Radness

The Philosopher’s Stone is not just a spiritual metaphor but an actual substance that can transmute lead or mercury into gold. The Stone is a product of Alchemy. Unlike chemistry, which only deals with physical matter and energy, Alchemy makes use of etheric and astral energies to reconfigure matter at the quantum level. Alchemy is to chemistry what a cube is to the square; it is a superset of chemistry and is capable of so much more.

How Etheric Energy Overrides Physical Laws

Alchemical achievements require successfully gathering, concentrating, and multiplying etheric energy. When this energy reaches a critical threshold, it overpowers the normal laws of physics and allows seemingly miraculous processes to take place. I believe it does this by biasing probability. By amplifying the probability of minor quantum effects, which are normally limited to the subatomic scale, they manifest on the larger atomic scale. In this way, one element spontaneously transforms into another.

The world around us is made of subatomic particles that regularly undergo unpredictable jumps, teleportation, bilocation, superposition, and other strange quantum behaviors. Why don’t everyday solid objects do likewise? Because the random quantum jittering of their subatomic particles collectively average out to zero. Think of a large crowd of people; seen from the air, the crowd as a whole is stationary, even though individuals within the crowd move in seemingly random directions. It’s because their movements are random and uncoordinated that they average to zero net movement on the whole.

The world we see around us is merely a crowd of subatomic particles whose individual quantum jumps aren’t apparent because they average to collective stillness. Physical laws that govern our everyday world, known as the deterministic laws of classical physics, are merely the laws of the crowd. These laws are what’s left of quantum physics after the unpredictability is removed through statistical averaging. They are not absolute laws; they are just the most probable manner in which matter and energy behave.

Physical laws can be bent. While the probability is incredibly low that enough coordination and coherence develops among the quantum jitters to manifest on a collective scale, that is exactly what etheric energy does. It alters probability and thereby skews the laws of thermodynamics, gravity, electromagnetism, and chemistry.

Alchemy does not violate the laws of physics, nor does it always follow them, rather it bends them as needed. It operates upon the quantum foundation from which these laws arise in the first place, via etheric energy affecting the probability of quantum events.

Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)
The Al shabab on 22 day of September 2013   attacked Kenya again. It has attacked and lynched siege on the Nairobi’s biggest mall known as the West Gate. This is one of the severest after other similar attack in 1998.The people who are averagely assumed to be killed are  one hundred.Al shabab is a regional east African arm of Arabo-islamic global terrorist group known as the Algaeda.But something notable about all the terrorist groups in the world, inclusive of Alshabab, is that they all have an Arabic, communist and Islamic bias with overt expression of anti-American movements.
The Lynching of the Mall in Nairobi has affected all the Kenyan communities. Asian and African, Europeans and Americans. However the survivors of the West Gate mall attack has narrated out that the attackers were discriminately asking for ones religion before they shoot. Thus Muslims were not shot but non Muslims were shot and then held hostage. The military sources on the site shared out that the terrorists were foreigners but they perfectly worked through their plan through co-operation of locals and citizens of a victim countries; Kenya and America.
Immediately after this terror attack in Nairobi, a group of social researchers in Kenya carried out an electronic survey on the social media to find out why the Alshabab has easily recruited the followers and why an African youth can easily accept recruitment in to the membership of terror groups like Boko haram, Al shabab, and Al gaeda.The responses gathered from diverse digital socialites  skews into one  modal direction which  shows that America alone with its ostentatious international relations  will not win the war on global terrorism.
The motivation for easy recruitment into membership of the terror groups was established by the social media survey as diverse factors but most august among them are ; extreme conditions of poverty among the youths in contrast to the rich and wealthy elderly echelons of the most African societies. Also, sharp contrast in the economic conditions between America and Africa where American societies wallow in extreme riches whereas the African societies contemporaneously are stark deep in idyllic poverty perpetually wallowing in the mire of need and economic challenges. Some respondents cited the crooked way through which the state of Israel was formed as well as the atrocious nature of American foreign policy towards the Arab world through which there was perpetration of killing of Muamar Al Gadaffi and regular Military bombardment of Arab countries like Syria and Afghanistan.
Also the current American presidency and the preceding one of George Bush provoke distasteful responses on the social media. Especially in relation to the Prison maintained at quatanamo bay which basically was established as a basic torture facility used by the American government to torture terrorist suscepects from North Africa, Arab emirates and Europe. But the prison at Quatanamo bay is composed of a large number of North African as detainees. A respondent on the social media quoted Pravda, the Russian Newspaper in English version which had a revelation about the Quatanamo prison. The Pravda projected number of North Africans in the Quatamo prison to be currently standing at one hundred and thirty seven. The Newsweek also concurs with this position by narrating in its july 2013 edition that, there are very many prisoners of North African descend in quatanamo prison who began a hunger strike sometimes ago but they are forcefully fed through a tube.

The facebooking ,tweetering and charting thematically show one modal position that American discriminatory foreign policy towards Israel and Persia, American extreme capital amid critical world poverty, poverty in Africa especially among the youth, presence of weapons of mass destruction in Israel to which America is oblivious or nonchalant  ,Russian technological casuistry and Chinese economic dominance combine into a blend of extensive anti-American feelings that  make the world youths not reliable when it comes to the moral duty of desisting from joining the terrorist groups. American hard politics and hard diplomacy will make America not to win war on global terrorism.

I'm running 7:25 splits. Eight miles in. I haven't got stuck at an intersection. Not that I ever do. Runners got the right-of-way. And like my buddy Randy Run 'N Gun would say, I'm zen. Very ******* zen. Used to be a walker. Not no more. Not after the heart attack. No, siree, I'm a runner. A good runner. Lost 45 pounds. I did. I did. I stick to the left side of the road. So I can see the guilt in the drivers' eyes as they pass by. They're thinking, there's an old man out there taking care of hisself. I should be taking care of myself.

And they should. They really should.

But what's exercise to the people in this town? A walk down the block to Loaf 'N Jug for a Snickers, that's what. Or if you're a rich *****, it's twenty minutes on a Stairmaster three times a week. And I have to wonder if they're really doing it for them, you know?

I'm on the way back to the house. I peel off 30th, cutting across four lanes of traffic. Head into Garden of the Gods park. I do this so people get the right idea of the city. When I was a tourist here, I thought to myself, why's everybody all lumpy-assed and tied to children. Made a promise to myself. Told myself, when you move out there, you're going to be the trophy. So, I run through the red rocks and insert myself, mid-stride, into all those family photos. That way, when they get home, they'll point at their pictures and say, everyone in Colorado is so fit.

Now I'm getting close to the spot. It happened about a mile--mile and a half into the Snake Trail over by that 30-foot tall rock that looks a bit like Lyndon Johnson. I was a tourist and a walker then. Not no more. Not ever again.

There's a stretch of blacktop that cuts Snake Trail in two. I can't remember the name of the road. I think it's named after some preacher who got cholera, lost his faith, regained his faith in the end. One of those touching trajectories. Those stories always sound like a lot of fluffy *******, if you ask me.

Cars are backed up on Wishy-Washy Preacher Road. There's a crowd of people gathered in the middle. I look at my running watch. I don't like this. This is the kind of unplanned circumstance that skews your splits. Then your run time makes you feel like a lumpy-***, and that ain't me. Not no more.

