Praeludium in via ...

Vidi heri mane quando ridebam coloribus egregiis,
Eradere auro , trans tabula caeli , tentorium ...
Excelsus super omnes montes mundi mole fratres
Nimborum desertum , ubi non sit humana exsuscitatur .
Et non vidi nobili altitudo futura ...
Bonitas terribilis Vidi , *** indomitus.
Et peregrinare in ea carne existimarem Semel tamen divina ,
Nunc datum est scire , et non confundamur ab eo opus .
Ambulavitque *** Deo, quod nunc facio , et passus est ... accentus
Proditio amor et passionibus , quamvis non recipiat ecclesia ,
Divinitatis naturam , ne occulta omnia confitentur ?
Audis tu solus in universo ab duces ineptum
Ipsos victu pascuntur finguntur mendacii .
Sed ambulavit in vobis, ex ea ipsa mundi redivivi ,
Proelia ante hos annos multos, in carne nostra, amissis vate sacro .
Nos sequi vestigia veterum monumentis, ut ostensum est ;
Quia ex nihilo nati sumus , et adhuc in filiis tuis, ac spatium vivendi ,
Latebunt , quo melius in manifesto , vultus ingenio tegmina.
Ego sum primus , et consilium ... Memini tamen alta urantur
Humanis uti licet , *** aliena michi negotium.
Lorem quid ad ignorantiam et extra ,
Quia vidisti me in tenebris, in ardentem rogum meum .
Si sustinuero , praeire , ubi angeli labuntur ...
Quis autem, si non satis est dedicata piget.
Irrisorie , quoniam ego scio quod salventur , et saepe etiam ,
Post tantum est **** , et sic esset forma in re firmatam ?
Imago Dei , huc ad nos omnes in sanguine ipsius ,
A primis ad ultima, ut alpha et omega, gladius acutus .

Prologus : ( Os meum labitur )

Puer fui servus ad aras tam sacras ,
Hymnis immaculatorum : et absque iniquitate .
Quod *** ipse portabat diadema thons nudus ...
Expositum Spiritus meus, qui intellexi gravitatem.
Quis credit sanctum profanae habitu virtutum
Et illi qui in eo sunt ut carnifices ovis ad occisionem ,
Innocentes cogit induere larvis ad porcellana et operuerunt capita sua ,
Et filii eorum diriperent pueritia , vinctus catenis rudis .
Sicut teenager : ambulans in naturis hominum omnium adprobante ,
Et egressus est a me omnes, qui violatores extiterunt in coinquinatione verebatur .
Angelo fidem reperto cecidi inveni sanctitati
Nomen meum in ea , et curet abluitur dubium inveni .
Venit ad nuptias, et omnes dedi uxorem proditione ,
In solutione huius coniunctionis nostrae et sine intervallo in solitudinem imposuit ?
Traiectus mortalis caro mea reliquit me solum in sanguinem ,
Cor ejus scissum est , absque omni cultu ex ordine funem .
Angelus autem meus et leniat iras mansit dolori
Mea lux, in vigiliis, in nigrum, quod est victa ,
Admonens quia carnis mortalitate ... maxime
Angelus vult me et tremor et durum accepimus.
Et ego factus sum quam ... traumas vitae ac lacrimis
Et dimisit , in specie quae sunt post , veluti a me plagas .
Nox deinde calor intensior saunas percipimus ...
Sicut est mihi in choro , relictum est , nisi ab illo esse extensum ,
Et invicem tradent , et mortalem , ut impunita essent, sed numquam mihi ...
Non tradent ; effundam spiritum meum , et non totum .
FYLACTERIUM creare ex omni me , et oculus innocens ...
Quod amari posco sum ​​ut carbo margarita alba et nigra ;

Section I : Sacrificium Doll

Part I : ( litus sanguinem )

Ne revoces me pupa enim priscis recesserunt cavernam
Sunt inanima appetant , non realis forma in utero ;
A puero bibere rubeam ore exploratores in vastissimam taberna ...
Dum nati psallens FARRATUS agros effusi .
Vadimus ad domum Dei , in plagis , in magna pecunia debetis ...
Hoc non est ad oras Nunc cruore manant strigitu rubra de memoria , polluetur .
Nulla est enim me primus ad ignitionem gloriae ...
Quando autem mens aeterna , in omnibus placentes, causabatur laetitiam .
In stellis ibi verba quae ego volo inauditum revocare,
Quia descendi ita pridem apud venire primum ?
Sollicitus purus fabrica MYSTICUS chaos genitus antiquorum
Mitti expectant limine signa magica.
Interdictum revertatur in carminibus meis , Licinius, ut audacia ,
Quia oblitus est mei fere est: nunc originem , ut tragici.
*** filii bibere, et se abscondunt nati seorsum
*** aquæ in sanguinem, et super triticum, et arefecit fœnum, et humida !
Signum quod venturum est mutare et laboro mentem.
Facies in luna ALLUCINOR in metu torquetur , horror ...
Dumque in fauces manu stare super pectus
Inter ordines diu frumentum umbra nigro ambula
Genus servo meo animas infantium .
Aestas flavescunt, Phoebe caelesti audent .
Mea sola mcestas lupus sonitum audiri potest ,
Et *** feris leo in pontumque moueri relinquere ...
A natura mihi dolet cupio concupivit paradisus reducat .
Vidi terram terror , ut sanguis in sinu
Ater sanguis in terra , quae facit viventia ululare ...
Sicut **** habet stultitia non dicam prava vel !

