fallen grey
I slowly learn to Fly
Again
This is how I am
This is who I am
My spirit clearly senses
Harboring delicate thoughts
Some things I often thought myself unable anymore
I burnt all the white sage
To purify the Energy
Let it go now Let it go away
All these somber silhouettes like dead crows
Around my head
Inside my heart
May they fly higher nevermind how it tears my soul apart
I will live on
They say if I love You
I love myself
Thus I learn to cherish my own Multiverses
Nevermind the misunderstanding
I know why it is so hard to love myself
This is how I came to the world
Maybe also parts of my previous incarnations
I have been taught again and again
About the precious release of Loving Kindness
When you kiss the depths of Forgiveness
You keep falling down the mountains
To the same grounds and dreary gardens
Because it's here
There is something to learn
There is something to burn
White sage
chanting chanting chanting
Shamanism healing
White Light coming from deeper inside me
Unlock my Spirit Now
If I love myself

I love You.

(inspired by Rumi's words)
Rumi inspiration, love, emotions, Truth,honesty,spirit, loving kindness,understanding,empathy,shamanism,positive energy
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
it only took the gherkin to take modern into modern via pickle, but the cabbage pickled dome of the albert hall opera was lost to foe foe foo dub step pluck the plucker of twang of drop d uncool; ah wait, gherkin acne pimples roughage missing on the cabbage suckled, with the flush into oyster moisture past the sexed up morbid cupping of the five fingers telling pistons from pistons? i said as much about my ******* as i did about her mouth, just now, and i wash it off and wash it down shaking hands rather than kissing my children goodnight excusing the **** talking sweet chock choke goodnights; well, it's hard to be credited with womanising when only "polygamy" with prostitutes suffices; but i'll just tell you... swan lake was too loud thanks to the ballerinas' stomps... hated ballet... god curse i will be cursed with sisyphus' labours... i rather roll that stone than hear ballerinas dance once more!*

let the male cat roam and lay rampage to the night, the she-cat sleeps in, then on the third call for ginger: quarus! quarus! nothing... quarus! it begins to rain... shamanism without the safety-net of psychiatry for post-colonial nations trying behaviourism without anger, with anger sterilised, and certain french thinking of fascination with death and suicide with suicidal thought censored for no reason other than not worked with... well, that better be wellington thick rubber on the phallus when i ask for my money back guarantee nine months later.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
so many wise sayings of the philosophers, so many maxims noted, and none, none, making it to a tombstone engraving chiseled missing curves of the ten epitaphs of sinai. so you know why the chinese were left budding atheistic, no pictorial with the chisel, but that's why the comic book district emerged there for a mango baton perfect slouch or slurry *****: ****** that *** and ***** in, i went to the classical gallery for the monkey, came out and wondered by the zoological a theology, it was all very strangely slow motion. but imagine chiseling some chinese pictorial into a grave, no wonder the chinese were not ousted with that diabolical proof of failure exposing a people to so many varying non-pictorial representations of the lip tongue and teeth – but as the title suggests… if nietzsche’s motto ‘god is dead’ is really true, then those ten commandments are really just ten epitaphs, and i don’t know who really died on the cross.*

being me, i'm no o'toole, or a richard harris,
my hell-raising stems from
the silence of bookworms gnashing on ink folds,
it's silent, it's "deadly," it's the sort of hell-raising
that accepts the nervous temple tension
of knocking with full blossom of the cracking knuckle;
and when i tell them i put a schizoid
element into my acquisition of the english language
they call my spiritual experience psychosis,
and when i tell them i was almost murdered
they tell me i'm depressed... and then?
o czym ty mówisz, ty głąbie kapusty?
because back "home" my prophetic honour is curbed
by my palette for beer being dębowe prior,
that's at 7%, and not a carlsberg: probably the
best ***** **** in the world;
unlike jesus enjoying all the fun in egypt and not
in babylon from where the magi came,
with old "rabbi" joseph telling him: go back to judea
and mingle with your people, remember what
the egyptians did to us, you dishonourable ******.
and so jesus went back, and the greeks wrote a translation,
while the romans bowed seeing some weather shamanism;
only yesterday it was raining buckets of rippling toads,
i concerned myself with wet clothes in the attempt to
***** up, said it would stop, turned an hour into a minute
and the rains stopped, notorious b.i.g. that isn't an acronym,
only notoriously f.a.t. (remember, the meaning
is in the subconscious, in consciousness the meaning
is scrambled egg & morse & braille).
by way of conclusion - exploring the man masquerading
before his mother, is in no way an assurance
of an abundant biography to testify with saliva juices
of conversation - unless the delusional irony is that
even though i'm not trying to get myself noticed,
i'm also not deluded to the point of not having existed;
but the chinese are safe though, complex pictorial phoneticism,
the latin alphabet took to strain, people went mad,
really wanted to see shaved baboon heads through
the googgles of emptied space after c. columbus
architected the jamaican slum boulevard; or maybe haiti suburbia,
whichever, the world grew smaller, and the universe expanded
disproportionately... on the telly!
Vernarth says: "ideal of our consciences, we will open the channels in Kímolos, before our subtle bodies, in which they will be opened to us, and how we parabolize, before this pretense of Saint John the Apostle, in the head of mediumship to reach the longitude wave to Hellenika. The interactive vibrational ones will go with the expression of deep reasoning, to pontificate the Mandylion with the Vas Auric, for the effect of the iconification of the idiomatic monologues, for such edges of  Saint Jude Thaddeus and Veronica, and for such an event facing alien forces before the Messiah, that they are like a coherent gadget before the intermittence variants. Channeling to the Cyclades, they will go from east to west wading the waters of the Aegean and Mediterranean, through the channel of the Universe-Duoverse, for inter-consciousness between the Hexagonal Primogeniture in Tsambika, and the triad of Etréstles, Kanti and the Archpriest in Hellenika , with high degrees of awareness of light and the conclaves between both homilies synchronous. Of great drowsiness before the Anemoi winds, they will go through near the voyages of the Trojan chthonic ships, and before the ominous chthonic divinities, for such deities in the Mediterranean substrate, identifying themselves more obviously with Anatolia, which from prehistory has continued to the site of Troy, in a cheesy plan to unite loyalists of Agamemnon, to defeat Hector, between farmland and agricultural revolutions and Akkadian worlds BC, in peripheral outposts, to influence the central regions of Greece and its maritime trade. Hydros influences, for the cycles of the solstice and nature, with those of life and survival after death that is at the center of the concerns that are not translated. In Crete, the supposed cult of great Gods was transformed during the II millennium BC. C. as new actors appear: various animals, plants, etcetera. Given consciousness, the light will be channeled, in the three courtyards of alabaster and between the cinnabar by bending the re-fertilization of the retro channels of the Cyclades, which go from Rhodes and Kímolos, for the discernment. Sometimes it is more gratifying to listen to what you want to hear and not to the real message, the egoic mind that does not come from serials of daunted egos ..., prays with signs of technological shamanism, intervening artificial intelligences, from egomaniacal administered consciences, being strident and iconoclastic for worlds of appearances and illusions. I Vernarth with our own Khaire…, in my mind I go towards the vessels that navigate the andurriales of the elusive identity, trapping it in the totemic animal stratum, in its tracking psychology, but seer of its present ego. Today I will use my Leonatus cap, to separate the anger from the large shadow that clouds my sadness, and from my own victimhood of reduced meekness, which spews violence, blaming it for a ruthless sort of depressive shame and exclusive of everyone's own fear for everything . I will blindfold my eyes against illnesses that will heal in three days, to straighten the ecstasy that grows thicker towards the guillotine, staying on Golgotha without Golgotha, I will create the framework of cinnabar for the pain of the skull, which trembles in my hands, until the Dream becomes vaporous with anger and harmless destruction before your egos, which throb rozagant towards the host entity and the scarified madness. Awakening my nuanced, subtle and anthropomorphic subconscious dreams, with sorrows that hurt my worst self-destructive amorousities before the new memorial, on the veil of Theoskepasti, with his science sheltering itself when yielding over the defeated springs and inaugurating new miraculous courses where I will surrender, full of sorry and more distant from the veil that does not act as a viewer.

Duo time, Duo space, in one I get excited, in the other I retro project, in unreal worlds of epistemic and channeled images ignoring them, in free astrolabe when decrypting my Duoverse, between the Tsambika templets, with the decoded and mutated annelids in trisomy , in ancient trees of plain doors of the Bern Olive Trees. We look at what gratifies and weaves together what weaves the positioning of the approaching stars of the universe, like leaves in psalms, worthy of all-powerful serials, in redoubled humors on the encompassing intraterrestrial chthonic tridents, in tricks of intuition, before skewing my sword Xifos, as an original replica of a night's dream in Tel Gomel, full of alerts that make me laugh chew it in the middle of my mouth on the jerky and the strains of the bear, towards the counterweight of the message of light and lag of the high astral as a bear less. Bustard and angelic breath in withdrawal and in dissolution ... unfinished planet ..., now if I see you channeled and incarnate! Diva emotion, here I analyze my audacity and courage towards being fed up with my omniscient prosopon, such an omniscient telepathic. My soul lies, and my emotion also, because in this way I will treasure the courage of panic, by surrounding myself with the fears of carrying the universe that is resting on the underside of my back at a cost "
Harassment of psychological channeling, against the horns and sights of a peaceful energy confrontation, will make them in Rhodes and Kimolos channel with the stark human finitude of life and finite and non-eternal existence, ad portal with their Aspis Koilé. Unconscious they will continue halfway with their bouquets of flowers for Walekiria, without ever really taking the time to tell her, what time of eternity will make them more crowded for her and her reliquary poem, from deflagration in flame, to insidious break of commitment of fear by telling him that if they revive, they will be others, but if Hetairoi extra Hellenic towards the light of the incarnate vermilion ..., and in a state of loop as "Being of Light". Oh phantom phenomenon that does not scare me ..., rather it disenchants, clinging to my skins that die in the unexpected female muses in Gaia, with my burning and hypertensive ballast, still frequent in me ... As conjecture and presence of Greca life ..., having to promote the matter and atmosphere involved where the valuations, should be tempered in the pressure regulators and the contribution of biodiversity, of the species for the insular life and its chemical balance in the Aegean. The theorem will state in the image of Vas Auric, as sounds of homeostasis, in classrooms, properties of the intervened annelids are consistent, capable of keeping them in a certain internal and stable condition, compensating for the changes in the noise of the intervened patios, towards an environment through the regulated exchange of matter and energy with the outside towards your (metabolism), trying a form of dynamic balance with the sparkling properties of Cinnabar. As a self-regulating biosphere in the conditions of the planet to make its environment of physicality (especially temperature and atmospheric chemistry) more noble with the species that make up life in the compass of two islands unmanned by beings from Gaia, rather as an entropy in magnitude physics for a thermodynamic system in equilibrium, inhabited by intra-dynamic beings that nobly associate, for adaptations of worlds that are not born. It segregates them towards a departure, measuring them in numbers with Gold in their population, from high numbers in states of zero, compatible with the laws of external physicality, for the purposes of watchful guardians, if Gaia's engine is turned on, before this psychic and spiritual combustion?