I start pushing through the crowd. There's a lot of whispering and a lot of little kids all snotty and teary-eyed. And it's all just frustrating, because I feel like I'm cutting through molasses. I look at my running watch. I reach the center of the crowd.

A mule deer had been runover--well, halfway. The stupid beast still uses his front legs, dragging his crumpled and ****** backside along in a mad circle. A screechy whimper comes out in intervals like beeping hospital machinery. He's so scared, some middle-aged woman with a kid to each hip, says. A longbeard, beergut hippie starts into a prayer,

Gods of the natural world, gods of the sweet animal kingdom,
we ask that you wrap this wounded beacon of your light
into your warm embrace. May you replace his great pain
with the great comfort of your cool breezes, with the great
comfort of your warm sun, with the great comfort of fresh water.

I unzip my running belt. It's not a ***** pack. I pull out my NAA Guardian .32 automatic. It's not a woman's weapon. See, Randy Run 'N Gun, got his name because he invented this kind of running. I respect him for it. Got nothing but respect for that man. See, a fella has to be prepared at all times. There are mountain lions. There are bears. And perhaps worst of all are all these ******* mule deers. They ain't even scared of people. They stop and wait for you to feed them, blocking the sidewalk when I run, skewing my splits.

These hippies ain't going to do ****. They're taking photos with their cellulars and saying theologically vague prayers. And all these tourists are watching. So I walk right up to the mule deer. Someone behind me breathes in so hard, it's like she vacuumed all the sound. Pop. Pop. The beast stops its beeping. Legs twitch. Legs stop twitching. I'm the only one with courage enough to grant a mercy ****.

It's all about doing. Right? That's what the heart attack taught me. Before the heart attack, I thought about being a runner. The rhythm of it, the mechanical discipline appealed to me. Liked the idea of doing a marathon or the sound of it.  I was walking in Garden of the Gods. Noticed the LBJ rock, said to myself, Holy hell that looks like Lyndon Johnson. I heard these quick steps coming from behind me. I thought some potstentch, beergut hippie was going stab me. Felt like the gears at the center of me came off their handle. The right side of me just wasn't there anymore. As I fell I saw it was only a runner.

I reach the Lyndon Johnson rock. I'm eleven miles in. My splits have averaged to 7:43. ******* deer. The ground is lower at the spot where I had the heart attack. Why? Because I dug a hole there, that's why. The old me, the walking me, the tourist me lies dead in that hole. As I pass by, I spit it the ditch as I always do. Good riddance. Yep. Yep.

The trail finally turns downward. A little more oxygen in Ute Valley. Randy Run 'N Gun he calls moments like this, Runner's Reward. And I like that. Nature's okay. The cedars, the meadows, rivers -- all that **** -- is just fine. But what I like about running is the metaphor. See all the hippies, all the tourists they live their lives in a constant state of reward. They think, I'm alive, so I'll smoke this ***. They think, I'm alive, so I'll take ******* pictures of everything. But runners, runners know that you don't deserve life. It's a gift to be earned. So you work your *** off. Mile after mile. A reward for me is a valley. The reward doesn't last long, just long enough for me to catch my breath, you know?

I exit the valley. I pick up the pace. Try to make up for earlier delay. I cross Flying W Ranch Road. I hear metal-scraping-metal. And I'm hit.

I'm in the air. I'm sliding. I'm bouncing. My knees and elbows are hot. I blink.

A woman in a bright pink tank top and yoga pants stands over me. Stay in the car, Jacob, she shouts. Oh my god, oh my god.

I tell her runners have the right-of-way. But she doesn't respond. I say, Lady help me up, you're ******* up my splits. But she doesn't respond to that. She repeats over and over, You're going to be okay. Your'e going to be okay. Just keep looking at me.

I turn my head. The display on my watch is cracked. I can't read my splits average. My head is a ton of bricks. My elbows and knees are hot.

Jacob, stop, the woman says.

Her boy stands over me, taking pictures with his cellular.

The Rulers wield their silver shields,
             wear golden coronets
while warders guard the prison yard,
             boast brazen bayonets
and unicorns flaunt ivory horns
             defending martinets.

While Bankers beam Their self-esteem
             (bailed out of broker's debts),
and Bureaucrats grow rich and fat
             in six-star luncheonettes,
the deep, devout and down and out
             survive as silhouettes.

The Press take pains to wash our brains,
             Their words have mesmerized.
So, mild and meek, we fear to speak
             in worlds They’ve polarized,
and rush to war, through Satan's door,
             watch cities vaporized.

The Lord of Lore tells tales of war,
             of victories far away,
where eyes stare stark within the dark
             and death is painted gray
on faces cold, some young, some old,
             in spectral disarray.

We're taught at school the Golden Rule
             for all to live in bliss,
but in the wars on foreign shores
             the only rule is this:
“Yo! You and I must fight and die
             inside the black abyss!”

But well alive, the Merchants thrive
            on sales of armaments
that Barons built (with pride, not guilt)
            to quell the dissidents,
while Partisans are posing plans
             to conquer continents.

And back at home, the rumors roam
             “Good times are soon to come,
despite the breeze on frozen seas
             in weathers wet and numb.”
When we’re in need, They’ll intercede
             with prayers if we succumb.

A Tabloid screams of phantom dreams
             to keep our minds at sea
and TV skews the evening news,
             ensures we all agree:
“With dynamite we fight for right
             and not for tyranny.”

The brain aborts when drugged with sports
               and fashions of the day,
and sevenfold, men think as told
              and so are led astray;
and like some sheep (unless asleep)
             they baa when they obey.  

In search of sense in sounds intense
             of droning drum tattoos
(the beat sustains the endless reigns
             which swamp the avenues)
souls, thin and worn, traipse by, forlorn,
             delayed by shackled shoes.

Ten thousand eyes belong to Spies
            who watch us day and night
to track our trails and read our mails
             and say They have the right
to know our thoughts and thwart our plots
             to cease Their oversight.

Behind the scenes, behind the screens,
             the rules are fixed, arranged
(contorted smiles conceal Their wiles -
             Their goals have never changed).
When upside-down, a grin is frown
             and common sense deranged.

Along the roads, the future bodes
             in legends made of dust,
and ashes gray the alleyway
             'neath lampposts scaled with rust.
While Divas dine with cakes and wine
             pale orphans share a crust.

Dead colonies of humble bees,
             a ravaged hornets' hive,
rain forests, dales and minke whales
             soon nothing left alive…        
a world laid waste is to Their taste,
             as long as They survive.

As sunlight wanes in winter rains
             and sullen shadows crawl,
the evening ebbs, and spider's webs
             seem tattooed on the wall.
Upon the night the Masters write
             The Final Protocol.

There's a golden sunset in my head.
I go there when the music swells,
I go there when the nights are dead,
I go there when I think of Hell.
I smile at what is evil,
And spew laughter at the hearse.
The sunset skews my vision,
And I had thought that it made me worse.

I try to draw the golden water,
So that maybe you could drink it to.
I try to describe its every contour,
To try and give the sun to you.
For the sunset's in the car chase,
The sunset's in the bar,
The sunset's for the horsemen,
And all the stories that went too far.

I paint these savage pictures,
That never seem to catch the light.
And I marvel at my failure,
With bitter re-reads in the night.
But the sun is still there setting,
And there's time to catch it yet.
Even these words have escaped me,
But I can always try again I guess.