Part II : ( Crucifixo et Inferorum Animas Excitat)

Nam inertis est gemere pupa altari parato, in sacrificium,
In lapidem calcarium, et in cavernam, ubi sunt wettest fingit arcus !
Un - res sunt, sed etiam *** vivit in vulneribus animae , ut in glaciem ,
In horrore frigoris fictilem , ita *** pedibus non vocavit.
Serpentipedi mucrone subrecto , remittit praecise a pupa in collo ,
Et non potest dici , quia non habet pupa voce clamare.
Puer, et egressus est a tabernam , aspectus eorum quasi a naufragii vile ...
Ut curem hominem a superioribus agentibus , corpus totum mundum.
Infra in concavis locorum asperitate visa petram
Magna voces resonare in tenebras , et vocavit nomen tacuit.
Eripuit animam trahit nauta Multo gregis
Ubi aereum reddet unicuique antiquum signum desideratum .
Et venit ad bibendum aquas illas vitae malis mederi ...
Porcellana , et liberatus a vinculis mortis obscuris sentiat frigore ;
Animas in captivitate , unde nemo mortalium loqui
Sed statim liberavit remotis perforabit clavi ...
Omnis **** , qui dicitur Golgotha ​​, olim in cruce positus .
Omnis autem mulier quoque, ad quod omnes tales sunt tormento
Et facta est , dum consummaretur sacrificium insita primum sic infirma est,
Et intantum ut nisl tot annis perpessi .
Signati post fata diu Quod murus ignis in Terra ,
Stigmatibus ferre posset ita etiam multa futura!
Quod signum erat in manu mea, ut labatur pes meus, et dimittam ...
Tamen adhuc vetera perseverare illusionibus , et non possum excitare multos .
Ego, qui iam tantum conligati Lorem ferrum quid reale,
Factaque est infinita in dolo : Ego sum ​​, et desiderio erat pax.
Nam et ego quod negas , nisi aspera ac rudia mei liberatione ;
Angelus liberavit me , et nunc inter saevus sigillum frangere conantur .

Part III : ( The Return of lux)

Qui a mortuis Surrexit , frigidior , ubi de somno , ultrices in somnis , per
Et obliti sunt intelligentiae invocatum est super sancta miserunt innoxia verba ...
Et inde apud hominem , ut maneat MYSTICUS sequuntur revertamur ,
Ea aetate in inferno commemoratione praeteritorum.
Qui suscitavit eis manum meam , et pugionem eius lumen gloriae,
Relicta meae effercio fluere sanguis subito currere libero.
Ex profundo flamma surgit millennial amisso puella puer ,
Quæ est angeli redivivam sinit luce clarius ostendit .
Et omnis qui non occaecat oculos ad intima ;
Infideles , in momento temporis ponere in obprobrium .
*** stellae ab Diua sacrorum opera voluntatis
Dum coccineum limen transeat , lucem adfert .
Momento enim omnes in caelo et in terris sunt ,
Sicut dies longus tandem inclinatus ante noctem veniat .
In tenebris , claritas multo maiorem et perfectiorem descendit ,
Eorum, qui dum in nomine meo orbata est devium.
Sicut incensum in conspectu angelorum ira animos eorum , occlusum ...
Ferrum IRRETUS texturae talis effugere nequeunt carcerem
Nam quicquid occaecat vidit lucem et scindit
Nisi quia in templis revellens mortalibus irae.
Et , postquam ipsæ fuerint fornicatæ infidelium , ut uoles, petulans ,
Et factum est in excogitando dogma , quod de ratione immemor ?
Horrendum non fides sit , tamen ita fecisse ,
Ante finem exspectent praemia petunt .
*** enim , ut est in paradisum suscipit dereliquerunt ...
Imago autem libertatis quam servitutis et negotio.
Nimia tempus extractam converterat a gladio:
****, ut spectet ad salutem in lucem , caeca lumina sua .