The laws of this system of closed circuits and channeling will tend to maximize entropy, expiring inhibitory reactions, for the traces of oxygen and nitrogen from the worms, making an express signal of the levitant carbon dioxide, to carry it from Tsambika, in a sigh of two converged energies of Leviathan and Saint John the Apostle, for the clouds in mole of carbonate dioxide, battling over the surviving necromancers and their conditions of activity and reproduction, maintaining these habitable conditions for many and many, in classes that did not enjoy of the life-death-life cycle. Greece, as it will now look like a turbo generator and appropriate laws underlining the extensive fibers concerned, a mole of molecules, in said of equality, of said hypothesis of Vernarth as sub-mythology, rather resting on the growing ivy  to its setbacks, and strangling the signs of satiety of life with properties of open skylights, and properties in tune, with the severe penalties that hurt, even the tolling of the bells and their pain as the millennia pass! Fear, insecurity and frustration will not fit because in the cavity with them, they will cut the abenuz Diospyros, with its stamens usually in sixteen plus its hypogines or inserts at the base of the corolla; like those of female flowers, being greenish or being converted into staminodia. Diospyros with ovaries generally tetralocular, or with eight locules due to false divisions, will make us channel inseminating demigods, under the staff of sub-mythology with Zephian of Horcondising, before the vibrational migrations begin in Hellenika. Just as in this pact with silence and meditation and burning toxic flames, under vulnerable high frequency insolation ..., waking up in Gaia like a sleeping fairy, and invested with extra light shaman, with degrees of synergy and with the simple science of blizzard ... , with low puffs of air of bread and cinnabar burning in the first hosts of hummus, as the homily began.
Diospyros
Sean M O'Kane Nov 2018
It's a phrase I often playfully use to describe my queer self.
("Were you ever?"my beloved Alison uniformly says in jest).
But now it seems unusually apt in another way:
As I swann around this empty house, the decor, the photos, the ornaments and old perfume bottles overwhelm me.
My head is brimming with memories as I glance past these fragments of our shared lives.
My loss is palpable and yet inescapable under this roof.
She surrounds us on the walls, hanging over us with her beaming smile amidst the family photos.
I want to escape but I can't:
In a mad way I want to believe that something of these relics around us can bring her back somehow.
She did after all carry something of the old Irish paganism with her.
But, no, this ancient shamanism is sadly absent in a room drowned out by every token of Catholicism you can think of.
It's all too much for this first born to take and yet she is still here in the tiny gaps of these precious artefacts.  
Hidden away where you can't see her.
So, no, being honest right now - I'm not quite straight yet.
The head and heart will realign soon but not with this gnawingly painful grief.
Pray for me.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
tuppence middleton is careful of british ***,
she doesn't refer to british antics from
holy ****** soil in spain, bunched-up ******,
and diving into the pool from a hotel balcony
as a modern epitome of courage... / stupidity
without a cause or a sword;
while everything back home goes on in your
daily orwellian backstreet surveillance,
pristine (chocolate on rotten teeth clenched
elocution); she forgot to mention that the brits
have a viral infection worse than alcoholism,
they treat *** with the nasty-pill,
so they can make banter about it (jokes)
to carry on bloodhound drooling for more.
make joke out of *** you'll end up easily shocked
and shackled to no ***, but joking that
the burning bush that spoke to moses on mt. sinai
was the ***** region of his egyptian mega-*****
will get you further than expected.*

so she's writing her drunk through her twenties
memoir, one fascinating detail emerges
(i could have written thing, like all the philosophers,
to condense the vocabulary of a few categories of
words to reach the philosophical pinnacle
of abstraction, i said detail, although i could have
said anecdote, tarts in cardigans of printed tartan):
verbatim: i dropped a bottle of wine on kitchen
tiles and was lapping the drink like a dog,
along with dirt from the floor and broken glass;
i was half as bad, one night i couldn't mix enough
alcohol with the sleeping pills i'm taking,
i knew of one off-lice that sold alcohol into the wee
hours of the night, a few miles away,
next to a brothel i used to frequent, upon entry (drunk)
asking for water, the prostitutes bemused by my
courting ways without a chandelier ballroom in sight
(kissing hands after giving an ******, all that),
so i thought i'd catch the night bus (N86) to get a few
beers... on my way to the bus-stop,
2 miles away, i spotted a hit and run fox dead
by the bus shelter, a few houses prior a skip
with two bins bags... two spectators...
spotted the fox, emptied the content of the black bin bags,
bent over the fox, put him into the bin bags
(i was thinking of the guy who had to work a sunday
getting rid of the health hazard),
i almost choked and almost vomited,
i could snort up the odour of blood from the fox,
packed the fox in the bin bags...
walked back home,
weighed the fox on the scales outside my home
(9 - 10kg, about as much as my ginger maine ****),
then walked on, dropped the bag into the bushes
in the green belt...
(the closer i am to a brothel, the more i'm eager to go in,
which isn't particularly odd, given the slime juice
eagerness of the flower if not the pouch oysters);
and then a shamanism appeared out of mutual respect:
sat on the curb drinking a beer, sat with a fox,
a girl walked less than half a metre from the fox,
the fox didn't move,
drinking a beer lying down so close to a fox
scratching the fox's fleas could have jumped on me...
my ginger totem, you are my ginger totem...
so what about the sheep the wolves and the foxes?
who's to attire the foxes into a metaphor adequate enough?
but i'd never sip a broken glass bottle from the floor,
i mean, i ****** into my favourite mixer bottle
coca-cola, then poured it into a glass with whiskey...
but i wouldn't go as far as to drink it...
i'd wait and experience the fluctuations of metabolism,
cook some food, read a book, you see words
can salvage a man from the depths of drinking,
they're akin to stones, i'm basically piling stones
into a mountain, effectively there's nothing moving
them once they've been written, all you get is
a bemusement:
peel                                v.                         pelt
poker                             v.                         pooh
pill                                 v.                          no y in peel
new woos                     v.                          news
pepper                          ­v.                          penguin
in the word ego, the e is a prolonged syllable,
i had many more, better examples,
but the way i see it, without evident diacritical units
to example off, you'll get hidden aesthetics
of many particularities of expression,
based upon many odd instances where it's written
one way... but spoken another.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
question is, motörhead (motoorhead) or hawkwind? given hawkwind's magnu... yeah, the latter.

i told you about it,
about the despair as a reader
jailed together with ezra pound
writing the pisan cantos,
LXXVII gave me a reader's
constipation, hardly a digested
piece of work,
but then the sky was gloomy grey
atypical of england,
and i forced myself to read the piece
having left it mid-way;
well, i was reading an article on
******* and an abstinence from
it on *vice
news...
apparently the benefits and the cons
are a debate akin to a swing:
to and fro... scientific objectivity
(nearly an -ism), a ******* pendulum...
tick, tock, tick, tock, la la la, ha, etc.
so i got reading the canto, and suddenly
the sun came out bold enough to
look at forms to caste shadows of them...
weird shamanism or just chance opportunism,
but if you get my drift, you wonder
at the brush and the brush-strokes,
the sun the brush, the canvas well atmosphere,
and the paintings shadows in luminescent anorexia...
my drift though:
the a new directions paperback of the cantos,
page 491... the verse about the army politics
and the exquisite use of grammatical
terms as decisive shortening of events...
i.e. noun: chair, tree, armadillo, bed, head...
adjective: chewy chow mein... etc.
that gave me the giggles...
and indeed Pope Francis told the Rolling Stones
to not play a free concert on good friday
in Cuba...
but they did anyway...
i say, someone please steal the pope's kippah!
it's a farce him adorning it post-holocaust!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
i can walk in the street with canned beer
and appear to be ******,
because alcohol gives me buddha eyes.

alcohol is always looking for a righteous expression,
it's abused all the time,
it burdens the n.h.s. all the time,
it has too many idiots succumbing to it,
it requires someone to drink
and be an intellectual, simply to pardon
alcohol in the conglomerate
of ****-ups, hangovers, puking in toilets,
et cetera et cetera.
when used with sleeping pills and a paracetamol
tab it's the perfected sedative,
i sedate myself, i don't drink to party woo hoo!
encountering a bunch of marijuana idiots
giggling over a pickled cucumber pimples
ha ha... pickled cucumber acne... ha ha...
enough about my drinking...
loving it anyway: it's holiday within a jolly
good day... passed a young blonde and an old ****,
they were having a therapy session in
the park... second time i pass them i end up
whistling as they pass, the old **** is telling
the young **** to look the part and assert
some for of happiness, marriage and security
and the dead man's dole to keep her interests
in perfumes and clothing afloat...
i tell the ancient oak it's required to be brown,
while the colts miscarry brown with penicillin green,
marshmallow and fungi, both squidgy,
the octopuses of the forest,
mush watered-fevered-of-shape for an umbrella
invented, latest the 18th century, with an aeroplane.
other than that?
i accuse the beatniks of desecrating sacred grounds / tool,
they invoked the use of words, they recorded their
experience of ancient indian / aztec shamanism...
carlos castaneda* quoted the shaman don juan
as saying: the experience is for you alone...
the beatnik poets started to write about the experience,
werther's original (butter sweets) turned sour,
they invoked recording their hallucinations,
**** them, **** them **** them **** them!
the mystical experience has been eradicated,
any more talk of neil armstrong and walking on the moon
parallels the desecration of these hallucinogenics
with words, these american poets desecrated the one
single dimension that could not be written about:
they walked on the moon and wrote about it...
i know nostalgia and all that, but give us a break!
the only people taking peyote these days
are rich white girls who end up injecting the concentrated
version of the natural, the essence, into their arms...
god said analysis... man said: synthesis (and analysis)...
although i dare to add the fact that there are two
strands of poetry: one that looks like a morning hangover
haircut... and one that looks like the taj mahal
of rolling marbles...
for example: ezra pounds' and ginsberg's poetry
looks great, and i mean great, they write like
they telling you to use a microscope...
but they don't have the voice to orate...
whereas gregory corso's poetry doesn't look that great,
actually it looks like ****, too simple,
but when he orates it... HE ORATES IT!
maybe his life gave him the power,
i wish i could orate like him, in fact, i never had,
the most i orated was impromptu
and it was never noted down...
but the point is: those who orate perfectly
write a simple aversion to the other strand of
poetics that is relegated / more interested in optics:
rather than a stage, a crowd, a voice "in the wilderness;"
all in all, my affiliation with hades.
SøułSurvivør Dec 2015
:')
-

The icon above is now
officially a WORD.

It actually made "Word of the Year".
IN OXFORD.

I'm glad.
It exactly expresses my feelings right now.

I was laden with burdens.
I mentally pictured them placed,
like the cross, upon Jesus' shoulders.

THEY ARE GONE!

I prayed with my former pastor
the other day. He prayed i would have a
New song in my heart.
IT'S THERE.
I can feel it!

I must go off site and get it down.
I will be back soon.

I just want you to know there IS JOY
IN THIS LIFE! It belongs to God.

Joy unspeakable and full of GLORY!

Please go to the site search engine.
Type in "Salvation Story by SoulSurvivor".
Click on "poems". There are only a few.
This is the reason for the
hope within me.

There ARE other paths.
I have tried them ALL.
I AM NOT TELLING UNTRUTH.

Atheism
Agnosticism
Transcendental Meditation
Self Realization Fellowship
Buddhism
A smattering of Hinduism
Tao
Scientology
New Age Christianity
Native "American" folkloric Shamanism
(I bought fetishes and one
is still kept by my father)
Alcoholics Anonymous God Faith

NOTHING WORKED
OVER THE LONG HAUL.

Only faith in Jesus Christ saved me.

LITERALLY.


I seldom get up on my soapbox about this.
But, folks, what I found is REAL...

If you wish to ask me more
You may reach me
via the site message system.

I'm only writing this because
I truly love you ALL.
I SEE SO MANY STRUGGLING!
Maybe, just maybe, this is
the answer.

For YOU.



P E A C E (out).

♡ Cathy
David Barr Dec 2013
I am acquainted with the Keeper of the Gate, who stands at the centre of the labyrinth with royal authority.
Have you cast spells upon your destiny?
In wisdom, let us acknowledge that we receive less than the minimum wage for such prophetic dismissals.
Therefore, I radically accept connection to the unseen flow and venture beyond the realms of predictability.
So, I no longer make declarations or indicate anything in advance about the Great Circumference.
As we learn to reach an altered state of consciousness, we will then connect transcendental energy into what is deemed to be reality.
This is the essence of full-system psychological shamanism.
Laokos Apr 2020
a minute too late
or a minute too
early?

solitude in spades;
loneliness laurels.

no avoidance of
the void dance.

shamanism in the
modern age.

the glow of consumerism
fading in and out
like shallow breaths.

the light flickers only
a moment before red
turns to black.

a lifetime arrives
like that.
Necropolis of Hellenika / Kímolos
Tsambika / Philo of Alexandria

They passed each other on the outskirts of Archangelos to go to Tsambika, going to the Necropolis of Helleniká where he was waiting for them more than 400 kilometers to the west of the Cyclades, precisely in Kímolos where they would do the colloquy with to do the channeling with the Necropolis. Etréstles had traveled with Kanti the steed; on his back, they saw the distance before they arrived at Mandraki in Rhodes. They all headed down the coast towards Archangelos, but Etréstles went to Helleniká, the Vas Auric was landed on Mandraki for the purposes of the Creation of Vernarth together with the Apostle Saint John. Kímolos, it is on this island that the famous beginning of the procession towards the outskirts of the cities was to deposit their sacred remains on the way to a better one, here were the martyrs who were used to Etréstles since he cohabits in delay with Drestnia for the new millennium (His female of hers) with which he resides in the Koumeterium of Messolonghi in the ninth vertical cemetery. Having a chapel and altars this place was propitious to create between Kimolos and Tsambika which was so many kilometers away, so the meeting performance between villages would be seen in its entirety to be resurrected and worshiped between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese with pious exercises between both latitudes precisely in the chapel of Theoskepasti, while in Tsambika it would be in the Panagia Tsambika monastery. Etréstles carried in both hands some matches of some population dowries with laws of affability and generations lived there without knowing each other between the two islands and tabernacles, arguing canons of burial and exhumation. In this case of performance refer to the Vas Auric of Limassol that brought the construction of a world of the right angles for the neat reconstruction of multi polygonal spectra, adopted for the first time in Kímolos to be retransferred to a logical philosophical-architectural division seeking to enclose the perfect plans where the new Christians will reside, between Rhodes and the west of Kímolos re-installing themselves among more than a third of the venerable ones who rested in Helleniká, in syncretic neatness with dissimilar populations and creeds.