If you're tired of carrying such weight,
that droops your shoulders and skews your gait
That you feel numb from the pain of the past,
and every new problem leaves you aghast

If you think you're one of the condemned and shady,
because your troubles come and never leave,
listen to the story about this young lady,
and then thank me for what you shall receive

She comes from I know not where,
and she goes I know not when,
spell her name, I know not how,
and speak to her, I know not what

Be not deceived thou yet my friend,
for she does not hide what others conceal,
she lives her life like an open book,
and every page has something to reveal

But what makes her unique and what makes her rare,
is how she oscillates between fun and care,
she looks at black and white in the same color - red
and that, I guess, is enough said

You may think she is born of privilege,
but let me tell you that is not true,
she gets her share of joy and pain,
trust me, she's just like you

And just like you she's afraid of insects,
and ghosts and ghouls and all that stuff,
but unlike you she doesn't run away from fear,
and unlike you she's pretty tough

So next time you feel like it's too much to bear,
and you feel engulfed in fires,
just read this poem and once again,
think about the girl who inspires!

The nightfall smears a biding shade and plume
as Nyx complexed the clear diurnal day
and skews the stoic lensing out of gloom
alike the hearted Eros, wrought his sway.

How still the specks of frost on balm and reed
like stars arranged in view for crystal eyes,
and glazed upon the tips; a sweetened mead
which lovers strive in truthful, purple prize.

A sullen stratus coats the idle orb
succumbs the amber beams to patchy lure,
and from within uncertain skies absorb
a kindred duel; dreamers must endure.

Tonight, the morrow, all thereon to be
to ardors flux; at night is when to see.

Dear soulmate,
I met you once
You were standing
So was I

We talked,
Mostly with our eyes
Not then said I realize

I thought maybe
You said no
So again it was just I

I met you twice
This time sitting
I figured this time friends

Friends we were
Time came along
And as it does made me realize

I've loved you along.

Its to bad time skews
And separates
Those that maybe are meant to be

Its a complicated world
But maybe I'll see you
A third time around

And know I've loved you along.

I am in love with you,
Love.
I want so badly to need somebody,
To be the somebody that they need.
To commit my whole heart to them,
and for them to commit their whole heart to me.
Too often do I love the idea of a person,
Rather than seeing them for who they really are.
Love intoxicates and skews my vision.
And it tears my heart apart.


Oh, I am indeed in love.
Not with him and not with her,
But with an idea.
The idea of loving someone who is deserving of my heart.
The idea of loving so fiercely that our spark will never dwindle
I am in love with you,
Love.

We change over night
As the darkness chills us to the bone
We become stiff with bitter memories
That once seemed so right

Milky twilight revealing our faces
Casts soft shadows over once pithy edges
Of what is in front and what is behind us
The thickness of night skews our surroundings

Perception misconceptions grant us the right to stare
Our hearts are told to beat faster by stagnant movements in the distance
We are not the only bitter creatures influenced by the night to play
Because it's easier to pretend to see something when nothing is there

Amazing what
Never cleansed
Dirteous skews-

Appall us
Appealing-

Glurveous revealing-

Tippled *******
Cinched

A lack
Unnerving
Loves
At you.

✊

When winter comes, the game is over
Until then
I’m tilling the soil, in preparation for the final score
Cordiality
Before the fertility of an ordeal, which grows into the bigger picture
Displayed
Splayed open in awkward moments, momentum picking up
Dust
Doesn’t this dirt, do something… creates… With no need
Of creativity
It just becomes… Nativity bourne… Energy from the stress, stretchin
Gravity pulls
Subdues the aborted missions… Missing the survivors
One
In a million, peal through the milieu, and skews
This present
View of manure, that manifests in the festivities that brings out
The most
Beautiful black rose in spring… Arose from the black
Beneath
Neither I nor you can undue, growth… Destruction just makes room
For something
Bigger to become… Cometh the comets to renew the stigma…
Butterflies
Kiss the bees… Better fly before the sting… Before the sting…
Stung
Death becomes the unlikely pair… The pear drops, to its own despair
This pair
Dies… as the flies, cover the corpse, cadavers and carrion
Carry on
The merry married marred, and in the spoils, spring new life
Young maggots Detested by the world, enters ignorantly blissful, and springs…
Underlings
Lingering beneath the grips of hatred, when it grows, with its
Hundred eyes
It still wont see the picture… distorted kaleidoscopic optics stops it
From seeing
The whys, the wheres, the world, the web
The spider
That sits beside her… and ***** the life out her
The outer
Casings, the crust, the crevice, the crack, the core,
We see
Explore, excavate through the dust of adam, and reach the hot magma,
The lake
Of fire floods the land… and destroys another civilization

“Welcome to earth…”

Were you colorful or was I just using crayons
Were you outgoing or did I just forget your outline
I'm looking for new colors to help me keep your ambivalence aligned

Wrestling with art skews shapes into hues
I painted me into the pictures too
Am I just washed out or am I using a lot of blue
You're running away and I'm left here confused
Did I forget to use glue or was I just used
I thought I had control, but you were drawing too

I drew a house around me, with a corner too
I forgot what season it is
I'm losing color, I'm turning into a silhouette
I lost my thought bubble in the last month I can remember
It was June.
The only thing I have left is a question mark
That I'm trying to bend into a sword
But I don't have the same crafting supplies that I drew with you

I believe that
Memories turn on themselves.
Just like the subconscious.
It takes what you don't want
To think about
Flips it
Skews it
Presents itself in a most appealing
Adam and Eve type manner
Then pulls it away.

This is for hands left unheld
For days left uncelebrated
For calls not made
Words not spoken
Dreams not lived
Tears shed when no call came at midnight.
Tears shed.
This is for falling down
That spiral that you swore
Was not for you

Too bad you don't get a choice.

Tick tick tick
Time is slipping
You're wasting time
Can't you see that time is
Melting through your fingers,
Falling through the cracks because of
The heat that pounds down on you
And your uselessness, your waste.

Your memories will turn eventually.
They were once shiny and new.
Appealing. Hopeful.
Now, they crumble like
Decrepit walls, abandoned homes,
Like hands left unheld.
Blowing away in the wind,
Nothing but ash.

Something so beautiful turned to
Something so, so hated.

Life; a tale written only once
Engraving history a slave to time
Moments leaving lingering fragrance
Memories painted in the minds eye
Enchanted, by emotions that stay
A new narrative
Life short and lived
We all hope our footprint escapes decay


Roads travelled in convoy or alone
Wind through vast and changing landscapes
Some fleeting moments marked by milestone
Stand out against the backdrop that time drapes
Sadness alters what's seen through windscreen and rear view
A journey retraced
Moves at swift pace
The image blends, distorts and skews

We can't comprehend
Can't pretend
Can't amend
Time has its own rules
We abide till the end
Grace and beauty; paint them evergreen
Let vibrance take hold
Turn history gold
Choose to let goodness gleam

Happiness changes what's seen
Through windscreen and rear view
A journey retraced
Moves at swift pace
The image blends, distorts and skews

Yesterday is in the rear view
Tomorrow offers no preview
Today won't last very long
Be somewhere that you belong

Roaming reckless snatching all there hexes putting them on I.
Just to see through my eyes the curses and disasters that happen.
Forever more the alchemist of the black art.
The curse, the spew, with sound, deadlier than a poisoned dart.
Fan entangled in webs, jet black.
Spider so enormous, why is it so fat?