Antiphon alpha :
Quia hoc est ut , barbaris quoque innocentiae gentilitium mendacium vendere ...
Numquid et vos vultis emere , aut aliquam nunc forsitan putas,
Ad sciendum neque rationi consentaneum neque aetate sapientes ...
Quod si non moverent malles *** saltare!
Pleni sunt somnia noctes ; Dies mei tantum ...
Ego ad bis et quem maxime diligebam , in purpura quoque , et aprico occasus .
Ego autem haec imago non ad tangere memoriam tot ,
Qui replet in sanguinem furoris me , et frigidam desiderio finis .
Et considerandum est quod *** in ultima desperatione rerum , in cuius manu mea, equo et pilos in ore gladii ,
Nam ni ita esset, nunquam tamen inde trans familia .
Sed abusus est , ut fuit, et quidem instar caedentes sepem
An ut reliquos omnes transcendunt omnia , amice!
Ego superfui , transfiguravi ascendi in fine est ,
Multo magis quam erat, non plus quam diruere animus .
Sed tamen , quia speravi in solitudinem , ut a somno exsuscitem ancillam meam in flamma ...
Ardet , o superi, ut arbitror , usque uror dissiliunt!
De caelo et magis obscurant vestris, et tridentes, et contritio ,
Audio furorem tympana caelo antiqui gigantes hiemes.
Dii irascantur et ecce valide erutas ,
Uvasque calcantes Angeli hominis Illi autem vinariis ageretur ...
Recordatus sum in omnibus navigantibus battleship galaxies ,
In die ortus nubes inter exaestuans, quod ' vaporem ...
Depopulari Sodomam et Gomorrham, ad contumelias !
Ibi eram: et *** impiis non perire denique gemitu.
Ut illuderet mihi : et populus , quia ego bonus sum male velle ,
A Deo est, quam diu tot mala ferre cogetur .
Ego autem non sum solus , quia multa in eo et detorqueri
Deus remittit, nam adhuc sed non est intellectus ;

Section II : Hostiam de Spider

Part I : ( Rident Primus )

Caelum non egerunt pœnitentiam super ulcus nigrum est furore , et in indignatione, et in iustitia :
Et factus sum caro , quamvis intellectus non mortale .
In antro loca , quæ transivi , et dæmonia multa discurrunt ,
Et locis minus adhuc amor in search of a provocare .
In quo autem in craticiis tectoria atria mea, et thronus fuit stabilis ...
Et super collem , ubi dolorum laborum animae perit labor in mundanis ,
Transcendi vincula et consilio fidelium expectabo laudatur.
Ignis et sulphur et, semper est dextera arderent super altare ?
Ridentem cogo faciem meam : non enim veni , ut velle,
Ut in hora *** iam iuvenem, *** proposito aureum ...
Quæ pro impenso super solidum, pretium quis ,
Qui autem non cognovit , quomodo cupiam sibi solvere ...
Furor solitudinis nascitur ira nascitur ex malitia,
Qui autem contemnunt me , quia sine causa Provocantes me .
Quid est **** , impunitatem , ne quis putaret se excusat ;
Quam sapere , *** culturis tuum: mergi , in balneis , in ardentem .
Loquor de inferno, qui est infidelis nescis ?
Neque enim suis oculis effossis clavorum ...
Loquor cruciatus qui daemonia fecerunt superat .
Primus erit mihi dolor meus *** omnis fera voluntas ut ratio ...
Ut qui me conspui caro quod ambulans ,
Nescis modo larva facies mea , abscondens se.
Attendit ad illa nihil nisi insipientis solis erratur in sonis cantus
Tantum numerus ratus e fratre soror .
Sed in caelestibus quae sine causa nata est incestus est alchemical ?
Habitat in me peccatum occultum compages sǽculo.
Sit mihi vim inter gentes auditus est ABSURDUS musica ...
Spiritus meus qui regit omne simile est genitus.

Part II ( vindicta aurum )

In hortos, in quibus cupiditas sanguis rosaria semina ,
I , in manu eorum , qui esurit Quorum sitit aquam surgit !
In quaerere dilectionis affectum bestiis pavi eget
Quid faciam ut pudeat , habet me non elit .
O **** , quo impune ausu palamque vociferari ,
Quod amor sit ex me credis , et me opus manuum tuarum ,
Ut timidus , et cucurrit ad me latere turba depravari ,
In simulata excellentiam tuam , et ipse te vile animal .
Coniunctio oris linguae quasi telam laqueari
Si fieri potest araneae ; et fugiet a turpis ut octo pedes nidum ...
Et *** jam non calidus humanitatis indignum ,
Cogitans te meliorem quam reliqui descendes !
Ut vitae pretium millies , tibimetipsi .
Creaturam factus sum nocte expectant te aranea heu !
Nolite putare quia ego audirem . utrumque stridens cruris ...
Odium ductor tuus , et equi ejus , et ascensorem ejus .
Et in vestra web Video vos, Quirites immune ungues acuti ,
Ad toxicus venenum , quod oculis non potes, nisi te , octo ...
Ex quo bases Caesios sine timore, et sic primum
Ut dolores tuos comedat vos accendentes ignem caelum ;
Detur paenitentiae venia , quae dicis omnia cogit , ne superare dolores ,
Qui tibi semper, quæ videtur , non est potentia ad non noceat .
Et ascendit ulterius sapere plus pavoris tui ...
Numquam puerile ludibrium ulla facta .
Omnis domus tua dissolutae horologiorum ad socium non est ?
In desertis chaos est gaudium, ut si quod habuerunt.
Surgit in novum ordinem , nemo potest negare chaos genitus locus ,
Dum descendes perdunt, muneribus laesae.

