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Meagan Moore Jan 2014
In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds

Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual

My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary

Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments

I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path

The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux

As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate

Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift

Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary

Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode

And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles
Vernarth and his companions delighted in the company of the biosphere since he was in the Eclectic Spiritual Portal, and in this dimension only he could be. Later, they communicated only through his donkeys, when they wanted to send them messages or share with him, they mounted one of these equids and they could pass into this atmosphere of ultraviolet light that separated them. More than an egregious Pythagorean calculation, he already stood out in his eon of matter-spiritual energy Vernacentricus, as a quantum station of the geodesy of the Megaron that has already begun to be built. At this precious moment the secular and demiurge satellites of him arrive, they came with the foundation of the points to refer to definitively raise the Ultramundis Vernacentricus. From the Vóreios or boreal the apocalypse of San Juan will be intertestamental with the canons of Zefian that transmigrated from the powers from the transversal valleys of the Horcondising, essentially following the sensory track of the Nothofagus Obliqua to attract the iterated populations of the forest.
The patriarchs and the orthodox mountain range appeared in the cords of the fungi called Ambrosiella ceratocystidaceae, to provide the Ambrosia Mercurial, as a nutritional addition to the main pilasters of the temple, with great influence of fungal fungi. Everything was beginning to demarcate from the eruv of the Zefian arrow that was named Tetarto Vélos, or fourth arrow that was already beginning with its culminating operation with the borer beetles, demarcating the urev of the Vóreios throughout the region and on the oaks of Patmos, that began to be located from the Meli Witran Mapu Mapuche winds, beginning with Pikún-kürüf Northwind with the first two arrows of the Taxotas, and Sur Waiwén, of the Pezhetairoi, of the quantum of transmigration of the Horcondising-Panhellenic sub-mythology. Then the Puelche drags the borer beetles with more force to lift the uprising fungi of the Mandragoron by the eastern vertical, to culminate with the Lafkén-kürüf all attached to the axis that supports them from this great bilocation. The boreal is demarcated, so that the Necromancer Ezpatkul with his Augrum and gold teeth, twisted the tendency of the beetles to move the main columns of the frontispiece, being colossal in reality with twice the diameter of the central ones. Then the conclusive and posterior ones of the rectangular quadrant of the Beit Hamikdash were bilocated, to bilocate the Bern Olive Trees from Gethsemane so that they finally joined the Meltemi, and towards the aeolian winds of Tramontane Eolionimia falling on the Tekhelet of Paul of Tarsus, dropping relevant heights of some cranes with gravitating silt on their extremities, and with garbeas that were secondarily colonized on the banks of the desert areas of the rocky Hamada. As was previously proverbial, three birds climbed reflecting the crown of the kings in Bethlehem, Arriving at the sacred native city, and beginning the choirs of Nativity and passion for the hiss in tenuity on the twelve Giant Camels, where they paid special attention to rebuild another temple with a sigh greater than a Sheba Dean. The canon of Policleto was renewed with Zefian who agreed with San Juan, for this kanon that will be the relevant line of topographic surveying. Thus the basal measurements of the golden number will begin with the acroteria concerted summer seats of prosperity next to the Metopes. Ezpatkul would bring with his magic the red blood cells of Betelgeuse along Leiak with all the Templar three-dimensional morphology, naming this singular parapsychology of Pope Urban II who proclaimed the First Crusade at the Council of Clermont, in France, on November 27, 1095, to delineate the paradigm in the anatomy of Gaugamela bled into Vernarth's breastplate, as the archaic and first crusade that would inspire Christian supremacy, which was already anticipated before the Christian era to come. It will be visible gestures of the trajectory of the arrows of the Zefian Torah that were deposited with their hallelujahs from the ***** of Crete. The sulfur yellow and red blood cells marked the radiosity of the Eclectic Portal that opened to give Vernarth material egress, so he would take his tools and go with his donkey's escorts for the chromatic that will be sulfur yellow and red blood cells, both dependent on the complementation with the Cinnabar, and in the raised bodies of Court V of the Helleniká Necropolis in Kímolos.