That's what she said while in bed waiting.
Faking a performance, for this one ****** fan.
Tanned man, she bagged and holds the dollar, so paper skews and
she becomes the baller
Top dollar climbing buildings, being held by king kong does she live long?
Maybe
Just like the rest I undressed my mind
Studied it.
What I found is I am so **** fine, flying high thru skies so blue I'd call me a Legion because I roam with might and fell into the deep blue, cast out like demons into the deepest darkest blue, seeing eyes look as I write might entice the mights and powers.
I devour the enormous spirit fear me because I don't fear it, I only fear God Almighty.
But I know he guide me, taking me to Wonderful, it's exciting.

It was a colorful town on the river down.
Full of promise, white fences, green fields and rainbow trout.
Pearl snap purple striped shirts and shiny silver belt buckles.
The sound of classic twang rang aloud from speakers abound...
Seeking ever-present pink cheek disguises and marigold sundresses,
Light's intent never bent by heaven-sent country curves so supple and round. Repent.

No surprises to speak of,
No stresses less be told.
No rumor-fueled chuckles,  
No sleek compromises,
No barely fair careless hot messes...Yet to unfold and demise us.
The night calls,
The sun falls,
the moon's face crawls high into the above dark space.
All is peaceful and quiet by the day's review and so defines this place.
On cue, old is devoured by new.
Dawn again.
So abruptly & suddenly skews the universe.
Every curved dress is swooned to pine and guess.
Roy G. rides in, out of the blue,
painting the whole town red,
in the yellow high hot of the day,
with a country mile bright white smile in kind
and black heart, leaving a broken heart pile behind.
Mr. Biv slips out in the black of night.
His indifference blinding beyond the spectrum of light.

by R.Craig David-09/2015

Your mind will never be free.
A smog of emotion, you, and me
pollutes perfection;
a strong conviction
for x, y, or z
makes truth hum vaguely.
Fear and the whole **** mess
skews secret subconsciousness
Confounding our dirt perfection,
our galaxy-star-dust-energy-affection.

They tell me I am disordered
That the disease skews my vision
But I can't help that what I see first hand
Rings more truth that expert opinions

A battle of logic
A reassessment of my past
Solid justifications?
Or am I with in the wrath?

Funny,
How tragedy skews your perception of time.
You think I would remember the month,
Or at least the year,
I pulled her out of that den for ***** desperate destitutes,
Trying to escape with help of Crystals and Mana.
It was cold.
Is all I remember really.
Perhaps that's a way of my mind tricking me into thinking,

It never happened.

Her crazed howls from the gurney still echo in my head.
They tell me other wise.

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/l8njruxa73yee9b0jzmhd/The-Ultimate-Unabridged-Guide-to-Esoteric-Working-English-2.docx?­rlkey=kunoar7ghpfkb7fjk5xkdgx95&st=i84ornny&dl=0