PARS III ( Ultimo Rident)

Et sic videtur quod Angelus se et ante deam
Angelus autem nominis vocare aliquis tenuerit formarum.
Et qui in illis est , maiora sunt, ego saepe ad extraneas ,
Fingunt enim se perfectum , ignorant eorum saevitum ,
Num amor crustacea tam veteri quam in praedam , et mendicum ,
Quod minus quam tuum est , quam sumpsi eaque cibum ...
Est autem tarn coquina sicut clibanus tua vadit et ora
Ipse, ipse est extra te praemium virtutis tuae chores ,
Sicut enim res suo cuidam negotium , qui meretricem ... Lorem ipsum leve,
Putas praemium amaret , et mendicum , falli te .
Quid autem vocatis me alienum **** ... amor est malum , et hoc pudet,
Et similiter anima atque animus , quibus tandem corpus infirmare.
Vides tantum larva ... sub aspectu nisurum
Larva ut me in tenebris tenebris latet .
Circa collum tuum habebis , ut falsae aestimationis pendet a mortuis, et corona ,
Quia sterilis tibi relinquo mundum , Intenta ancillæ.
Consurgitur in excitate de reliquis abire tibi , qui sunt cognati mei
De manibus eorum procul offendant pedes vestri ?
Qui manet in coemeterio quasi mortui
Non tollere incorruptione Nimis tibi dubium .
Hue tacito lachrymis virgines flere ...
Ad mea, et robur , in quo praeda, gregibus rursum super vias hominum ,
Ad eos qui non ineptis metus mutetur ,
Aureus transmutare non magis quam plumbea nocte dies ;
Quod verum est de fine , qui scit ... Alchemist
Magistra rerum artes a me in profundum.
Ágite , quod sum aggressus creatura placet mutare ...
Ut res sunt nostrae demiurgorum lasciva oscula enim calidius ?

Omega Antiphon :
Non est autem in Utopia , non videtur quod ...
Donec ut nosmet ipsos cognoscimus prima quaerimus imaginem .
*** et in sacrificio sui ipsius , a volunt reddi obsequium ...
Qui ad reformandam et divina se , *** Leo renata agnus mitis !
Sicut in Christo, ex parte in qua invocatum est cicatrix, et vulneratus est ...
Sed simplex conversio ad dissimilis vultus nolui .
Memini dolore meo, ut acer et vehemens ...
Donee tantum possum emissus dolor servare sensu caret.
Quomodo potest aedificare paradisum non est, nisi in se mutant ;
Mutare ante mutatum esse non est in medio ; quae est in via .
Qua ad paradisum , et oportet eam, et non deficiunt,
Ne ad caelum, nisi quam nos aedificare illud infernum iniustitiis nos .
Utopia , non ruunt ad genus humanum, nisi a te, tu es qui habitavit ?
Nisi quod est extra omne malum quod in se corrumpunt ,
Manifestum enim est , nisi malum, quod mundatam ab omnibus malis moribus.
Tunc malitia faciatis abstulit senex super pluteo tom .
An non intellegat , quid est salvator ...
*** diceret quod non omne quod simplices filii ingredi
Regnum caelorum , et inde ad delectationem pertinere ...
Et quomodo potes perfrui , si tibi placet , cauillando crudelis ?
*** aurora tempore domini nituntur hominum planeta ...
Numquam imaginandi praecipiet ut discat primum voluntatis.
Non armorum vi , nec inutile mandatum ...
Sed *** modestia , et misericordia ; ergo qui ad cor suum in satietatem,
Gáudii innumerabiles et celebrationibus quae causa ?
Sed animus intendatur dolores peccatum lacus.
Ubi plausus rotundum vt quilibet sensus ?
Modernitatem iocabitur ullum definitum ornare.

Section III : sacrificium sui

Part I : ( hortos perditio )

A ziggurat sublatus est , arenosa in calidum lateres , quos coquetis in igne ...
Septem fabulae in caelum, sicut turris Babel ,
Quod in solitudinem, et in

no number of opinions will alleviate this apathy, promised, paradoxically: a pandora's box of pathology, which is why attempting dialectics is a farce, a cheap magic trick for a talk-show host in being "understanding", to attempt in mediating, and then scoffing it off, like some under baked crumpet / scone, and yes, it makes sense, pivoting on the possession of a conscience... it's not that some people appear to now possess it, but that they are comical in possessing, and comedy is always nuanced, an ambiguity surrounds their conscience... the binary opposite of comedy? the birth of the tragedy, a succumbing to madness, a suicide... every person possesses a conscience, as the universal law of unit, but comedy hides a person with a grieving conscience, making the person so callus as to make them donkeys, laughing stocks, spaghetti entangled liars... it's only a conscience triggered into a tragedy that reeks with redemptive qualities ascribed to a person, cf. the already mentioned carl sergeant and 'arvey 'ard on weinstein... in the spirit of the film split: rejoice! for those who have suffered are redeemed! rejoice! said the beast. the comedy is near impossible to avoid in post-script idiocy beaming the letters FAIL; the tragedy of conscience, at least we know some evil doers in death are redeemed with the only puritanical act to redeem conscience: the bride of honour.*

can an intelligent person make a slapstick
joke?
  or is it that,
   a dumb person cannot make an original
joke?