Under vileness or absence of light among darkness or apocryphal light of Evil, in contrast to the robust equanimity of light and shadow partisan of Saint John the Apostle, for the hegemonic good of his incorruptible vision. The naturalness made the world apologetic with the immune defenses of the polish textures, they invoiced proportional mathematical measures ibidem of the Hommo Novis, and of the Geometric Pythagoreanism for a body seven and a half times of Polykleitos, starting from the base to the feet as the base of the plinth or frieze until reaching near the capital that exemplifies the chin, before reaching the cornice, highlighting the figure of the capital with the front of the proportional ligament between the trunk, and the columns duly. Here the seven-headed Kanon of a David would recite the measures of the psalms, or beads in degrees with hoped-for dimensions. The kinetics was earth towed by towing carts in tetra bronze arrows, which balanced the unbalanced balance and harmony of the created whole. The symmetry of the transverse poles was muscled to make kinetic centripetal in the inertia of the bolt when hitting the faint glow of the canon rays. Making himself the sustenance in the stone and the mound, towards the Vernarth counterpose when the Himathion was tried, he appeared disguised and in composing. After this initial task, they approached the fire and scalding water to **** herbs, which pretended to be the formula of the backhoe extracted from the palimpsest of the generals of Alexander the Great, when they distributed their illegitimate Ark with royal titles; they were Perdiccas, Antipater, Crátero, Eumenes de Cardia, and others like the satraps who came to be enunciated as kings; Antigonus, Ptolemy, and Seleucus. Residing only the most substantial military colleague of them in this parapsychological saga Vernarth; and his brother Etréstles de Kalavrita who seconded and predestined him in his monolithic, and in the constituent sovereignty of Polis, for the purpose of reigning and raising his Kopis and Xifos intertwined in aldehyde manumissions and in the alcoholic carbonyl residues emanated from the Backhoe ferment and Nepenthe, depositing LSD in substantial amounts to align itself with Seleucus, and materially present itself in the sphere of Patmos as two representatives of both empires, one ancient Christian and the other Panhellenic, placing Seleucus in that totalitarianism over that of Alexander the Great, now extinct. On the last day after working and being satisfied with the construction work of the frontispiece, and its major columns, Vernarth joins them after temporarily leaving the eclectic portal, they sit by the fire to review the plans of the subsequent construction process del Megaron, along with his seven donkeys, mentioning Borker's necromancy. Since the omens of Wontehlimar, the linemen before Borker became reigning, for the static balustrade that will surround the Megaron, where all the Ibics rings were enlisted chorally by the patronage of the Hellenic Orthodox legacy of Alexander the Great after he was rescued by Wonthelimar from Babylon, and finally take you to your physical and spiritual shelter. The eruv of the Nótos was demarcated, surpassing the limits of the rings of stefánes Íbix, or Hoops of ibix, like nano kvantikoí daktýlioi, Nano-Quantum Ring auguring sensitize the dermis and its carpal phalanges. From the intertestamental, such as in Vóreios, passages from the Old Testament are explored here that says…: “The temple that was the only legitimate sanctuary of the Israelite people contained within it the Ark of the Covenant, a golden altar, and candlesticks of the same metal. , a table with sacred loaves and other utensils used to carry out the worship of the god Yahveh. It was located on the esplanade of Mount Moriá, in the city of Jerusalem, possibly where the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa Mosque are located. From this dome the larnax of the Great Macedonian, a prioris, the schismatics of ancient Christianity, and orthodox Judaic will be derived, separating from each other, after the fall of the second temple. Of this class and previously this was detonated due to the undivided troops of the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II, who destroyed it in 586 BC, also taking captives a large part of the inhabitants of the Kingdom of Judah, to Mesopotamia, giving rise to the exile and captivity of the Hebrews in Babylon. A reflective Borker of this premonition, he takes the Ibics Rings and selects one of them to join them with the first Zefian Arrow, as nano Kvantikoí Daktýlioi, quantum Nano-ring, to ensue in future similar events, avoiding invasions that cause looting and destruction. of the temple to be built on Patmos.

Nano-scales for Borker's nanotechnological conception, and estimates of threats of invasions and climatic changes, in one billion (109) and one billionth (10-9). In a meter there are one billion nanometers or, in other words, a nanometer is one-billionth of a meter. For those who will have to configure the dimensions of the Mandragoron "Temple of Vernarth" with carbon atoms, the support will be made in chemical units for the re-conception of nature, and its two- or three-dimensional networks. The nanotubes with 60 carbons, distributed in 20 hexagons and 12 pentagons, according to the geometric patterns of the cellular scale, in the conformation of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, being in this way concealed by the Ibics Rings, for each linear meter and cubic, traced by a nanometer which is one-billionth of a meter. Here, the borer beetles will catch the fungi ambrosiella ceratocystidaceae and will displace the virals that move geometrically from the beams of the Icosahedron.