^Decipher my words by using the above reference material^


DAVERING DIPPYDOS CONCEALED IN THE GELID WAME OF THE WANCHANCY OF SPODOMANCY RETICULATED AROUND QUESTIONS OF INTERRAMIFICATION WE COULD PROVIDE IMMARCESSIBLE CONDITIONS DELIMITED IN THE FORMANT MATHEMATICS OF OPERATIVE DURESS THAT QUANTIFY AND QUALIFY THE INDIVIDUAL CONSTITUTED PREROGATIVES OF CLADOGENESIS ORBITED AROUND CALVOUS CONNIVANCE THAT ITCHES IN YEUKS OF BEADLEDOM THAT THE SURMISED APOTHECARY WEIGHT OF THE SUPERLATIVE DISTILLATION OF BANDOBAST GUARDED IN THE BARRULET WHICH IS SYMBOLIZED MORE CONCRETELY BY THE INTERTESSELATED DETAILS OF THE SATARA OF A FEW KEY PIONEERS IN EVERY ORBITAL FIELD AROUND ORGANITY THAT THE UNSEELED PROXENETES MIGHT DEVOUR THE IGNOVIMOUS DETAILS OF EXTENSIVE BERLINE DIATRIBE EMBOSSED INTO CIRCULAR ACCLAIM. WE FIND THE FISSIONS BETWEEN THE SPORRAN ACCENTS OF INTERDIGITATED SEGUIDILLA THAT EXERT A LOLLOPING MAGNANIMITY IN CECUTIENCY OWING THAT THE OLASIN EPOCH JUST BEGINNING OF THE CELLARERS CAPACITY TO UBIQUITIZE THEIR KNOWLEDGE AT HAND TO EVERY ORPHANED CAUSE THAT WE MIGHT KNOW THE CHEVET AND ECHARD SIMULTANEOUSLY OF ECCLESIOLATRY AND WHEN WE SURMISE FIGURES OF APPROXIMATE RANGE WE AMOUNT TO A PETTY PRIVILEGE OF 7-9% OF CULTURAL CAPITAL. WHEN WE DIAGRAMMATICALLY SEJUGATE THE CASTRAMETATED NOOSPHERE WITH AN ETAMINE PROCLIVITY TO AVOID THE LAZARET OF ELASTANE BROMIDROSIS SURREYED IN THE SELCOUTH BURROLE OF CHAMOIS FILIPENDULUOUS IN CERTAIN DIPPOLDISM OF CURRYCOMBED VENDETTAS OF BOLAR VERSUS BOLTROPE AND THE NEGENTROPY OF AUCUPATION THAT YOU MIGHT ASSIZE A NEW EXPEDITED AREINEDAN ZEITGEIST WHERE FORMULARY EQUATIONS ARE HYPOSTATIZED INSTANTANEOUSLY TO THE LEVERAGE OF SATELLITE SARANGOUSTY EXLEX PROTECTORATES SORDORING THE CATHEDRA ONLY TO THEN CONCEAL IT IN A TACTICAL NOYADE OF DELIBERATE BASCULE FROM WEALTH TO PENURY OFTEN ASSUMED AS THE GOAL OF THE WALLFISH WALLETEER BECAUSE THE SPUTUM OF RADIAL GREAVES OF GRAVID IRONY DEFLECTS VERY NOTICEABLY THE CURVATURE OF KYMATOLOGY IN THE DIRECTION OF PRECISION ONLY IN THE ARBALESK VERNACULAR THAT IS SUBLIMINAL TO THE FUNDAMENTAL RUDIMENTS OF DISCURSIVE PATAVINITY OF ORRERY OROGENS OF ENNOMIC DISCOVERIES THAT HARK THE ELOIG N BETWEEN FAMIGERATED DISTANCE LAVEERED AGAINST THE PROGENY OF PETULANT CONTUMACY THAT FEWER HYPERTROPHIES AVOID IN SIMPERED MANNERS OF RHETORIC. WE BELONG TO A HISTRINKAGE GENERATION WHERE THE BRONCHOS OF NEURYPNOLOGY WAGERED IN NEUTROSOPHY FOR STANNARY NEVES OF NIVELLATION NIDDERING ON BATHOPHOBIA FOR SUCH A PROTENSIVE AND INDUCTIVE RIGOR AND ARDOR THAT THE TIRESOME TRAVAILS OF DEBUNKING THAT WEGOTIST HAUTEUR BECOME EXHAUSTIVELY CONCLUSIVE BY THE EMBROCATION OF THE FLUIDITY MATRIX DESIGN OF A SYNECHIOLOGY SYSTEM DEVISED TO COMPUTE THE PANMIXIA EVEN IN CONDITIONS OF ANTIPANGAMY THAT THE CYBERNETIC TORQUE ON THE SYSTEM IS THEREFORE INHERENTLY BINARY AND GRAVITATED IN SUBLINEATED CARDIOGNOST CAPACITIES IN A STALWART COUNTERCLOCKWISE DIRECTION TOWARDS A HETERONORMATIVITY BECOMING BASELINE RATHER THAN INVERTED. THE PLAGIUM OF AGES IS THE CARNAL QUESTION OF CIVILIZED DISCONTENTS BECOMING PROSTHETIC SPHERES OF PRISMATIC UNITY AMONG THE SIDEREAL ACTORS OF THE ABATJOUR OF THE ESSIVE ABERDEVINE CONSTRAINTS CONTECKING THE CONSTRINGED STRIFE OF MAGNALITIES SPAWNING ROTARY REACTORS OF ABREACTION THAT FUEL A GARBOLOGY THAT BORROWS HEAVILY FROM THE GLAMOUR OF THE PROGENY OF CENTROBARIC ******. WE THEREBY SEIZE WITHIN CARAPACES OF WOOLD SLOWLY IMMERGED BEYOND THE RANCOR OF JERQUED JERKINHEAD JANSKY FOIBLES OF PARASELENIC GERONTOLOGY THAT THE SENICIDE OF THIS AUDIENCE SKEWS CONTRARY TO THE BATHOPHOBIA WHEREBY IT IS BEING SCRUTINIZED IN STRABISMUS AND THEREBY THE BODACHES OF POINTILLISM MISS THE SUBTLE IRONY OF HOW GENIUS IS JUST INTERLOCKING CRACKJAWS WITH GOBSTOPPERS IN A NEVER ENDING TEST OF THE FINESSE OF THE SACCHARINE TRAITS OF THE CREAMERY OF CIVILIZATION. THE BATTALIONS OF STEEVED BOBSTAYS JOGGLING IN SALTUS BETWEEN PERIODIC ORBITS OF ZERO MECHANIZATION BUT FULL AMPHIGORY THE CHURNED COILS OF HYPERTROPHY YIELD A RECTISERIAL STRUMPET ECDYSIAST TYMPANY IF FUNNELED THROUGH THE ALMAGEST OF FORMER IMMARCESIBLE KNOWLEDGE THAN THE INQUIRIES OF MANKIND WILL CONVERGE INTO A CONCLAVE THAT THE SCORIA WILL ENUMERATE MORE THOROUGHLY IN THE WADMALS OF ALL WIDDERSHANCY AND THE INTERRAMIFICATIONS OF PRODIGY INTERPUNCTED BY THE ALBENTURE OF WILDING IMBREVIATION OF THE STRICKLE OF YARNWINDLE OF EXPERIENCE WE DISCOVER A BLETTONISM SO MAGNIFICENT IT INTENSIFIES THE IONIZATION OF THE AURORA AUSTRALIS JUST AS MUCH AS THE BOREALIS BOTH YEUKING FOR THE BETHEL OF ESSIVE ABATJOUR IN THE JURYMAST FOR CONCRETE STEPNEYS STEPWISE IN THEIR SCABERULOUS PLOTS OF DECISIVE INGLENOOKS BURROWED IN THE FIGURATIVE MOULINS VERSATILE IN POSITION AND MERCURIAL IN THE SPRITES OF THEIR TABACOSIS OF AMASTHENIC WISDOM MIGHT WE ENDEAR A GREATER GENERATION OF ARENOIDS THAT EXIST TO ELABORATE AN ARETAICS OF BALANCED ORTHOTOMY AND ORTHOBIOSIS GROUNDED ON BIOTAXY IMPOSED THROUGH THE STRIDULATION OF THE FEW GALVANIZING THE SUNBITTERN MOON AT A GLANCING ANGLE OF PRISOPTOMETRY THAT WE MIGHT FETCH THE DIRIGISME FROM THE DIRIGIBLE. IN A NEW HUMAN AND HUMANE FRONTIER WE ARE IN A SORBILE POSITION ANCILLARY TO THE SUPERPOSITION OF SUPEREROGATORY SEDIGITATED SEDERUNTS OF NEMBUTSU DOVETAILED EVENLY EVEN WHEN DISHEVELED IN CACOPHONY THAT THE BEHEST OF THE ALVEOLATE MELLIFEROUS PLANGOR OF PLANKWISE CORSAIRS IN THEIR SUPREME PRIMACY THAT WE MIGHT EARN THE TITLE OF TEACHERS AMONG THE LITTORAL ALLUVION OF DYVORS OF SUBDICOLOUS CONDITIONS IGNORANT OF THE SCORBUTIC YOUNGSTOCKS TRIGGERED BY YESTERTEMPESTS AND YOUTHQUAKES THAT JOGGLE THE SUBSULTUS OF SALTUS FROM BRITTLE BRICOLAGE OF PRESTIDIGITATION THAT IS INTEGRAL TO THE MACARISM ENVELOPING ALL ENVIED SOULS THAT ONE MIND MIGHT EMERGE AS A MAINPERNOR OF A JURYMAST TO ACQUIT A CORRUPT SYSTEM OF MONGERY FOR ITS MINOR MALVERSATIONS AND MALCONTENTS. WE THEREFORE BELONG TO A NEWER HIERARCHY WHERE THE SUBORNED PREDICATE PROPOSITION OF THE BARYEICOIA IMMANENT ESPECIALLY AMONG TIMES OF ESBAT AND CELLARER WE MIGHT DISCOVER THE FATE OF OLMS OF ELFLOCK THAT THEY MIGHT NOT EVAPORATE FROM THE TURGID ROLLICK OF A UNIVERSAL MAGPIETY THAT ENSURES THAT MACROPICIDE IS AVOIDED SO THAT THE DENATURED TWINGES OF PROPRIETY LIONIZED BY CREDENCE IN REGARD MIGHT ORBIT IN ELLIPSE AROUND THE OBLONG ORBIT OF ITS MOST PRONOUNCED FASCINATIONS AND PERVERSIONS AND LESS AROUND THE SUBROUTINES OF THE MALADROIT FRUSTRANEOUS ECHARD OF LONGEUR SLIPSHOD IN TIME TO EDGE ITSELF FURTHER UNCIALLY IN ANGSTROM AGAINST ANGST. THE CREDENDA OF THE DOCIMASY OF SQUAMATION MANDATED BY MANY URCEOLATE ARCEATE ARBALESK COVVENGERS MIGHT SEEM SUITABLE BY PRESUMPTION BUT THE MALCONTENT INHERENT INTO A SYSTEM OF SOURDINE AND SORBILE SORBEFACIENT INDIVIDUALS INTERRAMIFIED IN CODED LETHOLOGICA DUE TO ABORIGINAL EMOTIVISM SIPHONED FROM THE LAVADERO OF THE IMMARCESIBLE MIGHT BE A DOWNFALL OF STREAMLINED ****** TOWARDS A HEGEMONY CAPABLE OF THE TORQUE NECESSARY TO SURVIVE THE HEYDAY OF HESTERNAL PROCLIVITIES GOVERNED BY A MASSIVE ACYESIS AND ACYANOPSIA WHICH EVENTUALLY MIGHT SUBLIMATE THE GREATER BARASINGHAS OF WHIPSTAFF AND WILLIWAW ABOVE THE BRONTEUM OF BEREAVED COLUMNS BENEATH TORPID SKELETONIZATION OF SEJUGATED SOCIETIES THAT CRUMPLE INTO ABREACTION FASTER THAN THEY CONGEAL INTO SOLIDARITY WHEN THE POLLARCHY IMPETUS IS STRONGER THAN THE SODALITY OF COHESION. WE NEED A SOCIETY GOVERNED BY NOMOTHETIC NOMISTIC LAWS ERECTED BY THE NOMOGRAPHY OF A WORLD WHERE NOMENCLATURE PLAYS A PROMINENT PART IN DISSIPATING NEMBUTSU AND ARRAYING THE NUMBATS TO SURVEY THE GAMUT OF AVAILABLE ENDEAVORS OF ENTERPRISE SUCH THAT THE FINITE ALEATORY PROBABILITIES OF AN ARCEATE ARRECT SOCIETY MIGHT THRIVE EVEN WITH UNEVEN VOLTINISMS THAT THE LIMITLESS RHOMBOS NEVER BECOMES A CURGLAFF BECOMING OF A FAINEANT GENERATION OF ABSTERGED STATISTICS BUOYING A SPATTEE OF SIFFLEURS THAT SUSTAIN SPECULATIVE BONANZAS ABOVE THE PITFALLS OF URMAN PIRANHAS THAT ENCAGE THE DEFT CALCULUS OF IMMISERRATION AMONG THE BAILIVATION OF WROX IN WROTH. WE NOW KNOW A SOCIETY THAT ONCE GOVERNED BY ICONOPLASTY OF VULPECULAR GAVELKIND ALLOYED NEVER BY A SEMPERVIRENCE OF MAN BUT BY A STRIDENT APOTHEGM OF SCIENTIFIC SOTERIOLOGY THAT THE KYMATOLOGY OF INTERTESSELATED SPANDRELS ENVELOPING THE DIMENSIONAL ATROPHY OF SPACETIME PARAMETERS THAT WE MIGHT OBSERVE A CONGENIAL URGE FOR BONHOMIE TO ERUPT NOT INTO A BONFIRE BUT INTO A SOLIDARITY OF PURPOSE FOR GREGARIOUS WEALTH AGAINST THE LEVY OF THE PURPRESTURE OF THE MUNDANE SYNERGIES OF CRYPTODYNAMIC CHRONOBIOLOGY YET DISSATISIFIED BY THE HYPE OF YAFFINGALES OF YARNWINDLE OUTSMARTING THE WOODSHEDDERS OF SHIBBOLETH WHO POACH WITH TAXIDERMY THE ESPALIER OF HUMAN ENDEAVOR MULTIPLIED BY THE CURRENCY OF ALL FAFFLE MEETING THE FRICTION OF ALL RUDIMENTARY REVOLUTIONS AGAINST THE FORWARD PROPULSION OF A SOCIETY OF GRANDEUR GROWING IN PROPORTION TO THE STRENGTH OF ITS MAGNATES THAT IT MIGHT COMMEMORATE THESE HEYDAYS OF THE ZEITGEIST OF ZANYISM AS A ZABERNISM OF GROWTH AND HYPERTROPHY FOR THE SYNECHIOLOGY CONSTRAINED BY MORTMAIN OF KYMATOLOGY AS A FUNCTION OF BIOCENOSIS AND THE FIELD OF MACROBIAN ENDEAVOR VISIBLE TO THE VITRAIL OF ALL LORE AND LEGENDS SPRAWLING THE ANCIENT PAST AND ENUMERATING A PRECISE FUTURE BETTER THAN WE EVER DREAMED.