besides the point,
  a question is a question -
  and as most questions go -
it's not whether there's a correct
or wrong answer,
rather, whether there actually is
an answer to accomplish
that stated question.

i've noticed a resurgence of dialectical
inquiry, but i have decided to
avoid perfecting the art,
   other than in person,
on a park bench, rather than on
a page in pixel white...

  oh sure, i have a life beyond this
outlet,
and i rarely write a platonic dialogue
to reinforce my experiences,
i once enforced a question
upon a child in a supermarket:
do you think animals are unable
to see 3-dimensional objects
     in / on a 2-dimensional canvas?
he didn't answer, because his guardian
thought i was weird in my
presumption...
which was, however you imagine it:
casual, cordial, orientated
within the adequate use of time and space
for the question to be asked.

personally i find myself if a binary
realm of,
   which isn't exactly a left right divide -
as a "schizophrenic" i am marching
down the middle, and asking myself:
   there's only the middle to mind,
and the mind is the only thing worth
juggling, sure, but juggling
a thesis hemisphere and an antithesis
hemisphere becomes lost in
the schizophrenic-quadratic -
      right down the middle.

which is why i find modern attempts
at dialectics so odd...
i prescribed myself dialectical escapism,
simply because there are too
many opinions i'm simply not interested in.

people seem to have stored these opinions
for so long, they are choking at not
having talked about them...
  it's apparent in comedy...
among comics...
                    they simply say:
if we can't bypass the comedy and sit down
with a cold beer, we can't actually
take the opinion seriously,
  if we can't, at first, make a joke of it...
that's hard...
              that's near impossible to stage...
you can realise the complexity of
enabling a seriousness with a comic precursor
antics to "soften" the blow of
approach...
that is why i await the awaited for
dialectical artist, who must be much
older than i, frankly the age of socrates,
i can only fathom dialectical escapism,
    in that i can fathom an opinion,
but i can't fathom being endearing to it,
keeping it, nurturing it,
       maturing it,
                     making the animate
water into inanimate ice...
                       which leaves steam
   a categorical conundrum of categorisation...

in terms of the human mind,
i can only find comparison with Alcatraz...
i am forever attempting escape,
i know i will be aided by the snitch,
judas, death...
     but i have to be lodged into
a vocab that may aid me,
  or hinder me.

                   the human experience is
an Alcatraz because of the a priori principle -
what came before me: set the rules,
the winding corridors where
i'm not the Minotaur,
but the scared victim,
   or just the dumb-enough brick of
the labyrinth's wall.
or? the a posteriori principle -
           i impose my own graffiti on
the walls, and be the Minotaur of the long
wait of life, with death:
my morphine angel.
                              
         but i see no desire to engage in
dialectical endeavours,
            hence my choice in attempting
a purification of poetry,
against technique of schooling,
  in making poetry less and less
musically orientated, and returned to
its primordial genesis: of narrative.

  hence my dialectical escapism,
i really have not stable opinion,
or opinion i'd like to adhere to, to subsequently
hug a pillar of a Parthenon.
                
- believe me when i say that the english
language has no inclination of
orthography, since it uses no diacritical
distinctions...
  and yes... russian diacritics is ugly as
your waning babushka of "secrets"...
  - the beauty of existentialism?
            avoidance of the thesaurus,
mismatching words, ambiguity -
the phraseology of: for lack of a better word...
     fiddly parts, you know,
            **** it, you can't exactly
interrupt a waterfall, so why bother
   attempting to boil some water in a saucepan?

  the world once believed in the enterprise
of dialectics, but since the emergence
of a third party mediator,
       what sort of "dialogue's" worth of
the dialectical endeavour is there left?
once upon a time, in ancient,
the mediator of a dialogue was a park
bench, after that a stage for actors...
who asked these third party ponces,
  more to the point: who invited these
plebs into our private debate so they can
mere awe and sigh their saturday nights off?!
who the **** let these plebs in?!

       i'm a pleb, i can call them plebs,
do i ******* look like i work at 10 downing st.?!
plebs only understand pleb talk,
  rude, incoherent, mildly orientated
in journalism, and ever wishing for some
marquis de sade hard-ons.

i encourage dialectical escapism, frankly,
because,
          i 've found that i have a bare
minimum, laurel leaf worth of covering my
genitals aspiration to keep opinions...
    opinions have become spare change,
you loose them almost all the time,
they're the pennies from heaven,
some other lucky ****** might find them,
and then the resourcefulness of that poor
****** is imminent: spend it,
what's there to debate?