Saint John the Apostle with Vertnarth, Raeder, and Petrobus plus Eurydice would bring from the rubies of Alexandria the incorporeal honor of Alexander the Great, turning both island sites into palaces of the Muses of Helleniká for the scholars who would be at the canonization of Vas Auric. Being the precursor of the chapel of the Theoskepasti, this performance of erudition will be endowed with the new status for Philo of Alexandria present here, now being a co-demiurge who will convert this necropolis city into duality with Tsambika for distinctions of the rituals and homilies, reducing the inputs basics in ceremonies. Philo of Alexandria says that only God protects the Jews, adding to what Philo wrote in La Legatio ad Gaium, the Jewish delegation had trouble meeting Caligula and when they finally met him, the emperor declared that he wanted a statue of him to be built as Jupiter in the Temple of Jerusalem, which sowed desolation among the members of the delegation. Finally, this purpose was not realized thanks to the intervention of Agrippa I and the death of Caligula, Philo attributed the happy ending of both cases to Providence. This divine letter of these translators with Saint John the Apostle and Philo of Alexandria will make this homily the spiritual custody that will be preserved in these two cities and then towards the world of Vernarth of the Duoverse, so that invisible winds blow from the chapel of Kímolos to Panagia de Tsambika, in the frameworks that feed the Hebraic and Hellenic boundary “translating Greek into Hebrew, but in two universal sites of creation in the Theoskepasti chapel and Panagia de Tsambika, about the magic of the meeting of omniscience and grace. Says Vernarth: “with the interpretation of Philo of Alexandria and his exegesis, I will rub the tract of the successions of infinity legitimately stored the creation thought of the ZigZag Universe with the Parapsychological Regressive authority now circulating in a sniffing universe with a Verthian genealogy, tempering with my Falangist disciples but being biblical when it becomes the occasional emaciated mob of a world that falls degrading with its last pieces and challenges of the world associated with an allegorical spirit, contracted to wings of ethics and doctrinal rectitude. I have two candles in each hand, similar to Etréstles in Kímolos and in Helleniká, making delights of pleasures in these ceremonies to create the world’s ignored in the office of the super compassionate language, in more than seven days that add up between the Sun and the Earth, in a sub-mythological world being ourselves our own executioner established on the ***** that falls from the match of the wick of my Lucerne in its own mood. I still have a memory of who and of each one who will always be in my prayers, reopened in a sacredness less than my own end, here I will not continue to be stored. Rather I will continue to fall, exhumed from the very storehouse and from the struggle of the thistle that falls from itself rounded up to be competent to explain himself biblically as if he had never before been read ad limit of the doctoral, and sacred in the work of Philo of Alexandria here with us leading and there in the Necropolis on another thorn; as a perpetual creeping species growing here as an unvarying summer plant in cooler climates, which would usually be prostrated on the Helleniká slab with radiating branchy stems extending the fractal distance between Kímolos and Tsambika in thistle´s ceremonies. The hirsute silts will come from the genesis of their spiritual temporal being the same wool of the whirlpool of all the weeds attached and oppressed to the lamp of the gargoyles that are tuned together with the Gulpers of Archangelos in a happy diet following patterns of even, and odd thistles spring in the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. The Parapsychological regression XIV century - Saint John the Apostle says: “from Filerimos a sidekick monk of Philo of Alexandria has come with the image of the blessed Immaculate ****** and painted by Saint Luke the Apostle. The Knights of Saint John built the Monastery of Saint John in Rhodes with this image; everything comes from there on the Miraculous Hill of Filerimos, and the temple of Athens Polias was converted into a proto-basilica with a three-bay nave dedicated to Her. The church is known since then for housing the figure of the ****** of Filerimos (Our Lady of Filerimos). In the fourteenth century under the rule of the Knights of Saint John a monastery was built here surrounded by cloisters cells and a series of chapels, that is where the figure is the miracle worker and is reverently guarded. Being a Capuchin order after the Ottomans destroyed it; it was rebuilt by the Italians. With this image we canonize the Vas Áuric in the homily prior to the spiritual link with Etréstles in Kímolos, before every morning they illuminate the sacred Earth of both latitudes in the mystical house of Saint John the Apostle with the herbalists on the wind to fight for the Somnia in Hortum et Flos Herbarium in Kímolos, Garden of Flowers and Dreams in Herbalist in Kimolos. Knowing that the Universe is approaching the Vernarthian Duoverse, Saint John the Apostle decided with the Birthright to establish a Duoversal Garden in Kímolos with the aim of laying tremendous foundations on the base of the pre-Christians and apostolic who enlisted in the Greco-Hebrew world with the addition of compression, and medicinal valences for the herbalist of Kímolos, in such a way to reissue it in the monastery of San Juan in Rhodes and the Panagia of Tsambika. Since the grains grew and germinated they became thickets of great predestined forest in Rhodes, aspiring to continue being a well-known theology in Greek also being sufficient testimonial about its Aramaic originality, being addressed to the Sanhedrin, 37-42 AD Before Caiaphas and redirecting it to his brother-in-law Theophilus of Annas. The Aramaic Apocalypse, also known as 4Q246, is in one of the Dead Sea Scrolls, found at Qumran, with notable early messianic mention of the Son of God. Saint Luke says in the voice of Saint John the Apostle: “4Q246, we are children of God…, the Highest, the Messiah as a messianic voice, being able to be confused with the Beast or the Messiah but Philo of Alexandria will be there saying “I always ignored with the most blessed indifference to Satan, because therefore in this Aramaic manuscript he only has, and will reside forever and ever in his Messiah” Given this situation, the commanded expressions were those of astragals mysticism in herbalist and botany in this manuscript, since the unfortunate leftovers are the freshness and splendor of the flowers caressed by the wind that arrived at that moment; in regard to the wind of the Anemoi being eight gods that correspond to the eight cardinal points from which they came and were related to different seasons and meteorological phenomena, but he heralded the excitement of the Cyclades, like Sound of Sounds between Narcissus of Sharon and Lilies of the Valley. The audio-images were avocados forming the deep thickets that will move according to the inclinations of the planets, each time the Universe approached Greece among all the cisterns with water for the flower meadows that Vernarth in litanies was assigned to the paths that lead to the Vas Auric.

Vernarth says: “With these titles “Vas spirituale, Vas honorabile, Vas insigne devotionis, Rosa mystical, and Regina sacratissimi rosari”, I have to transform all the astragalus, and shrubs into the consorts with the presence of the jacaranda vase of living human nature in virtue of the meeting of the Universe-Duoverse, for the herbalist of Kímolos now imprisoned in the Vas Auric of Limassol. "Sweet Nectar of the dying, eager for eternal hunger and sweetness in withered flowers"
The end of Parapsychological regression XIV century
Saint John says Apostle: “Helleniká and Tsambika, will be the lily, the saffron, the rose and the violet but also new ones, like the marigold and the chamomile making of all a diadem crown to place the world of the Duoverse in all its radius, for the star that illuminates par excellence as a white planet without thorns, which is perfect among the perfect, anti herbicide of language and of incarnation as in the Empyrean the medieval sky in the highest of heavens. It is likewise in the place of the physical presence of God, where angels and souls reside in Paradise between caltrops and Rosas towards the alimentary plane of conventual voice, and tonics of the glycogenic Milky Way sipping third-grade milk to curdle in the children who have not been a Messiah yet. Paths of thorns will guide visitors to this gallery of flowers and plants through the Panagia monkish for the holy homily with the Lilies and through low valleys, where no more Lilies can escape from their chains of the Liliorum genome in the valleys of the galactogenic virtue. Like Mother Rosette and son Lirium, being the mother of everyone and of that…, there… your son, “Myself in the path of the three Mary’s”. Over there in the desolate place, a columbine carries me imprisoned on my heels as a bond of a son who makes my steps with the Columbine of my saving feet” At 320 meters of altitude Still, Life appeared concealed behind the Vas Áuric descending…, here everyone approached the auric circle of Moral that made them authors of the proximity of the Universe falling on Greece, and the Herbolaria that fell with all its reliable structure in the foliage where many more species appeared such as thilts, Laurel, Olive, Linen, Grenade in a simple and nuanced devotional with the pro status of the delegate; the same Hexagonal Primogeniture to make the cinnabar fistulas that were elemental by the different associated colors, and by Grail tutorials that looked indigo on top of some Rhododendrons. If it is eschatological, it is in the mystical nets of the Empyrean further from a form that is said to be called a form of antagonism, between Cardinals and their dead Lilies. As first among the last, the bulbous and clayey Tulip of the orbital and basilica symbology, peacemaker and philosophical Eritrean for spiritual quests that toil outpourings from the Empyrium, reaching the Messiah on his Colt on his way to Bethany. Around the Monastery, everyone could be seen as they arrived to the beat of the cymbals and aulós, among lyres that prowled tickling the inquiry to rest their fingers, or perhaps dressed by some Trojan villain augur in those of "Daedalus". Being the latter, here a tulip with flames of a true seeker trying to sacrifice subsistence daring over the risk of the resole of salvific death or perhaps dressed by some Trojan villain augur in those of "Daedalus".
Daedalus says: “After the incident with Perdix, I Daedalus was expelled from Athens. I then went to Crete, and in the kingdom of Minos I was placed in the service of the monarch. One of his tasks was the creation of Thalos, an animated bronze giant who defended the island from invasions. By order of Minos, I built the labyrinth to enclose the monster; the labyrinth was a building with countless corridors and winding streets opening into each other, which seemed to have no beginning and no end. Minos locked me up with my son Icarus, whose mother was Naucrate, a slave of Minos in the same building. The reason for the confinement was the collaboration of Daedalus in the escape of Theseus from the labyrinth, I have to lament for the ****** of Perdix, now turned into Partridge who now carries in his claws the creation of the Universe-Duoverse, turned into his own, and myself in envy neither harassing me about my endings, and neither starting nor finishing. That is why I appear here coming from Crete, to wrap myself in the garden and its mystery closing all the madrigals and hedges, like a world that has created me, in its splendor, seeing the humility fragrant with violets grafted onto lavender with my soul now, of a somewhat syncretism Hebrew-Hellenic and Mythological sub-Mythological, like a nobleman who walks free and without chains… passing through the Parthenon to put on tiaras in dresses that are adorned with Linens, but of evangelical lineage here in Kimolo.

In Kimolos; Helleniká Necropolis, Etréstles was suspended in a columbarium equivalent near the lapidem of the necropolis. There was a great amount of accumulated air enclosed in the musty cinerary walls, with the translucent specters that fluttered through other metropolises that transited inconsistently in their proto-masonry, and some resembled pink jaspers on some grooved slabs, letting pale dovecote rhizomes slip away under an oblique columbarium domain that manifested itself meagerly on an unstable podium of Folegandros. Adhering to this enormous exteriorization were Kanti, and Etréstles in their hydrothermal genesis, lying as a petra forms at a wide range of heat towards periodic effluvia of their Devonian geology, manifesting discreetly until a carbonization of sedimentary rocks attributing their curiosity when they continued to remain in areas favorable climatic conditions, simulating to be exordiums on thermal hydro sediments, leading to the carbonization of the surface of the necropolis with micas and serpentines, to cool down in the selfless natural fields that resisted the effect of the heat generated by the ZigZag Universe, etching each other on pyrites and graphite’s with the compactness that increases, and extends the widening of the mournful enclosure attentive to channeling emanations and traces, that will be the first loads of exegesis from Tsambika for prompt elucidation from Mount Hymettus in Athens, and continue to proliferate in hives of bees libating in its thickness towards the good-smelling necropolis causing its magnificent flowers and herbs to steam; so much so, that from the paved lipoids of honey astragalus and spectra will come out deposing to be toxic, yearning the strigilas or curved striaeons (reverse or straight), imitated from pagan sarcophagi.

Thousands after Thousands of Centuries after centuries, adorning themselves in the lapidem glossaries on the exterior fronts of tymbos that were embedded in the tholons, almost as in outright Constantine-Hellenic brilliance towards an unarmed cenotaph with their flat covers, pouring over them the devastated trisomy of Kaitelka, of whose diploid organism extras, aberrated by being parity triplicates of their greatest chromosomal and homologous hereditary complement. The vestiges of fossil whales here were generating disproportions of execrable variation, being destined to the patio of fall on them in three additional courtyards of marbles at the rate of inverted strata, revealing only some of their extremities appreciating them with semi-covered figures, and on reliefs filling again by genetic trisomy for gentile practices and lead them to the Christian Vas Auric. Faced with such a famous disproportion of fossil reliefs, they turn to the scourges of the Universe.