As they headed for the roadstead of Skalá he was eclipsed just as he had been predestined by Wonthelimar. They had contravened with Apollo after coming from his winter appointments in Hyperborea, he came to meet his twin sister Artemis towards an olive tree that would be the directive of the battle of Patmia with the Zefian arrows and the Iberian Rings of Wonthelimar in the direction of the Zenit, with the first arrows of the string of the arch of predestination of the blessed land as Skalá will be, commanding and carrying the insignia of Hyperborea with Zefian and Vóreios violating the stormy East bow after addressing the sibylline oracles, which already had the date Synchronous of the Flegrean Fields, to locate the Codex Raedus n °VI of The Cumana sibyl that was found at elevation 97 of the wind tunnel when listening to these waves, very close to the sinkholes, in avidity of the Delphic Pythia with divinatory proselytes that ran through the folds of her garb, with pleats of a cerebral divinatory legion. His Cumana relativity was distended from his arrival at the Mausoleum, prophesying life for all in the passion of living together with the bodies abandoned by the souls of the Devotee, in the innocence of the soul that slips away daunted by not being desolate, between the Lilith parchment, and in the offerings of the Strigoi, for breaches of the troubling visions of the darkness of the cavern of Chauvet, by sacrificing competitive sensory-emotions of the malefic Votum of Lilith. Only one can exist as an inviolable part of chaste Wonthelimar tradition, groping the Xiphos with human sheepskins, tectonic offerings, and fringing the altitude 103 of the Strigoi wind tunnel. After writing the 9 books of the Synoptic of Rome and of King Tarquin who rejected it until the last three books that the Sybilla had burned were awarded, after having challenged the six that made up the compendium that Apollo had written for the approval of Rome.

After they distanced themselves from the contravention of Apollo and Artemis to the southern east-west magentism. They would carry their belongings with the "The Ibic Rings", which would be the transmigration towards the cardinals and points where the Megaron of Vernarth was going to be exactly after the battle, arguing that the Zefian phalanxes would be ordered in Sintropia and organic chaos in Patmos, where Pythagorean proportions would be made in essences of numbers that idly advanced in the temporal steps of Wonthelimar that mobile was made of religious Saetas and of the Mercurial Ambrosia of the Cinnabar, to help him with the most insightful points of the Constellation of Capricornus. Zefian's tendency was to blatantly delight afterward to pull the bowstring, to spooky existence; presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate Áullos Kósmos Megarón! for calm courts imposed from a cosmos, who were directed by committing themselves to the will of a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, as Roman bilocation Vestal Virgins, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-fable alive that rebels in the arrows that still They did not fall, not knowing of their whereabouts, waiting for Apollo to launch them, like plates or serial hosts that were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the hyperboric Duoverse contravened organic, vigorous and anti-curd even in the divine origin celestial as a *****-ovule parameter, rather in aeonical instances in the furnace of Hestia, running eternities into vast volumes of light-years. From the medrones of Wonthelimar's antler, regenerative sobs grow in the Ibic Rings that were native to the Nyons massifs, taking hold in the Seven Ibic Rings. Before reaching the Battle of Patmia.

Ibico 1: "The first one was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and brought purity, for all who needed him and were visiting in the dark, then he would find the light when he left the cave alive if he was accepted."

Ibico 2: ”He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the priesthood center of his shelves with the Chiroptera, and others of the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus ”.

Ibico 3: "From the Eygues, the waters evaporated for healings of the tormented initiation processes of raising the four Zefian Arrows, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron."