                    the only truth of opinion is
that one man keeps them,
and by keeping them, idealises them,
thus becoming an idealist,
  or that another man discards them
as easily as a ***** peacock,
and by doing the ***** peacock strut,
discarding them,
          becomes a chameleon,
a "non-conformist" (**** me that's
stretching the idealist antonym);
  
   if there's a truth: it's a bunch of lies -
and if there's a lie: it's the only truth -
because the rule of pluralism (borrowed from
heidegger states):

          one truth = many lies
           one lie = only one truth

(there is no pluralism of a truth,
       but there is a pluralism of a lie -
the genesis of a lie is?
             a continuum beginning
with the original temptation -
truth is "plural" but it is not
a continuum of precipitation,
but even if it is dismembered
it is a whole, already apparent,
           or rather: to be made apparent,
it does not require a preceding step
to provide a pro-ceding step...
   lies are obstructive,
truth never obstructs; truth rapes,
while lies groom)...

   unum verum = falsum multis
   falsum unum = solum verum unum selem.

As a perennial here
I’ve grown and died
with reasonably quiet roots
learnt colloquial voices
that let me pass in these beds

But frothing coasts,
shattered hand held heights,
cool plains of forever
and cobbled nooks
magnetise more with life

So bring me the horizon,
you wild world
and release me of my soil
commitments
so I can continue

I am cold
And you're far away
My hands are covered in stars

I am crying
And you're probably asleep
My hands are covered in snow

I am candlewax
And you are matches
My hands are covered in sins

As if I’m going to wash my sins,
by finding a substance so viscous - to annihilate the acid
that seeps through me.

Perhaps it’s you refilling my first glass,
which is dried up by 11,
and replenished by 5 past.

Must I keep forcing it down my refusing gut,
so I can bare the stutter drooling,
crumbling, out your teeth.

Till I’ve sipped needlessly on your lies
and fell drunken on your delusional fables.

Now I’m slurring in my nights,
awoke, still high on your acid.
Eyes are bulging, bloodshot
from you firing bullets of your decaying  burden.

-

As I walk I stumble,
diverging around solum streets.
Crows peck at my skin, to prompt me at sunrise.

Now and again I revisit
the morsels I had collected from the bottom of your chalice.
Savouring as I gulp down my regret.
Desperately urging to be hungover your reveries
one last time.

Legs entwined break free,
As Sol beckoned over Korik Hill.
Their stomachs still warm,
With last night's ****.

Dusty flecks played like,
A million shards of garnet.
Watching over her head,
In beams of light, russet.

Unwilling to break
Meek, fleeting dreams,
He closed all space, between
Them were no seams.

Ruefully she moved,
Even in slumber.
One cannot erase,
The skin of a lover.

'Agaroth'
Whispered moan, from bit lips.
'Namna', his head on
Her ***** is where happiness is.

'We should go'
Said she, as Solara rose.
The sky warm with both,
Under two suns, they awoke.

--

A scraggy shore,
Rocks, lichen and moss.
Lake of silence,
No sound would cross

Twas her kingdom,
Her Majesty a thousandfold.
Within walls of green,
Ochre, yellow and gold.

She stood waist deep,
Soft back to him, a statue.
As she overlooked the fishes
Passing by in a hundred hues.

Bathing in rainbows,
Her form bare, open.
A liquid pearl glowing,
In an endless ocean.

Soon she emerged,
Onto the heavy bank.
His arms covering her modesty,
His honour in her hands.

--

Solum now emerged,
The wind cool on bent figures.
Harvest of their fruit,
This year was bigger.

Mud stained bodies,
In sound of labor.
As both pulled fruit and flower,
Of ethereal flavors.

He plucked one,
A plump pompous citric.
Tasted the fruit slowly,
It's effect electric.

An offer made to her,
Politely subdued.
Held his hands,
Expression bemused.

'Come here' beckoned Namna,
Agaroth obeyed.
The fruit she tasted,
Was from his mouth that day.

Violet stained her neck,
Godly juice.
He tasted just enough,
Skin and fruit suffused.

--

Solara began her descent,
The sky, blood on topaz.
Cool though it happened to be,
The wind was sad.

Under the shadow of
The siblings, Solum and Sol,
Sat a fire now hungry,
Devouring mushrooms and stalk.

Warm, Namna spoke of home,
To him, a child before her.
Eyes wide, he waited,
For her words, to devour.

'It was beautiful', she told him,
Of the lands and seas and crests.
Of Men, Machine and
Many Deaths.

--

Her voice was nectar,
Soon he drifted in a haze.
Sweet, soft and dear,
Lying still in her gaze.

He dreamed of that night,
Invaded by the SkyFolk.
The night of her arrival,
Amidst a sea of iron and smoke.

Thirty and two times
The Sun siblings had since,
Risen and fallen with them,
As they shared their sins.

He had discovered,
She spoke, a delight.
But not his tongue,
To his surprise.

She was built as him,
But he could see.
The difference twixt;
The Man and Goddess clearly.

Sole inhabitant of a far
Cosmic reduce unwanted.
A wish he never thought of,
Here, before him, granted.