Panagia Theoskepasti Parapsychological regression Etréstles in Kímolos: The church of Theoskepasti, due to its position could be easily recognized by the invaders during their raids. However, according to a legend the church was veiled by dark clouds of mist and became invisible as soon as the assailants approached. Due to this legend the church received the name "Theoskepasti" from the Greek words "Theos" and "skepazo" meaning "God" and "watch" respectively. So, the name is 'God Veiled'. According to another tradition, when once a foreigner managed to get into the church and tried to steal the golden candle divine power cut off his hands. Also if it is watched over by God, so it is divine for the Creation that it will begin with the synchronization between both latitudes of the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. Etrestles After staying together with Kanti, they went from Theoskepasti to Hellenika, located in Dekas Bay on the west coast of Kimolos, here in the necropolis there are ruins of ancient tombs that would form part of the new humanity in the creation of the Duoverse, existing since Mycenae and the Cyclades next to the small islet of Agiоs Аndreas, also being part of the city. Many ruined tombs can be seen from the hill on the edge of Elliniká with some stones still in the sea between Kimol and Milil, in the vicinity of Psathi on this island located on the southeast coast. Kímolоs to Chοrá is 1 km away on the hill above the Psathi port from here the foreign ships trying to come to the Bay area sighted, for the advent of the Cinnabar on the scapulae that hold the Gates of the Necropolis for the effect avant-garde, and regenerator of souls that will resurface with more universal chromosome tints mutated from trisomy, more of extreme longevity. In the homily, an archpriest of the regional deanery will make a pastoral criterion for this gesture by virtue of eminence, and guide them through the orthodoxy of the chapel to the Episcopal organizational procession of the Vas Auric. It was already twilight and Etrestles was climbing onto Kanti's pony clutching the utensils of the homily, in the customary ritual before incensing and setting fire to the laurel and rosemary in the fords of Leto and Koumeterium of Messolonghi, it rotated in ellipses sprinkling crumbs of the purest loaf from Arcadia on a gray Monday with hummus to attract sour souls that they were in a catatonic state making them more esthetic or aesthesis, of reactionary rebellious natural aesthetics with nuances, then reincorporate them into the three courtyards in a magnificent concordance with Rhodes. When the Archpriest begins the talk, he derives his prayers from semi-inert materials that were made in communion with the chromosomal dyes; with the worms with absentmindedness of progenitor snakes that were grafted undulating, being in reality only worms that were amazed at the exhortation of the Archpriest in the ritual, circulating universals destined for his elegies and celebrating from an ambo or pulpit with classical Latin pronouncing the archpriest the way it died lunae, mutating it ****** to dies lunis by analogy with dies, on a dark Monday day but full of grace for the assistants doing the sermons to interpret the alabaster patios that will lead to Tsambika. The first worms were persecuted by Kanti, he believed that they were scatterings that emerged from the ground, such an earthly ecosystem was beginning to disown him due to the metamorphosis of annelids which seemed to increase their ultra-grave texture with the same remains of an irresolution without a sarcophagus, turned into sharp curves intestinal that were depressed breathing autonomously on consistent folds of the dermis of the oldest caste of the subsoil of Helleniká. Preexisting the distant origin of the Arcadias and they're dissected that silently followed the hummus and bobota, not to digest them with their suckers, but rather surround them and delegate them to explore the surroundings that would encapsulate the ground with the proximity of the transfigured universe to Vernarth's Duoverse, to phosphorus and emit the will-o'-the-wisp nitrogenous fires before the Archpriest, Etréstles and Kanti disquieting by an arcane movement. Being a full act of the herbaceous phagocytosis, they continued ascending in the curvilinear procession with their traces weaving moment without time, which was added to the sub-mythology and a finite sub-time, like unicellular procreating others that accelerated their physiognomy detached from their immateriality, towards a longer intake of the organic material on the hummus and exudation of propolis rhizomes. In this way, they resign when falling with serious cramps cleared of the digestive world, which no cell has tasted ******, but rather direct when breathing from Hellinika's lung lobes, comprised mostly by the alabaster sheepskin that was suspended to other colonies of worms that sailed to lean out towards the surface of the altar where they regenerated from the flow of the annelids. Archpriest says: “The frame of the Vas Áuric arises from the nuclei of the medallion, pending a high presence of insulation. With high mobility between the tissues and amino acids of the annelids, new basal cell functions even being visible for Etréstles and not totally for all yet. The image of the medal had a classified functionality and concrete information, but imperceptible chronological possibly being the first function of the icon in its justification with religious symbols and manifestations of the divine, and semantic still removed from a theoretical auto-iconic. When reading in Vas Auric, "What two men do not see, a man sees who does not see..., what the creeping animal sees, self-prisoner of his lack of vanity..., He will see it". Being epistemic images that provide more distant knowledge of the sub-divisible organic matter in finite mortality towards the other eternal inorganic, contributing to the super complex neuronal development, in a veiled sensation that is lost between itself and its own bodies, being able to take them with its own differentiations”

Panagia Tsambika Monastery - Channeling Cinnabar: Vernarth commanded the three architectural courtyards of Tsambika for the Cinnabar layout. They climb the steps that lead to this monastery at the top of one and to the very connection of the homily with Helleniká. In this monastery they will have to censor three courtyards, all pointing towards the west of Mandraki Bay, on some pine trees all surrounding the virtual stained glass window of the portal that joins the main avenue with the ascent of the monastery, until very close to the Virginal Marianus icon and very close to the dividing wall from where Lindos can be seen. The Tsambika Monastery is four kilometers from the city of Archangelo, the height of the monastery is leveled with pebbles on its bare floor that led everyone barefoot, towards the three nearby patios. Cinnabar as a polygonal crystal would be specially used for the perpendicular ceremony of Mercury, to sensitize the climatologically the variation that would be appreciated once it began to sponsor the bones that would spread in the extreme longevity of annelids exchanged from the moldy alabaster arcades, and carried by alluviums of crystallized mercury, granting together with the Panagia of Tsambika fertility, and parental conception for the new Universe-Duoverse of Vernarth, extending life farther than the first-born descendant's first ancestor, being the cinnabar the diversity of versed uses now been given in the upright channeling with ultra vital extensions with Helleniká. The alabaster and the three columns of these sulfated stones form compact would dare to hydrate in the silos where the windows will be poured, this is where the sub-mythological specimens detached from any temporal dimension will be used, leaving sapiens annelids free will recombining the diploid chromosomes, and profiting from molds of exact erratic aberrations to be vindicated in the dispensaries of Saint John the apostle. Thus adorning the perfumed areas intervened three cinnabar patios, for the sermon of the Vas Áuric. Thus inspiring the chair with the verses of Saint John on the immanence after the fifty days of the Messiah in epistolary verses and the evangelizations, elaborating vessels of the low rank of Faith to opt for expectations of moldings with new consciences of selenite clay, and refine them in messianic faith. Middle-range pebbles were subtracted for the interior and extramural floor of the Monastery, being rather Biblical Calcite for the Egyptian-Hellenic Alabastron psalmody praise perfume. This typology will be the quilt for the magistracy with a canopy glass exhibited near the tulip lamps, and ceiling lights of the monastery for the use of the diamantine sphere of the opaque panels that flamed from the intersection of the arachnids re sprouting from the current wind of cinnabar. Vernarth says: “Suitable for our consciences, we will open the channels in Kímolos before our subtle bodies that will make us divided just as we parabolize ourselves, before the airs of St. John the Apostle in the headdress of mediumship to reach the wavelength to Helleniká, the interactive vibrations will leave with the expression of deep reasoning after pontificating the Mandylion with the Vas Áuric, for the effect of its icon and idiomatic monologues for the edges of San Judas Tadeo and Veronica, for such a faced event in foreign forces before the Messiah, a coherent gadget will be made in the intermittence variants. The channeling to the Cyclades will go from east to west wading the Aegean and Mediterranean waters, through the channel of the Universe-Duoverse for inter consciousness between the Hexagonal Primogen in Tsambika, and the triad of Etréstles, Kanti, and the Archpriest in Helleniká, with high degrees of the light consciousness and conclaves between both synchronous homilies. With drowsiness before the Anemoi winds that will be crossing near the voyages of the Trojan chthonic ships, and before the fateful chthonic divinities for such deities in the Mediterranean substratum identifying more obviously with Anatolia which since prehistory has followed to the site of Troy, in a cheesy union plan for Agamemnon's loyalists, to defeat Hector between farms and revolutions of agriculture, and Akkadian worlds b.C., in peripheral outposts to influence the central regions of Greece and its maritime trade. Hydro-physical influences, for the cycles of the solstice and nature with life and survival after death that is at the center of concerns that are not translated. In Crete, the supposed cult of great Gods is transformed during the second millennium BC as new actors appear: various animals, plants, etc. Given the consciousness, it will be the channeled light in the three courtyards of alabaster and between the cinnabar by bending the re-fertilization of the Cyclades channels, which go from Rhodes and Kimolos, for discernment. Sometimes it is more gratifying to hear what you want to hear and not the real message, the egotistical mind that does not come from a series of daunted egos..., or signs of the technological shamanism, intervening artificial intelligence from maniacal administered consciences, being shrill for worlds of appearances and illusions. I Vernarth with our own Khaire Fíle…, in my mind I go to the vessels that sail through the landscapes of the elusive identity, trapping her in the totemic stratum, and tracking psychology, but a seer of her present ego. Today I will wear my Leonatus cap, to separate his anger from such a shadow that clouds my grief, and my own victimhood of reduced and meekness which spurns violence, blaming it on a ruthless kind of depression and excluding shame from everyone's own fear of everything. I will bandage my eyes against diseases that will heal after three days, to straighten the ecstasy that thickens towards the scaffold, staying in Golgotha with nothing, I will create the framework of cinnabar for the pain of the skull that trembles in my claws, until sleep becomes vaporous with anger and the harmless destroying itself before your egos, colorful throbbing towards your alien beings and scarified host. I will be waking up from my subtle and anthropomorphic subconscious dreams, with sentences that hurt my worst self-destructive delinquencies before the new memorial, on the veil of Theoskepasti with its science sheltering itself by giving in on the vanquished springs and inaugurating new miraculous courses where I will surrender, full of forgiveness and more distant from the veil that does not act as a viewer.

Duet time, Duet space, one with the other illusion unreal elements and epistemic images ignoring them in expeditions crackle my Duoverse, and temples of Tsambika with the decoded annelids mutating in trisomy with flat doors towards the Olives Berna. We look at what gratifies basting and plotting the positions of the stars of the universe that are attached like sheets worthy of almighty serials, and redoubled humor on the chthonic embracing tridents, before skewing Xyston as an original replica of the dream of a night in Tel Gomel. The counterweight of the message of light lagged behind the high astral like the little bear, bustards, and her angelic breath retreated in dissolution..., now if diva emotion I have my daring, and courage towards the binge of my omniscient prosopon, similar to omniscient telepathy, my soul lies and my emotion too because in this way I will treasure the value of panic by surrounding myself with the fears of resting, against the poles and sights of a peaceful energetic confrontation that will make them in Rhodes and Kimolos, channel the consumed human finitude and not eternal ad portas of his Áspis Koilé.