Ibico 4: “This ring was from the antlers of Wonthelimar, here they wore the Oikos or threads of Gold from Orfí, for the Himatión and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a complement to Mycenae- Valdaine ”.

Ibico 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmatic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's neurological and Duoversal hyper brain twinned with the Mashiach."

Ibico 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns of Kafersesuh, bringing the pollinations of the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the gloom of Helleniká and Theoskepasti".

Ibico 7: “It is the grave voice of the Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the hoarse voices, which inquire about the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medron, up to the millimeter shoulder of the assembly of the square meters, which will illustrate the Acrotera del Megaron "

Once the Rings were instituted, the Arrows after the Codex VI of the Sybilla Cumea, everything would turn green in the direct plane from Grikos to Skalá, causing splendor in the Emotional Subclavian Kabbalah; bringing on himself his own external atmosphere of Zohar Light attracted by Saint John the Apostle, expressing with this phenomenon the scene of physical mysticism, to induce the archetype of great volume of the Kabbalah pipeline between both points, mobilizing between these two nodes the Vital homeostatic of light and divine blood that would be transported by the dualistic subclavian that could be seen in the floods or roads that led to the place of confrontation, displaying the Greco-Judaic vital of language that poured through these fistulas of light to overcome the red blood cell bloom; That would be portions of the presence of divine blood of the Mashiach, where every arrow has its focus as is the Torah in fulfillment of a sky adorned that was positioned on the figure that was sniffed by the essence of a skeleton exempt from a Subclavian, that only with it and the emotion of Saint John could be exclusively Kabbalistic only transported by the Zohar light that Vernarth and his phalanxes offered in anticipation of their Misná, and not of the nocturnal powers that exiled the luminous circles that left them circumscribed by the full moon that it would unite him around its intensity, and that it would degrade into the Platonic theocentric. The works of projecting indeterminate successism the uncontrolled defragmentation by the higher orders where their unity could be reiterated in the mystical memory, over the divine irresolution of right and inconclusiveness of the deductions of the full moon, therefore the Subclavia of Kabbalah will exonerate these ambiguous emanations, to starting from the ordering of the ibic rings, procreating in them the order that is not replaced or reversed.

Ibic 1: "The first one was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and brought purity, for all who needed him and were visiting in the dark, then he would find the light when he left the cave alive if he was accepted." It indicated the Kabbalah of Saint John of everything known and remained stable given its transcendent radiance with the cosmic energy that was usual, preserving, and at the same time externalizing the absolute presence, purity towards the stage of absolute admiration, while stillness and silence he was fascinated by the creatures of the expectation of an extra personal Vernarth after the eschatological of his soul.

Ibic 2: ”He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the priesthood center of his shelves with the Chiroptera, and others of the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus ”. It was consigned to the superior spheres of the eons and ignorance of the destiny of the lamas of those who would go to collate in this affront of Patmia, relating Gnostic tendencies with the epigraphy and materiality of the Cinnabar as the elemental computer of the Vas Auric of Limassol and the canticles. from the esoteric melisma of Vlad Strigoi.

Ibic 3: "From the Eygues, the water evaporated for the healings of the tormented initiation processes of raising the four Zefian arrows, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron." All rivers flow through the Kabbalistic of the Subclavian, for she upholds the correct uses of the pastoral sermon that would reach the venerated elevation space of the Megaron with her homiletics.

Ibic 4: “This ring was from the antlers of Wonthelimar, here they wore the Oikos or threads of Gold from Orfí, for the Himatión and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a complement to Mycenae- Valdaine ”. The centrifugal speed of the rings yearned for other geographical heights of Valdaine, near Chauvet with the epigraph saying that “all vibrations lead to the Onyon massif, in the mystique of beings that will always lift the trees of the growth variants, such as those that are the medron in the antlers of Wonthelimar.

Ibic 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmatic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's neurological and Duoversal hyper brain twinned with the Mashiach." Universes can be divided into numbers or letters all interacting alphanumeric. The multidimensional Duoverse stipulates that Vernarthian submitology flatters the Kabbalah that clings to the stria of St. John the Apostle "Duoverse" The new universe of Vernarth being apologetic, Jewish and also Hellenistic, therefore skews from our creator and all creative thought theological in all its creation. Divine providence and grace are and will be their hierarchies to have a universal kinship with the Zig Zag Universe that migrated to Duoverso Zig Zag, for the providence of divine powers, who are in this range mercifully allowing and forbidding the splendid power of royalty of manifested Christian meditation.

Ibic 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns of Kafersesuh, bringing the pollinations of the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the gloom of Helleniká and Theoskepasti". The sixth medron or somatotropic nutrient, speaks of a vegetality converted into the tree of life consecutively as the cartilage of the antlers, which was Kabbalah of the random pollinations, but messianic centered in the radius of the islands of Kímolos. The female figure of the twilights was saturated with pollinations of Lepidoptera that looked like their angelic cloudscape.

Ibic 7: “It is the grave voice of the Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the aphonic lexicologies, which inquire about the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise according to the final medron of somatotrophic growth, up to the millimeter shoulder of the assembly of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera del Megaron ”the euphony of the preservation and transformation of Cinnabar will contract the vocalizations or Antiphons in hexameters, as Voices of restructured Sybilas materializing from the six books cremated by Sybilla Cumea, trying to reissue them in the circle of contemplation.

walk forward, one step
           fall back , two
spring jumps
             winter skews
keeping a cadence
                of an army
bring it back
                the beat , down
chants from where
                     the peace
is hewed and chewed and spewed
                          in a cadence
a beat of love of peace of new
                             ferocity asking
who is in accord who is with
                                  this beat
of a new season's cadence.

Nature – with impeccable force – blows the air around Her,
Her breath dancing on a mirror
like a ghost in the evening.
i cannot see Her face – She never
looks me in the eye, but still – the fog
skews my sight and hides the
blades of the grass and bark of the
tree. i am struck by these wonders,
like the bloom in early march; my
grief leaves me as easy as sight
did in this condition. now, in the
morning, i can only offer my navigation
to a certain extent. i still stumble,
and the anger bubbles like the early
stages of boiling. i rub my eyes
hoping this dream will leave me soon,
knowing that the only way to break the spell is to reach out and wipe the mirror
with my hands

It doesn't matter how far I look
I see puzzles at every corner of my walk
the Only difference between them is
Some can stand still and some can talk.

Flowers have a different problem
Trees have a deeper issues
Animals have some wild thoughts
And we have our social skews.