He came to, and,
Looked at her firelit face.
Spoke of love in his tongue,
As he watched her drift into space.

--

Lunox presently hung,
Suspended, a pyramid.
And before it reached its peak,
The world was silverlit.

A glorious change,
To the world, this light.
Somber companionship,
Would last through the night.

Gentle nudges brought,
Namna to him.
He signaled at the moon,
Which was now moving.

Faceted at impossible
Edges, Lunox spat color.
Iridescent, layered,
Their world in a fervor.

Her eyes studied him
A gem in nocturnal light.
Ruby, emerald, sapphire,
Blazing dark and bright.

Star painted, they
Walked home together.
Her hand in his own,
Light as a feather.

--

Deep, internal hum,
Escaped from her, loud
As he kissed her lips,
The ones not on her mouth.

His hair clutched,
Tangled in her fingers.
Pulling him inwards,
Many feelings triggered.

Rose over the valley,
Of shy legs.
His head beside hers,
Their waists connect.

All of Agaroth
Pulsing, yearning.
Inside Namna,
Inside her fire, burning.

Warmer than the Suns,
Cooler than the lake.
Sweet, ignorant and in peace
Love they did make.

Furs sprawled,
The sheets in a mess.
The other's skin was their
Only dress.

--

On a small bed,
In a small room.
They talked of life,
Of despair and doom.

Each simply speaking,
Not mindful of comprehension.
When touch is louder than voice,
No bar rests on communication.

Much comfort there was,
In time they discovered.
In sharing a life,
Over the galaxy, scattered.

Escapee from,
a dying Earth.
Inhabitant of,
A deceased world.

A longing for what is,
Now gone past.
Traces of two souls,
Here in Xalta shall last.

Of all cosmic variables,
The most improbable.
Yet brought together,
In an interstellar fable.

--

say you need me like lepers need miracles
like houses need foundations
say you could not live without me here,
brushing your hair out of your eyes, telling you
a song I love or a stupid joke I make up
because I know I need you, for life
I will be your miracle worker and solid ground
just tell me that you want me to

-c.j.

Trees are often more solum than humans,
Their roots deep within the earth,
Yet they leave with the sudden breeze,
Nothing can make them stay,
They bend, but not break,
Are not swayed by the human race,
Trees are my elders,
Mother,
Father,
Brother,
They see the world through different eyes,
Look,
I use to dance for them,
Bare feet on solid ground,
The wind the only instrument,
Me and the Tree's only sound,
We'd have great times,
Until you chopped them down,
Mother,
Father,
Brother,
No where to be found,
You gave me this wasteland full of useless things,
When I walk across the concrete,
I feel their hallow screams,
Buried beneath the pavement a couple feet down,
Your wonderland of useless things,
In this pointless town,
The wind still calls for its lovers,
No longer intertwined at night,
He bounces off buildings ,
Frightening little kids,
There's no such thing as love,
Just axes and fire

He finds himself in the back of his mind again looking at what could've been. The sins of his past and the demons of isolation scratching their mark on his back. He knows he will never truly leave his past, but instead of fighting back or ignoring the whispers in his ear, he accepts them. For He of all people knows that a sword of negative word loses it's edge when the target allows the blade to hit its mark. He curses not his past, but the Fates who have forged the path ahead of him. "**** YOU" he wants to shout at the ones who control the river of time but he knows that it is pointless and continues down his path of sorrow alone with nothing but his thoughts and the light of the moon to keep him company.

Broken branches,
Fallen leaves,
Silhouette of one to greaves,
Muted laughter,
Solum sighs,
Eventual loosening of ties
Darkened clothing,
Untold lies
All enwrapped in premature goodbyes

How are you doing? I am well.
The water this time of year is quite good, yet it is very far down.
You may need a longer rope.
To answer your question, no, a child has not fallen into me.
Please write back soon, Solum Unda.

There is this sadness
Pooling in my heart
In its dark reflection
All I see is your face
Unruly curls
Solum smile
And the saddest of eyes
Where the warm sea
Meets the harsh reality of land
Resting inside of those windows
Haunting me again
While I need you to need me
Lothe me
Love me
Hold me
Hate me
For while I am with him
While I lie
And love him
The hole that rests within my chest
He has never filled
The hand full of flesh and bone
That I hoped you still hold to you