Unconsciously they will continue halfway with their bouquets of flowers for Valekiria, and may they never really take the time to tell her what time of eternity will make them more crowded for her, and her reliquary poem bursting into flame with its insidious outbreak and fear of telling him that if they revive they will be other Hellenic Hetairoi towards the vermilion light of the embodied sacrificed loop state as a "Being of Light". Oh ghost phenomenon that doesn't scare me... rather disappoints, clinging to the skins that die in the unexpected female muses in Gaia, with my burning and hypertensive ballast, still frequent in me... As conjecture and presence of Greek life..., having to be promoted and involved where they should be tempered to the contribution of biodiverse, and species for island life and its balance in the Aegean. The theorem will enunciate in the image of the Vas Auric as sounds of homeostasis in classrooms, properties of intervened annelids consistent, capable of maintaining them in a certain internal and stable condition, compensating for the changes of the explosion of the intervened patios, towards an environment through regulated exchange of matter and energy with the outside towards its (comparative metabolism), in the case of a form of dynamic balance with properties of Cinnabar brilliance, as a self-regulated biosphere in the conditions of the planet to make its environment (especially temperature and atmospheric chemistry) nobler with the species that make up life in the compass of two unmanned islands by beings from Gaia, rather as entropy in physical magnitude for a thermodynamic system in equilibrium, inhabited by dynamic beings that associate nobly for adaptations of worlds that are not born. It segregates them towards a departure measuring them from heightened numbers in states of zero compatible with the laws of that physics for the purposes of watchful guardians if Gaia's engine is turned on before this psychic and spiritual combustion. The laws of this system with closed circuits and brought will tend to maximize the entropy expiring inhibitory reactions for the traces of oxygen and nitrogen of the worms, making a sign of the levitated carbon dioxide to take it from Tsambika in two converged energies of Leviathan and Saint John the Apostle in moles of carbonate dioxide, battling surviving the impostor necromancers adverse to their conditions and reproduction, keeping these habitable for many who do not they enjoyed the life-death-life cycle. Greece, as it will now look regenerated and appropriate of laws and extensive fibers concerning moles of molecules said to be equal of said Vernarth hypotheses by way of sub-mythology, rather perching on the growing ivy and strangling the signs of satiety of life with properties in consonance with severities that hurt even to the sound of the rattles before the passing of the millennia! Fear, insecurity, and frustration did not fit because they will cut the Diospyros abenuz, with its stamens usually sixteen more hypogynous or inserted at the base of the corolla; as female flowers being greened or being converted into staminodes, Diospyros with generally tetra-locular ovaries or with eight locules due to false divisions, will make us channel by inseminating Itheoi demigods, under the staff of sub-mythology with Zefián, before the migrations in Helleniká begin, just as in this pact with silence and meditation and a burning flame, below the vulnerable and high insolated frequencies..., waking up in Gaia as a dozing fairy. Shamanic vested will grade synergy and simple science.
The Homily in the natural lassitude of the created, the Duoverse presented IHΣ, falling in the eighteenth letter of the Greek alphabet and in the duo hundred changes of physical remembrance. The PH (Hexagonal Primogeniture), is conceived in the presence of the Crismón, more Hellenic with the Vexillum banner and the Kantabroi to rescind the tired depressed zephyrs, since the quantum of memory was lost in the integrity of an earth acrophobia for the subsequent it would be air-water for this reason, preceded by the ceremonial that begins with the trimming of the abenuz Diospyros with its stamens usually sixteen plus it's hypogynous or inserted at the base of the corolla; like those of the female flowers having part of the gynoecium in the part of Tsambika, and of the androecium that will be of the Diospyros in Theoskepasti; usually tetra-ocular ovaries adapted to be inseminated for the raids of the demigods Itheoi and Duoverso, with the monogram HDD (Horcondising-Duoverso), tracing the bifurcations with Zefián; the chaos ordering up to modulated Theoskepasti. The changes have to be reborn in the stamen, being almost sterile and aborting in the chronicles of Galilee personifying the pollination benefit of the Diospyros resprouting in the same stem of the whorl even more so in each stigmatized part of Vernarth and Etréstles, carrying the IHS candles with the monogram and the Mandylion-Vas Auric, pointing to the Olives Bern. Before the seams of the carved heels and the canals of the annelids rise up through the alabaster up to the calyxes with the Chrismon hat. Filling the warehouse of Anemoi himself struggling with the roof, and forgetting his deposit of the breath on synaptic abbreviations continuing to argue with Saint John the Apostle in the network of Rhodes and Kimolos, in the bark of the sensory past and consequence of fallen gushes, and affecting being restored on the basis of oxygen-nitrogenated Nemo-genetic activation to summarize loss and gain of channeling between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. The memories of the stuck Vernarth cerebellum will be loaded, trembling towards the marsh of the hippocampus where Zoroaster led the Magi to the end of the span and first-last border in the vicinity of Ein Karem. This evolutionary scale fluctuated in weak air masses with the increasing rise of the Meltemi over the Aegean taking them to Dekas Bay, on the knees of the colossus that cursed to avoid some delirium that could replace it's joint, remaining like this on a scale of reminiscent and unspoken emptiness..., it continues to be stated and not occupied and not, but raised towards the colossus from the ground of Vernarth which had unfolded bipartite from Rhodes to Kimolos, by way of the Verthian neuroscience whose prose emanated in the submissive glaciers of hyper-intuitive meditation (as a technique of knowledge and abstraction for functional links of improvisation, purgative discernment and yogic memory). All the nonsense is alluded to infringing the rationality of the Vas Áuric ceremonial in its phenomenology making curvilinear pauses to re-captivate phraseological, and diminished keys in the condensed equivalents to approximately ten terabytes from a homologous half surrendering almost when exhausted before both scholars, and their debts exchanged by driving..., thus recovering wave descents before reaching the bay of Dekas; Kímolos and final in the necropolis of Hellenika..., and vice versa before re-climbing in the middle of Mandraki, Archangelos and Filerimos to finish in Tsambika, Rhodes. As a parallel response to the archpriest not to alter the IHS monogram of the homily and the association in remembrance can affect the conduction of the mediate trance, almost prostrating it in the house of omission and frenzy, if it has to recover unstabilized. The sulfurous mercury component of the Cinnabar, came acidifying from the essences of the Vas Auric, already prospering in the tutelage of each auric conductor..., Archpriest and Saint John the Apostle, each one with the sulfurous of the Greek mountain and the arch of the Aegean Sea as a former karstic foundation for its diametric towards a change of reaction of chemical prisms up to the multi-angular of the topaz that Saint John the Apostle carried in his bag near the reliquary, hanging off some fringes of the Vexillum that had been placed near Vernarth. Immediately from the banks of the monastery, Raeder was walking with a lantern looking for those who might try to enter, he believed that it was his father from Kalymnos who came on another mission to be taken to the cinnabar, more on top of an encourage observing the quarters stationed in the sandbanks of Rhodes, Petrobus the pelican circling the ledges of the monastery, marking out the apparent slackness of his body and entreaties in case they ventured into Kalymnos for a good portent, in waters for tenth seeds and for all the rodines. From the cloister with one of its necessary dependencies, all were with white candles aggravated between the steps of each cell and attached friars they made an antechamber in the nave near the church on the hexagonal floor, being screened by the center of the garden where everything was dominated by the limits of the alabaster arcades, which only now pointed to the closet of the books, this time with plenty and saved voices with devotion. Chapter by chapter it was won..., for each cell, identifying each portion in identity up to the scriptorium and refectory, where this ceremony books were distributed to the infinite world of the Duoverse near the locutory to witness where Saint George and the Dragon raged, souring winepresses for the missal wine.

Sequence shot in Kimolos, Panagia Theoskepasti- Etréstles says: “according to what has to be said in this dimension, the word will be the Duoverse. Synchronically it will be aligned with the monastery in the Tsambika for the third hour after noon, reflecting on the unrevealed walls of the chapel on all the radiosities of the cinnabar, entering in electromagnetic lassitude through the trusses of the pulpit anchored in the Vox and mystical vortex, towards those who entered and left thousands of times through the counter shutters of the chapel, which collided crashing many times until by the glow of Cinnabar somewhat sulfurous, was mixed with the interlocking of some novas which also acted as a decoy for the Chrismón that Kanti carried the steed adjusted in the saddle on his back, as a mount in syntactic esotericism speaking with intangible brown colors of the Cinnabar.
Vas Auric
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
the last few days have been strangely warm for december,
there’s a bit of fog, the foxes do their usual weekly scouting
while people take out the trash and the foxes nibble into black bin bags,
it’s been warm, and foggy, and the perfume in the air
is like inside a barn where smoked salmon come from:
pungent sweet & smoky; almost like that tokaji flavoured whiskey,
where a pole sniffed a glass, and a russian looked real deep into
the glass to philosophise what wisdom came from that forgotten
shamanism.*

as i was expecting, thus it came into my *****:
the full roundabout u-turn,
the contestants sang their hearts out, i listened,
the overbearing presence to keep rhythm in
modern music with crescendo after drum & bass
to slower rhythm of dub step like that maverick
anonymity that’s distance, vex’d and burial...
it had to come, no longer content with ensuring the
drums keep the rhythm, the missing bass in metallica
after the original bassist’s tragedy, i.e. just
a massive ha ha aha ha (sneeze insertion) hush,
it had to culminate in operatic pop music...
i spotted four lungs worth of breath with that blonde cutie...
(death cab for cutie - soul meets body, great song)
it’s so ****** ballistic, there’s no underlying originality
with these vocals that can be expected rhythm guitar and bass,
there’s no easily recognisable signature monotone,
it’s just a massive crowd pleaser to test the vocal range...
which is a shame... i’m just watching air-guitar all the ****** time,
it’s pretty much all solo moments with those air-balloons
filled up with helium rather than carbon dioxide that flop
and dangle like male genitalia...
it’s a shame, i want recognisable rhythm vocals...
and i also want a geneticist to write me a genetics formula
of how man became ~99% ape arrangement
and “~98%” genetic structure of rice... i want the equation,
i don’t want the aesthetic crap of the easiest explanation:
mandible thumbs you see... no, i don’t want that
to antagonise religious groups who can be easily duped,
i want a serious carbohydrate relevant transition equation
of the genetic re-arrangement.
Megan Sherman Nov 2017
Consumerism makes the world go round
Humanism buried in the ground
Evolution of revolution decays
Shamanism the forgotten ways
Hedonism the latest craze
World is drunk on death its end of days

Deliver us, deliver us, deliver us from sin
Lord show our hearts how to make peace
Shine a light, healing bright, purest white within
In us the love of life apace

In war prism the world is held
Makes a schism in the ground
Fire and brimstone raging in near east
World communism would do man proud
Not capitalism tryna sell the clouds
Peace on earth says ******* to the best

Deliver us, deliver us, deliver us from sin
Lord show our hearts how to make peace
Shine a light, healing bright, purest white within
In us the love of life apace
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
/I can already speak of the future, in that I envision a man, of Promethean calibre, who stole the rod of Zeus, harnessed lightning, and spoke of the closure of atomic energy... and who was ******, to die from insomnia; ⠽ ⠓ ⠺ ⠓... not the fate of man desires pity... but solely the heart... that God of eunuchs and virgins... disintegrating idols and demigods... the future Promethean... who stole the rod of Zeus, harnessed lightning, and fed man a sight of the world via a telescope, sitting on a chaotic vector of the pulverising atom... a man of such gesture is bound to take to such an exhaustion... a man, a god, a son of a Titan, namely Atlas... until that time, i await death not in hope of a heaven, or the debauchery of hell... i await death, as reciprocated anticipation, for this man, to usurp the Promethean myth.  

just a song, prior to youtubers,
vloggers et al.,
I witnessed the death of a medium,
somehow revived by vinyl sales,
yet not as niche as 80s cassette craze...
disco "vinyl", compact...
now it seems sitting by two
candles in a room is an archaic
form of shamanism,
given that the old folks are
cuddled by the eerie lights...
elsewhere, the glaring neon,
and what else reminds you
of Piccadilly Circus...
**** of blue hues,
and all that scientific heap of facts
that, even when exposed,
never really allow sorting
life into an essential puzzle...
scientific facts as ******* dull
as a Belgian plateau,
or the other Belgian,  
waffle terrain just outside of
Ypres...
               holes of fallen crisp
sizzling dynamite...
            senfgaz...
             canvas of blurrs choking
and drowning screams...
   came no different the sailor
in the womb of the sea,
to the modern foetus...
at least with the latter:
  the angelic choir of Moloch...
earth the mother,
and sea, the father,
elsewhere in other tongues:
gender neutral with only
pronouns concerned?
as a Gaul...
       objects and things celestial
cannot be gender neutral...
Louis the sun, Luna the
wolf goddess breaking silence
with lonesome howl...
     elsewhere
                dissonance in
the collective subconscious
of the anglophone world...
   an attack on grammar,
apparently Jung's collective unconscious
rubric had too many
dream interpretations...
worth citation from American beauty,
about life, and balloons...
about keeping life intact,
or letting the river in...
about erecting a dam,
    hydroelectric potency...
or allowing the aquatic Rodin work
his hands like waves...
   god, or the sloth artist...
            sinister the thus exhaled sin
to be a godly virtue,
under which all monks fall prey...
   busy body, busy be(e)...
French café communists...
        Sartre while living with his mother
while having a taste for...
cross-eyed...
     9ne word leech agitation vibrates
in the English tongue:
loser... loner...
   well thank **** i'm not the celebrated
footballer going cuckoo
after years of undiagnosed concussion!
- prior to the sensationalism
of the current brigade...
   I already have a scout
akin to Dante's guide ******...
   mein schatten...
I'll wake and speak deutsch...
       dunno, kinda a fetish after
vomiting having watched *******
and *******...
notably?
      she asked me whether I'd like
to use a *****...
   so I replied: my phallus is already
a cockrel imitation of dodo...
    not as far as not knowing what
the upper tier of mouth does...
but puritanical... to say the least...
a ******* tornado whirling from
**** to *** prior to watching her Bulgarian
feeding frenzy take a shower...
I still don't know how stupid
pronoun gender neutrality is going
to happen... given that other languages,
notably the neighbouring french,
have gender ascriptive discriminatory
nouns....
         i could unerstanding neutral
plurality with the given examples...
ah'vey for a they...
                no point labouring
under a glorification of Shakespeare,
no, seriously, I'm of the Milton school...
english has become a global language,
the zeitgeist ligua franca of commerce...
but with respect to the infiltrators
subvertors, and other quasi-quack-quack
communists?
          a ******* anorexic gaspine for air!
somehow the collective unconscious
has morphed into a collective
subconscious, notably due to the fact
that grammatical cordiality has
become obliterated by a...
categorical transcendantilism...
    believe me when I say,
those who support gender neutral
pronouns....
         will never set foot,
in languages, who have been
constructed on a basis of
pro gender nouns...
     this little article C16 of Canadian
law?
          an echo chamber...
      **** me... not even that...
a cave you shout into...
        but also a cave that eats the shouting,
and doesn't burp back
with an echo!
           - because english psychiatrists
find it easier calling an entrenched
bilingual a schizophrenic...
             because the natives...
just ******* love... a caravan holiday,
near... Blockpoo'l.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
like it were a letter extracted from another:
an iota from a psi (Ψ) -
or   "     from either theta (Θ) or phi (Φ)