But we have an unique solution
Which we keep ignoring
Occupied by rule of food chain
Thoughts of Single dominance airing

It doesn't matter how far I look
possibility of solution heaves
To blossom together under ruthless sun
With no notion of disbelieves

i'm starting to think the chinese are good at numbers
only because of the complexity of their ideograms,
and the rather unspectacular phonetic result,
li chew - ******* inimpresionable given
the effort... li chow chewy chow mein -
   uncle benny doing his:
it's fwy wice you pwick!
                         letheal weapon no. 4,
   chris rock and leo getz exchange,
pomp, pwick,
                  perp... you get the idea,
zenith of: americana with not fear,
before the empire with its advancements,
shattered by the most barbaric antithesis,
in war, that's called: let's keep it simple,
those a.i. soldiers won't keep up,
they'll never spot a caveman running into
the cave...
    the idiots outsmarted the geniuses,
how's that evolution for you?
     working alright?!
               in every war, the idiots win,
because the all-powerful care to
      pretending power,
    better to fake being stupid,
as the socratic maxim states:
than pretend to be smart,
     there's no power in pretending to
almighty...
          god the idiot took the bus,
god the fake, bought a Ferrari.
                     you do the math.
     hence my fascination with
the asiatics' ability with math...
       did it really take so many
matchsticks to combine syllables?
they have no units of language,
they deal with syllables...
                     which makes numbers so simple...
to me sudoku is counting matchsticks,
i.e.:
                # / \ / / \ \ \ /  - | - |
                            - - | | | - | -
                            | | - -
              - - | | | - - | - | | -,
  i don't see numbers, i see that...
it's called spelling in anti-ideogram
formation... MMIX becomes 2009 -
  or: give or take
                       | | \ / / -
                      i know i'm missing parts,
but mathematics for the chinese is
like braille for the europeans,
less braille and more morse code...
it's called the 4/9 ratio...
         1, 2, 3, 5, 7 are skeletons of
the ideogram...
             0 doesn't count,
it's squished coded omicron,
akin to iota as 1...
                6 a b,
                                       7 gamma in mirror...
5 an S...
                    arab talking ****:
who said you inherited intventing
the numbers,
  your little las vegas in the desert,
that **** is gonna fail, big, time.
   you gonna get to keep your puppy
princes, and by god:
i hope to god that they drag you beyod
hades, into the recesses of tartarus.
          arabs belong in tartarus,
that special place in the unearthed
        thought: where things are
punishable for being, squandered.
leisure! man claimed leisure,
with gold he claimed blood,
   with oil man claimed leisure!
            i have as much allegiance
to this being, as i have to
recuperate for some d.n.a. stash of
obligations to: keeping up the hard-on...
the **** would it matter what i
take of my descendent half-wit
grandson does with his life?!
        who does these square-faced
investigations asking for generational
gaps being filled?
          am i really to be
asked for allegiance to a people after
death, in nota re viva?
  the **** is up with this
resurrection in scientific terms of
investing in the genes...
do genes have faces, personalities?
thought so, they don't!
      i hate, i hate empowering
humanists by popularising science...
     when i solve an ideogram i see
the opposite of the de-constructed ideogram
that is complex, but nothing more
than Li Po...
      ******* un-extravagant,
       caveman talk...
                 # / \ / / \ \ \ /  - | - |
                            - - | | | - | -
                            | | - -
              - - | | | - - | - | | -,

that's what i reconstruct numbers with in
a sudoku... by counting matchsticks and skews...

hey... look: 'ere's jack! it's pixel,
so hardly the lost wonky of
a spacing exacted to perfecting
   a sheet of cloth.

6    8    3    1    9    5    7    4    2  
7    1                2                3    9
2          9      ­    3          1          6
9                6    4    1         ­       5
5    7   6     3    8    2    4     9   1
1                5    7     9               8          
4         1           6          5        3
3   5                1               8    7
8   6    7    2    5     3    9  1    4

you want me to give you prove to you
that i'm not autistic?
  i'd **** your granny, and call her
Spencer, to simply prove my point
that i'm right-on the ibidem mark,
  as frequenting prostitutes originates from,
was i ever a man that would allow
darwinism to invoke a game
of mating by hunting mechanisation for
a supposed "thrill"?
         sure ****, there's thrill
in running after a football,
but is there any authentic thrill
  running around for a woman?
sports kinda killed the idea of having
to compete for woman,
  given that in other cultures women
will **** off any idea of competition,
congregating in harems;
unless i'm a cannibal i am about as
competitive about women as
i am "competitive" in replicating ****
*** with my hand,
  or imitating the alternative to deer
cannibalising a woman's body...
so... where's the competition?
darwinism became so self-assured that it
could only continue within the
theatre of comedy...
  no one takes it seriously these days,
only comedians,
  because there's no actual evolutionary
essential requirement for a coliseum -
there's the existential requirement to
become distracted from time to time...
but essentially: one can
become distracted as much by a blank
piece of paper, as one can be
distracted by a coliseum...
      to be honest whenever i watch
a football match life, i'm enthralled rather
than distracted...
               darwinism lost to pop culture,
since it became populist and anti
scientific...
                we understand more
of darwinism than the concept
of entropy...
                        it's easy
take a monkey, find a humanoid,
and then consider man...
i'm not saying it's wrong,
   all i'm saying is...
  imagine if the greeks or the roman
defined beauty by knowing they
could always mould statues of gorillas,
rather than the statues of their celebration
of beauty bound in man:
**** transit, rather than **** genesis...
would we be where we are with
transgender, anorexia, bulimia,
   objectification,
            gluttony,
had we not left the monkey on
the tree, and man originating in a cave?

In that moment
there was a feeling. 
It burrowed in
and condensed into a tight ball of dust. 
Then it exploded. 
Spreading out. 
Reaching tentacles to far corners.
Wrapping roots. 
Breaking pavement. 
A chemical reaction of the volatile kind. 
A thorn coated call. 

She was shook. 
Mistook a sly smile for a grimace
and took to the cold.

Ice plated girl.
Overlooking from an ice plated terrace. 
Her vantage skews the scene.
She trembles 
and dreams in red. 

Silly girl.
Forgot of such things as shears.

Fiction causes friction

An untruth uttered and whispered, gets muttered

It grows until it throws  a shadow on the truth

Fake news screws and skews what we see

In a deception of perception

A false perfection

Losing reality

In a flood of banality!

Every forgotten
Tune
Was once
A mighty song.

Tragic how the human melody
Can so easily
Turn into
An orchestra of pain.

It is what happens
When
Truth to power
Power to truth skews.

Respect for all people
Is the only way path
To equality.

Maybe,
With hope,
With vigilant drive and
Unrelenting empathy,

Every
Lost Song

In America

Can be rediscovered and born anew.

So why
In this ongoing search
For this song is there

Treason?
Gas?
Blood on blood?

Why the broken eyes?
The cracked ribs?
The lost lives?

The spirits of the people
You fight so hard
To dispossess and scare
Still hear the song.

They will not stop fighting
To hear it.

There is no amount of force
Or violence
On Earth to mute
Such a cacophony of care.

What are they so afraid of hearing?

The song of the fighting free

Or

Their lack of one?

I don’t know anything
That’s all I can think
I don’t know anything
I don’t know how to feel
This sadness turns into numbness
So that I can’t feel

I do care
There’s no doubt
I care so much
It wears me out
And I try to explain
Explain
Explain
But my explaining doesn’t erase the pain
And it makes me feel dumb
And listless
Repeating the same old stories
Trying to find myself out of the maze

How do I make it clear?
How do you make a person hear you
When their pain skews their perception
Making you into a devil with malicious intentions
And what am I supposed to do
With these shattered dreams
Just let the darkness of this reality
Wash through me
I tried to make it right
Again and again
But maybe I’m just not fit
For loving free from fear

I tried to work it out
But he just won’t hear me
His resentment grows out of control
And its thorny vines consume me
I really care about the guy underneath all the pain
But does he care about me the same way?
I have lots of pain
And he can’t stand it
I understand
I never meant to put it all on him to handle it

Everything just feels so unclear
But I trust I’ll be okay
Knowing that I will always make it through the disarray
I can break free
From fear and confusion
And live a life lead by my heart
Love, love, love
That’s a good place to start.