we do not live in historical times -
there's a logic of time,
for sure, but this logic of time
does not essentially levitate to
a stand-still of fact making history -
i personally do not believe that i live
in historical times,
i live in times of regurgitation -
maybe that's due to the fact
that i am a contemporary of these
times, but it must also encompass
the events in the given space-time
area of interest that i allocate with
my mortality...
            it is almost strange to live
through a history, without having
an impetus to engage with it,
and this non-engagement is not
cowardice, rather:
    lack of interest or lack of
engagement-intuitiveness...
           the stage is ready,
but the actor is missing,
  simply because the missing actor,
cannot recognise the said stage,
as being a stage!
  the stage is merely a prop!
           what's most bewildering
is the shock-value of western nations
finding central europeans
  having a collective identity,
why, may i ask, is the nationalism
of poland so abhorrent
to western nations, requiring
journalists to use up the neo-****
gravitas?
              of all nations,
of all peoples, the only nationalism
that makes senses is that of israelis
and poles...
   how about your nation takes
an interlude in the chasm of non-existence?
how about your ethno-state takes
a holiday?
         100+ years, ~2000 years,
what does it matter, right?
       this nationalism is not ultra-/far-right
when you think about:
the right of identifying the nation
and the loss of an individual...
                 once upon a time
communism reflected the collectivism
of every man owning a hammer...
translate that communism into
nationalistic collectivism and the hammer
is replaced with homogeneity of genes...
that's neo-****? argument coming
from post-imperial un-imperial states
unable to make the national cut...
                this sort of journalism
stems from an insecurity...
   this argument comes from an
insecurity of: well, pretty hard to be
a nation in a post-imperial / post-colonial
era...
        no wonder...
the poles didn't have a nation for over 100 years...
you won't have a nation in the next 100.
it's not a question of whether i support them,
it's just the body count...
              in exile you get all
defensive about your common ****
of compatriots,
once we called them comrades,
now they're compatriots.
         why is the sudden "surprise"?
   a nation that roam the earth
like an ******* cup of *****
  doesn't  require individual thinking,
individual think is a precursor of
a schizoid condition...
   the tearing and shredding of
   a chaotic vector, it's the sort
of geography you hear on the moon,
the copernican question on the moon
begins with: where's east? where's west?
where's north? where's south?
               quasi-verbatim heidegger:
modernity lacks all sense of a question -
or a desire for a questioning narrative -
modernity is focused upon either
fact (masculine) or opinion (feminine) -
women have overly established
themselves as opinion curators -
men hold the "sway" on facts...
                   we live in a "modernity"
that has no quest for a question,
    we live in times of:
     only answers, and answers alone;
hardly erratic, more:
                              perverted by
          supposedly never being wrong.
but what is being tempted by
un-historiological times?
   perhaps, actual history?
            once upon a time history was
managed by either day, month, or year...
now it's monitored by the minute...
             time itself became time per se,
while history became space -
even though history delves in the study of
future-hindsight-past,
    history is no longer a study of time,
it's a study of space,
pockets of time, lost, dislodged from
the curriculum of chronology.
  a written history levitates upon
   a time-frame of expecting delayed-repercussions,
modern history, current history
has repercussions, although without
a delay...
                hence the shortening
of a time-"frame" -
  something truly horrific happened when
we became globally networked,
   sharing a single space, with interworkings
of dislodged pockets of time
congregating into a single space...
      the english with their 1066...
the poles & lithuanians with their 1569...
the americans with their 1787... etc.
then again, i stick to my guns...
there's either a man that gives advice,
or a man that gives facts...
    well... maxims...
most notably my
             maxim above maxims,,
   my categorical imperative is not my own,
it belongs to alexander dumas'
  character athos from the three musketeers,
solum optimum consulium, est dare consulium non;
i admit, my latin is not
on par with the pope...
        should be, given that i went to
an irish catholic school in seven kings...
translated the only good advice? is to not give
advice.
        apologies for the scruffy latin...
oh, right, in a quasi post scriptum:
        there's no greater currency than
giving your attention...
          the pop videos get pennies...
sure, a lot of onlookers...
but how many are, absorbed?
                   there is no greater currency
than attention...
                 a filled attention span is
a full transaction...
                     goldfish drop pennies worth of scales
into a bowl of goldschläger.

"Tu solus puer, non solum tenebris est, et mori pro populo. Fortis puer es, sed ego sum ultra vires; Ego in finem, et venerunt tibi"

"You are alone child, there is only darkness for you, and death for your people.
You are strong child, but I am beyond strength; I am the end, and I have come for you."

what if the day growls long in the hot summer sun. what if that beauty leaves and never comes back. what if life turns dark and we grow cold from the solum sun that reflects warming us deep down. what if tomarrow dosnt come and we start dying off.

Solum faces,
Sold out concerts,
A pack of 6 cases,
I look at her and she flirts,
I tie up my laces,
He looks around and picks up the dirts,
I try to look for traces,
I put on some shirts,
I think of all the places,
That they could be

Stone cold rocks inside my chest
Boulders that can't be moved
They grow heavy on solum days
Mornings of greys and blues

My heart begins to harden
Slowly it turns to stone
My lungs start icing
I freeze down to the bone

Weighted down by stone cold rocks
Rocks made of worry
Rocks made of pain
Rocks made so heavy
Rocks kept in vain

Sculpted to a statue
by thoughts in my head
Cold are the days
my chest weighs like led

My heart is like a singing bird.
It beats like a drum.
The smile on my face.
My eyes are open just like I was staring at someone.
The sun brights in my face.

The thunder struck.
My head was like a thunder.
I didn’t know what to do.
The drips of water drip down my face.
The drips of water was like a water fall.
My bright chicks turn into dark and Solum.