ᛉ is not exactly an upside down
cross...
but all things run on
clockwork - here: around here...

but isn't the driving force:
this peter defying gravity
more than... what the "lord" and "savior"
managed with parched lips
upon golgotha:
i seek tel megiddo -
              i seek and i seek
and i'm nowhere to be found:
bound to a blindness that reads:
and this book will be required
reading for years to come!
and we will strive to
keep illiteracy paramount...
come the sudden switch-over...
we'll replace standard
literacy with: attempting
3D experiments on 2D canvas...
with coding the monster project
of a.i. -
    if i were a man that worked
for the n.h.s. and drew blood
for comforts of detail and
the necessity for still-life...

whatever the noun-denotation
of the hippy symbol: ☮...
                i have extracted the rune
from the omicron...

it's not heart-surgery -
                      old father Yr standing:
an elk beside a birch tree...
suppose there might be
some dog-esque antics of
******* against it...
lifting the impossibly invisible
lineage of linen to extract
that: suppose i were attempting
to sit in a saddle and ride a horse:
a dog that i am, *******...

i "suffer" for what zenodotus noted...
✝ 180°...
             i have before me a contest
from last night...
i wasn't even trying
to counter the original...
i started thinking:
how indistinguishable hope
is from doubt...

   clearly: the sensible chargehands
of philosophy in france
came with their existentialism:
in systems in clear-cut-packaging...
there was no room for
a plethora of emotions
associated with doubt...
there was an evolution of
the original statement -
but doubt was never to be invoked...
outright negation
as a pursuit: modus operandi of
sorts...

the original:
   - doubt (dubium) - it's still used...
something is dubious...
   - i doubt (dubio) -
god... so much of ******...
grammar-wise is akin to ancient
latin... pronouns are hidden /
incorporated into words...
  
          i arrived at no clear antithesis (
an-t-fes-sys)
           i didn't pry open
this stale bread with
sartre's outright negation policy
as moveable pieces...
that subjectivity is scarred...
that objectivity is nothing really
but watching shifting goalposts...
or a snooker match
or... a meditation on
neptune...
                  
     the original: dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
                            doubt, thought, being...
                dubitum, cogitatio, esse...
     can it... translate like such...
whether antoine thomas aptly capture
the truest of all intents:
so much of thinking goes to waste:
daydreaming - which never manifests
itself in being: anything but...

         i just wanted to come to the synonymous
project origin...
doubt is most certainly a plethora of
emotions: i never doubt by objective
standards: by doubting i am forever
subjected: subjective - etc.
objectivity is a certainty -
doubt doesn't allow me to be objective...
so the origins of a canvas...

but if in the public sphere people
are seriously debating 2 + 2 = 5...
via 2.4 + 2.4 = 4.8 = 5...
and they are... collage educated and...
there's no nuance of custard... leftover?
a butterfly effect...
over "there" there's a hurricane...
i am the anemic butterfly...

i will not come proving that
modern ****** is very similar to ancient
latin... it's painfully obvious to me...
życie: life
  żyje - i live
          życiem: with life...
życiorys - an accenting of life: nuanced -
perhaps even borrowing
from physiognomy...
          etc.

dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
  here's my alt. "interpretation":
hope is as uncertain as doubt is...
it's almost foolish to tinge hope with
certainty and doubt with uncertainty...
there's no real hindsight...
to bother with...
my hope is both an uncertainty and
a certainty: a doubled-edging at
the itch... an itch that would require
two hands to scratch it...

how does it sound, therefore?
   spero, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
i hope, therefore i think, therefore i am...
the original proof is undisturbed...
   pronoun that becomes a verb-complex
for an otherwise inactive noun
  spero becomes spe(s)...
                         cogito becomes cogitatio...
sum becomes esse...
                    
it's not very much different...
the original is intact...
all i'm attempting to deduce is that:
hope is very much a doubt...
that hope is doubt...
that both hope and doubt fathom
the same replica of emotions
in their bouquet of: deadening actions...
it's an impossible standard
for moving: the impossible
object: perhaps it was a pseudo-Sisyphus
tasked with inventing
telekinesis and moving
a mountain instead of a stone...
after all: it's not like someone
was tasking him with the deed
for eternity:
  a midnight cleaner in an office
block...
the tormented could have
simply sat and befriended
the stone with thought...
          without having to move it...
a stone a nuance of mirror...
a test to agonise the olympians
for having otherthrown
their predecessors...
time wasted... time earned...
    give me limbs of gravity...
give me: soul...
and i will outlast the gods lost
to their... belligerence...
no war against things inanimate!
always the war of tricks and ploys
to masquerade their own
inhibitions: taming that ol' sod
from the exploits of the harem etc.:
don juan-esque exploits conquering
a nun...
  
  it's such a boredom to:
not turn into an oak... wake in the night...
to settle for the polyphony of
falling rain... an imitation
of a time-dial where otherwise...
creep: sand is otherwise invoked...

the dictum commonly referred to as?
the cogito? shouldn't it be commonly
referred to as: the cogitans -
i.e. from res cogitans (thinking thing)
doubly i.e. the thinking
rather than: the i think?
a definite article invoked as precursor
to an escaped pronoun from
the clutches of latin wording?
the i? an i?
                ah...          "self"... / selb...
a norwegian pyre...
          joan of d'arc...
                                    
         it has to become an absolute indistinctness:
indistinguishable: ability:
            indistinguishability -
a lack of an ability: spell that in math:
a nuance of quadratics?
am i to exhaust my memory
bank of: what's phonetically simplest
and what has to become
this monstrosity of encoding?
parle parle parle...

i have to arrive at:
dubito & spero to be: indistinguishable:
before the sobering blow of:
cogito... that also requires an
outlet into being: of sorts...
i cannot distinguish between
hope and doubt...

      both are plethoras riddled
with mine of exploding salt...
i'm wounding myself on a crease...
it's hardly a thirsty dagger -
how would poetry of puritanical narration
freed from a theatre and a supposed
audience... entertain
a seance with bilingual schizoid
quads?
the hyper-inflated status of
native speakers...
the denigration of bilingualism as:  
oh: this little "thing" acquired...
nothing more: since not born
with...

it's blatantly apparent:
i couldn't possibly teach...
push a buggy through a muddied trench
i just might...
howl to satiate the moon
with a tinge of blue
and watch as blood turns to ink
on this illuminating scythe of
forwarded futures:
we must acknowledge a past
as a guilt and never a nostalgia...

Hecate: hecat(e) contra: hey-cat-e!
it's not impossible in how
the syllables cascade / are juggled...
god bless the sober judges
of the last remaining shadow:
as standard: before the execution
come noon...

                i am yet to read any phonetic
encoding from africa:
except for the hieroglyphics:
which have become a emoji standard
for: limp owl ghost limb etc.
why is it odd that
asiatic people, notably the chinese:
cannot write narrative:
and their poetry is only haiku?

spaghetti: even though they have
ownership of noodles...
it's not like these people have
words: they wish they could sing...

but if if you have such
syllable complexity as
𡔈 (chu) - not chew: choo-choo...
and that's already so complex...
but arrives back at
Marco Polo's altar that sacrifice
of c + h + u...
what's stopping you
from... exfoliating in:
an art designed for either
sanskrit spreschen or the arab jolly
bunch of camel jockeys?

well... it's not like 0 was ever
to be derived from a squashed
doughnut of oMICRON...
never!
   beta 8...
                  god! n'eh-ver!
if you were burdened with beijing...
syllables: no words...
no ******* words!
you wouldn't... somehow...
exfoliate in numbers?!
shrimp **** applause?
i stopped minding
the pride of africa a long time ago:
let's 'ave 'em those long
trunks of elephant
and blonde ***** attache:
trunks of: ***** ***** wooly woo...

but if you have complex
syllables: like the chinese have...
hell... the fugazi shoguns attempted
a dial-back...
simplified their efforts...
there's still that persistence for
'aiku...
       counts! the sticks! ths stones!
arrives back with tonnes
of matchsticks and no clarity
of: how a wild fire does so:
pre-emptive automaton d'uh:
'cos' no: that fog in the rational mind
of man has to persist...
incistently...

                like a borrrowing from
insomnia...
but you can imagine...
letters "magically" turned into
numerical grievances
and a system of germartia was spawned...
for the office of the grand rabbi
of kiev...
A would have to equal 1...
B subsequently 2...
but the ol' hebrews decided
to keep their vowels niqab to begin with...
so that became a lost cause...

officially the hebrew have an alphabet
with not vowels...
with exception the gay Adams
of Ayin and Aleph...
        i will not hand-over
this hangover for much longer...
by designation of the tribe and for the tribes'
allowance sake...
i curse the moon: i howl after it:
cognitivelly:
to free my neighbours from
the reality i have to digest...
call it metaphorical howling if you must...
i have, to, heave... this...
junction of "coincidences"!
i am mad for the purpose of taming
a tongue: arrogance need master(ing)...

tired wheels: the same old burnt rubber
as made synonym with muscular
tension...
the same wheel of crushing heel!
i am my own less arrogant
finnish quake dressed in mystery
of a bothersome dwarf and troll...
learn beijing secrecy they say...
escape the mundane emoji heiroglyphs...
what word in any of these african
tongues was ever inscribed
in a system of phonetic encoding?
it took me years to unearth...
yes: a GALOGOLITIC system
was there...
i was looking for the antithesis
of runes...
before the greeks and tha latin brats
spoiled
the adventure...

i'm asking without judging concerning:
how you can simply come:
come this anti-thetical mathemtical
brain-drain: slave-whipping
and tell not grieving authority:
this is, how... you will... GRIEVE!

in england: for a people that have
never been licked: teased by a mongolian
horde: only extracting -
"*******" sold by their own
aristocracy - coming to h'america...
i am! offended!
samuel l. jackson plays a common
robber armed with a 12" *****'s
worth of a shotgun!
i am! most! offended!
here's to the goon sq.!

           after all... linch me with
the sauerkraut: too many vowels...
too many vowels...
always with these ******* vowels!
like they simply forgot to
castrate the choir! ****'s sake!
if there's a bounty for an ottoman
castrato! i'll willingly pay for one!
i don't exactly feed a need
to **** one... as long as ******
hits the highest pitch notes of
squeel...
              to have exported africans:
olympic sized...
they didn't solve the "problem"
of intellectual jews without a sense
of irony: arbeit macht frei is...
well... a maxim for...
the germans having to glorify
the physical splendour of african
bodies... notably...
intellectual glorifications
remain in the gutters and the concentration
camps...
in the dust and grievances...
the mind is not allowed
telekinesis...

    i stand before a mirror and pretend to
chew...
its not exactly known as to what...
but i mimic -

九       which is 'nine': 9...
         denotes: jiu: a french concept of sauce...
that it's not "really" is another
poker hand refraining
from: the ol' 19th century wild card
romance of: we comes
as prior to the comes
of the conquistador comes...
having ****** the mayans
and the aztecs into...
the pyramids of giza?
no apple & pears?

the altar? elevated?!
             i come cannibal...
for the glory of the one true god:
yes... he has found new flesh...
bound to the scrutiny of africa
and the dull shamanism of mammon...
kneeling bloods of african-can-cannah...
moi?! truant jew?!
when this adventure took off...
my little people of north eastern
europe: concept...
where not invited into the history
of the roman empire...
don't ask me why they had
to focus on whittle ol' precursor
imitation afghanistan that's
now hang-man's-land
of -ing...
                          borrow me some sorrow
from can-can-attache?
or... haughty-stray-layla?!
                 to live among the scots...
is to best forget one's attempt
to live among:
white-flight Loondon...
         honest as might: becomest a
birth of a kippah donning god...

you want... a translation?
         łąnt... i can that i can...
translate phonetically...
it's to no one's aid:
unless i'd be scribbling with
choice of either braille or morse...
i WANT... look at that...
rigidness of letters...
then let it come alive!
add some diacritical scrutiny...
let european breathe into it!

crab bucket list: listing the near impossible:
deimension of: to do...
like my first and last litany of
best kept secrets...
this wettening of an oink:
strapped to an over-gresed...

to tell a solemnly swear:
this grit of supposed demoracy -
one lie is ahead:
thirty more to somehow make
it to: a coming...
i die a ******: not being one...
there's this lost ambition and there's
this ambition and karma
and a plot narration apiece
with: all the sensible saints
and hardly: any of them:
arrive at an angelic status...

what i once imagined:
as a freedom to think:
to narrate without a need to pursue
mute onto paper...
i once imagined thinking
to be aa freedom above speaking...
little did i want...
that it had to become
this itch for trigger happy...
and the octopus of hands
that learned a new lesion...
a tightening of tendons...
an overworked scrutiny of muscular
fibre... fat for brains...
to have to congregate upon
this same altar...
this same:

   given an... wait for it...
entre-prunal..  
french is "bad": english is just
as bad..
i see a tree: there's a forest...
scholarship: a word i want to be
left with...
entreprenaurel..

that's obviously a wrong
spelling... must be drunk irish...
must be...
        entry-pre-nautical...
entrepreneurial...
          pre-               neurotic?
god give the next
beijing latex queen tiger:
the power to spell...
    or rewrite a 9... into a new...
or neu...
                      wery much like
a sam weller to question my
sancho...
because the opera is a forever:
forever always sing-along...

it's almost a necessary joke...
what's the differene
between an anglo-saxon workaholic
and a west-slavic... alcoholic...
the latter doesn't call
you 10 minutes to 9pm
come a friday
with... neurotic demands
for a frivolous scrutiny of:
monday's are ripe...

the bad taste in my mouth:
i'm missing both a tooth
and a moth...
that anglo-saxons pair up
with the japanese:
consitency:
it's not infamous: it's true:
arbeit macht frei...
it's a solid mantra for:
peoples lost to the cogs
and machinery:
as i demand to watch:
humanity... suffer...

            it's almost very much so:
humanity requires this pseudo-deity
this demigod:
this shame-riddled observer:
third party "spokesman"...

i want to hear...:
the creasing of the cushion...
the arithmetic closure for...
bones that might have
concerned themselves
the completed "architecture" of:
sitting in a chair...
as one Iowan might translate to...
the hybrid promises of: a lot of Maine...
give me a losing promise:
this last craze!
i heave to have to dabble:
this old soviet curse!

this is not my tongue!
'ere! hear how i drop:
zeppelin conjunctions!

translate?!
dies ist nicht mein zunge...
hier: hören ich wie fallen:
  ladybirds auf: Livonian...
cruss... little be of V...
gott, mit, unß!

crescendo!      
get african multi-african: proper
******...
come prokofiev's battle
of the ice...
******* mongrel shelter
smacker erst piece...
you who do not own
a history of my my, own...
who are the arabs
concerning the quest
for explaining the niorthern
crusades!
barbarossa was pickled!
tired arabs?!
here: now!
hier: jetzt!
                teutonic branding
of colours:
schwarzkreuz: auf..
                  weißtaubefeder!

and i am... somehow... expected:
to tire of the forthcomings of
a "delicate" past?
this english ignoble... precursor...
**** the hellish all that
might require: needs to Elgar!
who is Elgar?!
who the **** is Elgar?!

i tire of a people that are yet to know
the experiece
being involved in a mongolian: tirade...
or... a post-scriptum of... ha!
sever... this grandiosity:
this teutonic plague!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
an aging symptom
of the mediocre.

- assorted justifications of happenstance -

three bottles of 8.2% strength of cider... nothing...
it's understandable that high % beers are
reserved for alcoholics and taste bad...
but... when it comes to cider... at 8.2% it's like:
not drinking wine...

quick change of pace: 35cl of whiskey...
ooh... an itch that needs to be typed
and words have to be conjured from nothing...
listening to Button Poetry stand-up
poetry readings, cringing...
where's my straitjacket where is my Hannibal
Lecter mask... i need to bite on some bones...
bones of an over-baked chicken...
**** out the marrow... pretend to say hello
while clucking and clocking in a morning
with... with no more intention than
the intention already arrived at by a cockerel...

probably the first fun football match i was willing
to watch in a long time...
the magic sometimes happens...
Tottenham up 0 - 2 against Manchester City...
just me and dad watching the football...
last few minutes in the first half...
that's Tottenham two nil up...
then... the second half happened...
2 - 2 within the space of 45min + 10min...
and then... a solo show from the Algerian
Mahrez... sometimes it's fun watching a game
of football when one player has a carpe diem
stamina and the rest of the team
is... gripped by a passer-by mentality...
i'm having this passer-by mentality...

unlike the death-and-hollow-pangs of anguish
when existentialism was born, notably with Kierkegaard,
perhaps even Kafka...
i'm becoming more and more at home
within the confines of my alienation...
i realised that i started reading
Dickens' Pickwick Papers and didn't finish it...
gladly revisited: since the original was serialised
so even if abandoned: an easily returned to script...
i still remember some details...
Dostoyevsky's the Idiot... also started... not finished...
well... better heel myself in the ***
to get a move on...
not to mention Heidegger's black notebook
ponderings VII through to XI...
                  
     ****... another... Spinoza's Theological-Political
Treatise... in English...
that's the truly accessible Spinoza...
i wouldn't recommend reading Spinoza's
ethics in a ******... it doesn't really matter
it's a language i was born with...

   in English the form of words
that end with -ing...
    thinking, counting, running...
cycling, demanding...
similarity of tongues but with a different form...
beginning with dość: enough...
szczer-ość (truthfulness),
                   ladodn-ość - gentleness...

or like all the Croat surnames ending so:
   Puli-šić
                            well... this plentiful little life...
this little life of a nobody who bit his pride and sort
of figured out that people with little authority
have this self-aggrandizing monstrosity
of the Quasimodo complex...

so i have this friend living all the way in Hawaii,
London - Hawaii...
i told her that i'd love to be homeless on an island
with great fun aura of complimenting
me sleeping in the cannon of gushing warm
air... she sent me some compliments from
that land: way far away...
dried pineapple, macadamia nut shells...
i bet there are not oaks on that island:
one islander to another islander...
a year passed and we know each other's addresses...
we're not bullshitting or scamming...
now we made a date of it
by phoning each other...
tremors... i'm getting a stage-fright since she
already knows what i look like
and how flimsy i can be when it comes to
****** encounters... sure... even i too could
own that dog of commitment because
*** has become a sort of Apéritif -
bragging rights of women liberated with the maimed
men chained: i feel sorry for
those circumcised buggers who don't know
the feeling of ******* with *******...
and lasting longer during *******
having the ******* constricting the blood flow:
to hello, bishop's head purple...

but it's like that scene from Dancing in the Rain
with the face mismatching the voice...
what if my voice isn't rhapsody prone, RHASPIC...
not hung-over, not manly, gritty enough...
warped self-itemizations borrowed from youth...

or the currency of shame inducement
borrowed from all those proud specimens
of degrading parenthood as a parasitic
inhibition process of achieving full potential
living alone, alone self-praise!
while in some random Hindu household
we're talking less individuality and more:
get with the times, grandma is aching
and father is moralising...
can't bring a boyfriend home...
oh yawn and yawn some more...
maybe if i glued my eyes to feeding the expression
of language into the fabric of a paragraph
i might be a more serious and seriously undertaken
sort of person than all this empty voiding space
of the cascade of poo-tried...
maybe...

then again: life ought to be about making it easier
to struggle less with all the demands,
expectations, even those born from the grandiosity
of being served to align oneself by
being morphed by the grandiosity of the seas
and the mountains, this little atom called man...
make life all that can be bearable and
unconditionally civil...
learning the first lesson and the last lesson
in life: wisdom is born from dialogue...
while knowledge is a vector of agitating oneself
to speak with oneself...
wisdom is a dialogue
while knowledge is a monologue...

so much for spewing quotes, rotas of maxim
but never adhering to them...
sentimentally sort of adjusting
the frail thinking to a frailer mind...
and hardly any soul to drink from a fountain
at the bottom of the drip drip drip...

language apparently conjures itself up
spontaneously whenever feeling: no intentions
no purpose... instead: all that's in-between
of struggling to meet demands...

i'm tired i'm lazy... but i'll still find the pillow
my head will rest on in the thick-glue-of-night...
because i'm lazily so...
i was supposed to go to the gym with
my lesbian coworker...
she met someone... as lesbians do...
she woke up in her bed... lovin' it i replied...
well...
who doesn't want to be loved...
when surrounded by men who confuse a woman
for a man... while you're there dribbling her
assurances telling her: Pixie haircuts...
butch? the butcher who?
piercings, tattoos, Mohawk undercut hair...
rings... butch-rings... six-pack...
who doesn't want to be loved?
i don't... i like the idea of utility beside the neediness
of being love...
i like to think of interacting with fellow man
like a door is requiring a door-****
and a key and a keyhole to lock, to stash,
in a safety of the back-of-the-mind...

              love has become ridiculously simple to me...
but my god, i miss the youthful idealism
of what love was once...
Stendhal and the Crimson and the Black...
origins: always ******* French...
that was fun then and not so much now...
love is like owning a cat... or two cats...
i can ignore i can be ignored
and all this ignoring, mutually sacrificial...
leaves the cat and the owner with
a sense: but you'll be there when i meow
asking for the "manna from heaven"?
you'll be there when you let me go outside
but then i return and want to be let back in
into the warmth because it's cold outside...
and i'll plough the imploring meow in my defence
of you: taking care of me...
love, therefore? so much so much less about
pretending, parroting...
cinema dates, dates in the restaurant...
i just need love to resemble:
i need a shadow come noon
and i'm hardly moving, hardly moving like
a ticking clock...
i want love to be readily available: a readily available
duty of anti-conferencing demands
and... all the bliss of nothing that is to be ever met
for a hope of precursor expectations...
explanations...
something freely given like...
drowning if one is incapable to swim...
or falling with all the flamboyance of gravity...
falling to one's death like first flight seagull chick
or... hardly flapping...
freefalling like a sack of potatoes...

better still: i could do all the housework and work
on the side...
all the nitty-gritty *******...
but... i have found... it's almost impossible
for women to savour the own self-serving gratitude
of performing the feminine-exfoliation
of character building... less controversial
and somehow... appeasing, appeasing...
i have a pair of ******* between my legs...
i don't need a pair in my throat
heaving the grandiosity of constipating Plato
against a brick-wall...

cycling with a heaving, always remembering to
breathe through the nose,
sometime gasping for air skin
to a goldfish figuring out the bubble of BOB
tongue tickling: lapping and history via
only the etymological sourcing of events
completely idle within the confines
of the canvas of Darwinism...
overdoing measurements
               confining a kilometre into the "size"
of a centimetre...

cycling much better than having ***...
esp. when the brothel dynamic changes...
jealous women are: jealous women...
they keep you endeared to have more ***
without it being ***: ***...
one pleasured woman is at least
two angry women who are:
"oddly" not compatible with you...
because ever-knowing already spoke to them:
it's just impossible to relate to please
everyone...

life and traffic... custard bulging like so:
regurgitation: like foam of freezing
and hot-air ballooning...
     exploding lungs in details of cubism:
written about rather than painted...
violins crushed... sounds akin to the harmony
of representing the concept of music:
squared... crushed... never to be heard...
just knock-knock on an imaginary door...
a door a house that was formerly only a cave...
  
               even language: this flimsy kite serving
the ever flimsy atom of ego that's
extending and exploring the horizon of
who we let go: to live their life as any living creature
might... self-absorbed, self-serving,
self-gratifying... autobiographical-who?
most probably either me, or you; the towed two of
towering halving shadows
with fully-exploding faces of smiles: fakes;
cornflakes crisp... mud-holes and that
endless fascination with bears...
hibernating mammals...
what use and purpose of hammers...
pyramids... the bears sleep through the worst
ordeal of the seasons...
so much for music and so much for art...
flimsy compensations... ****** reparations...

blocked tube... if one there was a Marx writing
a history of man... by now we know
that Darwin is the new Marx...
with Marx the communist
and Darwin the capitalist...
                  i hardly think animals
ventured to apply the intermediate
medium of money in relating X to Z... via Y...
parents, busy... so? the existence of the nanny...
animals have no concept of the third party: helpful...
at least parasites are two-dimensional...

Darwin is like Marx... unavoidably true...
but truth: this sort of truth: Nietzsche's aversion to Darwinism
plain-sight...
no sight of liberation...
it's just a mundaneness of Atlas passing
the globe to the little man and: the ants fared better...
ants and Solomon fared better...

to me Darwinism is like Marxism...
escaping Darwinism is not aided by journalism,
tabloid press... or fictive escapism...
or science per se...
    Darwinism has become an impasse
unlike the possibility of filtering the flaws of Marxism
through... **** sapiens and ogling
into the warped-hole kaleidoscope-****
of the **** similis of ape...
mammalian borrowing ontologies of fellow
mammals and further extending the borrowing,
stealing from other categories of animals:
the Mantis Woman... **** me...
at least Marxism allowed a group-think
being together and the common good is...
and the commonality of evil is...
and we can overcome said X to accomplish
yet to be discovered Y...
but with Darwinism the new Marxism this
atomised man... this grammatical baron
this mammal of lent traits of other mammals...
the crown... atop the decapitated head
of king Charles II...

i wasn't a fan of Marxists writing history...
i'm also not a fan of Darwinists writing the history
of the world...
that's Darwinism outside the scope
of the actual science, what's being popularised...
who want to wake up in the safeguard
of an Agrarian Society?
   while giving into the impulses of hunter and gather
sexed up shamanism...
easily liberated: so much for forward thinking...
so much for planning...
i love being "bored" with a book...
i love being bored cycling...
i love to not love having ***...

                    such advancements and yet so little
to show for it...
   because... spaghetti-feet tangling married
to shoe-laces...
               life without advertisements...
because... you only end up buying what you need
and not what other people demand you to buy
for them to buy in return...
       i abhor Darwinism as much as Marxism
in the realm of history...
it's soul crushing... it's soul-denying...
  Darwinism and Marxism are like-for-like...
to admire the natural world and feel jealous:
the clowns of the mammalian hierarchy,
the bears... sleep through winter... we? get goosebumps
from the cold...

and just because Darwinism originated in the English language?
no wonder it's being kept like that historical artifact
of the the crucified man... being:
hmm... and the wisdom of man is purest
by being so insolent as to have to be crucified?
said wisdom seems, therefore, borrowed... not his...
given the account of Matthias ben Josephus...
i was sold a ******* lie...
praise to Islam for having a pair of *******...
i wouldn't even dream of concerning myself
with dictating the replication of my DNA as thumb,
rule, to preserve... what?! only i thought what i thought...
does it matter whether i spit or ******* or
take a **** or... have eggs in three ways:
scrambled, poached or fried?!
does it?!

   the useful idiocy of women and the preservation
of non-intended demands outside the confines
of the natural world...
at one point the pyramids of Giza
yet another pin-point the Hagia Sophia of Constantinople...
me scribbling so little with such adamant
desire to shackle myself to fervours of
earthquakes... even if disappointing
and never to accomplish a widespread focus
of influencing others...
i'll die... with a welcomingly arrived at
THE END... and i will have no son or daughter
to grieve for me... or... list a litany of forgiving(s) -
because i failed... at least i failed on my own.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2023
there are all these street references in modern
American poetics as if
anyone would or should give a ****
where Coventry Road, Ilford
or Beehive Lane, Gants Hill
   or Havering Road, Romford ought to or not
ought to be...

mind you: if there's anything i'm in awe of
i'm in awe of modern... post(?)modern
American poetics...
since no other people cry out: democracy!
and then shelter into under a poem
to salvage some realism of:
outside of the ballot box: the truest frenzy
of expressing freedom and individuation
and... what else?

ah yes, capitalised on discovering how
atoms can't be manipulated otherwise
to be used for boo 'n' 'mb...
so no great philosophers' stone unearthed
when the boo 'n' 'mb touched ground
on the keel of Hi'row'sha'mah shamanism
for clouds get "*****" with plum hues
when gathering water losing salt
when it is about to become a draped drenching
like a wrath of god and genghis khan
making coded eye-twitch-signals
because that pile of chalk is bone
and heaped as it was in Baghdad it wasn't
exactly: Pisa leaning...

    stacking bone-heads (bein-köpfe)
is stacking bricks, somewhat not but if pyramids
are concerned:
    Christian "mongols" did the same
to the library of Alexandria:
books were burned and later gold was revalued
at double its worth... since knowledge:
or simply knowing how to hack a faulty plumbing
device was passed down for two generations
sober until a drunk fetish for revelry...

the Baltic sea stinks of herrings...
hear-says i say i hear: sometimes it's not worth
hearing anything but a lover's snoring
with dictation of: i don't mind...

i won't be writing an equivalent of
"for my people" in the vein of Margaret Walker...
to me English is a language of commerce
and some off-shoot locals
like Cockneys befriending Essex groundwork...

i can't dispense my intellect to do
neo-colonial or post-colonial politico lingo jar
jar jargon...
i can actually excuse myself and it seems i must:
i must excuse myself from the concerns of
the English and what the hell they have done
with their "heritage"...
it's all very reminiscent of the 3 partitions of
Poland... one of the few instances
where at least 3 languages congregated
in a communion of a state...
at least ****** Litha and Ukra...

   not that i'm hot on my heels to return to the land
of hobbits and orcs in the middle of
the funnel continent that's Europe...
but if the common Englishman was
"robbed" of his laziness then
his laziness is a robbery in and of itself...
sure: to make life so expensive that it does
require the import of foreign labour for menial
tasks...

ask Leibniz: the librarian...
i'm a security guard at large events
and it's almost a simile in terms of how deviant
ambition can be(come)...
the concerns of the English are no concern for me...
notably?
  ah... this lovely chestnut...
why is Whitechapel spelled in Bengali
on the station entrance?

       হোয়াইটচ্যাপেল

palagi wordsmith... that's samoan for:
people from heaven donning cloth sheets to capture
the winds...
my concerns are not the concerns of the English...
i think "my" people have kept intact
European concerns...
Russia is sort of off limits as is Romania
Poland Lithuania, Bulgaria,
well: beyond touristy English no one is going
to live out a lingocide...

veit-shapel?!

            but i feel not allegiance to the "threats"
of what the natives speak of...
given the natives are still most intact
as the Welsh and the Gaels and the Scots
even though: beside the notable Welsh linguistic presence
the Scots reduced themselves to
scribbling phonetically
rather than linguistically...
so the theory off of Darwinism emerged just
as much with the advent of:
crazy idea European stranglehold
on the universality of the use of fork and hammer
and toilet... beside the brickwall of chopsticks
stone head and ******* and ******* into
the sea...

        lingo vs. phono

                 splits two brains into one and revels
in two tongues blinding one eye
with one ear honing to the sound of the migration
of bees...

i remember my origins in this land
and i am clearly peeved that what CONSERVATIVE
once meant... also meant:
deportation... also meant my father and mother
being handcuffed while i punched the wall...
so banana boat ahoy
so banana boats ahoy...
i'm still a furious pro-recyclist
in that i like to keep this island clean...
but i defer when there's a complaint:
oh illegal this one, not illegal that, one...
comes with orientating oneself
when there's clearly an ethnic nepotism...

how else was mass illegal immigration
into England made feasible if not by ethnic nepotism?
those already here
ensured they could prosper even more
by importing cheaper labour and pay them
droplets and breadcrumbs
while stashing their legal papers while
abodes of the Sheiks' were erected...
seems that smart people are a bad judge of liars...
because liars get freebies of innocent tickles...

i reimagine myself starting again
on the islands of Hawaii
concerning myself with: i'm not American...
and you ******* came all the way from: Taiwan!
sure... no horses like the Mongols
to transverse the plains of Siberia...
row row, row your boat...
   admirable... truly...
England is saturated so that i can't make excuses
for it making excuses being strapped
to either a straitjacket...
or rather... who invented the first straitjacket
if not Odysseus when encountering
the mermaids' song?

i can't be moved since i too am an arrival...
when applying for a job at Fulham's Craven Cottage:
being all hard-on for diversity and inclusivity
i put down my ethnicity as:
ANGLO-SLAVIC...
well in school i was taught about the Anglo-Saxons...
that's Anglo: Welsh, Irish, Scots... and the Saxons...
anything wrong with my assumption?
out of all the football clubs they pay the best...
am i not an Anglo-Slav?
well... i wouldn't put it down as a British-Blackpolack
because it just doesn't sound right...

all together... since the referendum
a marked disinterest from "my" people to settle or live
among: the Romanians fit just ever so slightly
better with the Asian demographic,
almost indistinguishable...
so after the referendum eastern europeans ******
off back home and
now we have confused locals siding with
political marches pro-Philistines
like it really matters, not...

                            shock-troops of the right
are still only yobs and psychiatric clues to the wonk
of anything worth being debated...

but as i dropped my mother off at Stratford
and was coming home...
well... so much for loving this piece of land...
and the language...
i can't get all fired up about heritage...

bo i tak mogę pisać po Polsku...
bo i tak: mogę myśleć po Polsku...
oddly enough, not really...
i don't need to be involved in an "culture war"...
which is? less a war and more:
a cultural exhaustion...
       an exhaustion of and a lack of expression of:
since everything has become a microcosm
of politics... a shifting zeitgeist rots
like a Lovecraftian anti-deity...
even the summations of borrowing Darwinism
for simpler explanations of:
not everyone is getting laid blah blah...
the war bride answer to why oh why...
blah blah...

            i can actually step back and refrain
from any panic... mingling with the Muslims
and the Hindus like this island was for partitioning:
clearly it's not...
but i'm just somewhat suspicious...
the whole world is here...
with the odd two dialects missing...
and? nothing spectacular is happening:
there's no Beatlemania...
there's no Britpop reinvention revolution...
it almost seems that someone has taken
the reins and said: whoa whoa whoa...
shh... slow down... let's find gravity again...

that's the plus side of being an immigrant among
immigrants and faking it being English...
only yesterday i had a revelation of:
but... i was faking being English, all along?
i couldn't learn the Essex accent...
so the London cosmopolitan educated type had to do...
but still...
mind you: before the current wave of immigration
there was that one little pocket
of resistance: no. 302 and no. 303 Polish fighter
divisions in the RAF...
less spectacular when the plumbers came:
i gather...

            but if i had to bend over backwards
and walk like a cryptic anti-toddler
in a circus' act of gymnastics: or some freak accident
in a horror movie... just to be supposedly
"anti-racist"...
  make more fetishes and unrealities of
individuation and self-sovereignty:

up to a point... until i'm a passenger in a bus
and i require a bus driver...
or a baker... or a shoesmith...
for ****'s sake... nice theory:
put into practice: leeches of the monetary dynamic
akin to usury and then thrown back
into the reality of 7 billion people and
we have tasks... individuated tasks:
specific tasks... yet such frank opent bluntness of
these people and their money...
yet somehow lacking the skills to perform
open heart surgery on themselves! hmm!
odd... why not?! divinity atom-ego?!
you get whiffs of their lack of schematic of politeness
on the basis that money touches anything
and ergo it transforms is done
by the magic of materialism of:
but money per se is not materialism per se...

money is like water, it is transactional...
it is not a stone...
         enough accumulation of it is a bit like...
a limp ****... it's the ******'s fetishism...
of ghost *****...
    ******'s 1% club... or rather...
the impotence of riches...
                 a strange kind of hunger is born thus...
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2023
The utter brutality of the Roman Empire
Simone Weil quite right
Took two years of Latin
Sor Juana's mystic flight

Born too late for shamanism
Born too late for God
San Francisco Zen
Yo soy solo Todd

Flush by Carl Hiaasen
Noah's family sees the Green Flash
Ain't no good in an evil hearted woman
True dat, Johnny Cash!

Books have been companions
In the library all alone
Embers by Sandor Marai
I threw a Rolling Stone

   Not Athens, Jerusalem, or Rome.
Qualyxian Quest Apr 2021
Her silence is for me
In Asia Shakyamuni

Some say shamanism
Some say loony toony

I say Purple Rain
I say you, say me

White Nights, Blue Moon
Brown hair memory

              Boston be.
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2023
Psychosis is periodically required
For the integrity of shamanism
So the bizarro thoughts and fears
They fit, they fit right in

Lovely brown chapel at UNC
Newman Center
Yes, John Henry
We have to lose to win

Legends live on Franklin Street
The bus is free and easy
Coach Brian Katz is America Respect
The Trumpfucks are America ******

Alex and I played a lot of ping pong
He is better than me
Wonder and Exile, mystical-prophetic
A New World for to see

                     Let it be.

                    Eventually
Qualyxian Quest May 2023
Searching for Something I can't find
Getting older every day
No mystic bread. No red, red wine.
A little basketball to play.

Tired, lonely, on my own
No lay, lady, lay
The carnival now has come
Mother Mary in the month of May

Too late for shamanism
Medieval Cathedrals are far
Europa maybe an Ocean
Exoplanet star

Politics portends
Somebody spray painted my car
Desafortunadamente
San Francisco. El Mar.

               Loyalty. Loyola.
Qualyxian Quest Nov 2019
Black Elk’s vision, axis mundi
        Turtle Island hidin’
              shamanism

— The End —