The ranks of Falangists moved triangularly in multiple directions, to reach the Austral del Nótos de Borker, thus they would form the magic vectors of the polyhedron internally, triangulating at the top of the ram that carries an illustrious triangular phalanx, opening up the areas with its prop. vulnerable, to consolidate the buttress of the façade; the Áullos Kósmos, and pay homage to the apse that was filled with rejoicing. Sones of the philosopher Plato, made them regular or perfect in convex polyhedra, such that on all their faces were regular and equal polygons were made, and in all solid angles also equal. From this boulevard, the theology of Vernarth and Alexander the Great, fully professor and Platonic guide, will follow, making nomenclatures of nanostructures that affirm the volume and structure of the central sections of the radier, and their foundation bases shielded by the icosahedron in the nanotechnological scale, having physical material cells, for adaptation of structural changes and their environment.

The volume will be adapted microscopically, to analyze small particles with the return of the fourth arrow or Tetra Sagita of Zefian, absorbing nutrients and discarding the environmental threats based on carbon dioxide, to make a limiting membrane beauty, which moderates the nanoparticles that borer beetles were developing. The solidity of the partitions and walls will have the exact proportion of the nanomaterials, to adapt to the general area of the Mandragoron Nótos, which will ooze the surpluses due to the porosities, towards a volume highly resistant to invasions of limestone nanomaterials, and boulders that are made from the flow of the buttress of the apse that rises towards Aorion. The interior and exterior faces will be supplements of prayers of Prochoro, in didactics that will shield with the Antiphons Benedictus, and the hive of Plato's Icosahedron, becoming a consular material organism, and solid in interstices or leftovers from the feces of the Borers, until pasting and to reach the volume of the polyhedron, and its twenty faces pointing towards the physiognomy of the boulevard, tracing the general volume of the Mandragoron, and intercommunicating the quantum support and its theological harmony.

Says Borker: “if the organic cells operate with homage and with greater multicellular fields, here are the nanoparticles, in greater fields of fiatto, and in the slides that will recirculate in favor of the throat of the Mandragoron, and in the carbon nanotubes, essential elements of the biosphere and in useful layers of life that retrace the rest. There will be 20 linear meters in the area that lavishes the width and height, the projection of this scale of nanotechnology, will make the three-dimensional shape and a large voluminous serial in the Austral Nótos ”Vernarth's purging dimension, made him materialize at times and laugh out loud because he knew that everyone who was with him loved him! and from this fraction of faith, the Angel Raphael diagnoses them bread with archangelic essence; herb with great healing powers, especially in the dimension of the eclectic portal that allowed Vernarth to concern himself with material living beings.

Definitely, the second step of consolidation of the Megaron was established in the linear that the seven donkeys eagerly left, as masons and cabinetmakers who worked together with the Hexagonal Primogeniture. From this moment everything begins to have an inter-dimensional aspect, from the Invisible Eclectic Portal to the majestic geodesy and orography of this temple, which incorporated everyone for a charitable epiphany together with everyone in the Profitis Ilias, which was already crowned as the cusp Spiritual World of the Vernarthian Eclectic.
Áullos Kósmos
Frisk Jan 2014
i'm two traits converged into one messy finger painted paradox
a disposition to do good, but i have maleficent intentions set in
stone, my mind shows me how i look in the mirror but the threads
of my body are like looking through a window, then again, who isn't
wondering about the reality other people hide like a facade, cleverly
subdued and sinking me in cold water until the ice is all i've ever known
love is a difficult topographic setup, unable to be evened out
inconsistant roads and treasonous dead ends bother me because
it's potential to break my interior and exterior, but what do i
matter? sticks and stones don't bother me, it's the words that
break my bones and assist my architecture i carefully built
along with my empire built from my bare hands to tumble
haphazardly out of my reach, pulling these weights along my
feet for some type of hope that things will finally become clear

- kra
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
i was about to start writing this up when i thought:
another whiskey Quincy? **** storm,
spilled the remains of the one i barely touched
before having to pour myself a:
puritan Scot in Cheltenham.

now, i heard people say any town in Essex
is a ****-hole...
                            fair enough...
but there are darker recesses of England you
must get to know before making that
assumption...
                  sure, London, proper London,
zones 1 - 4, E17 (post code, outer reaches,
Walthamstow, used to have a dog racing
track - played there once,
like a typical Paris catwalk, those hounds)
can skive off Greater London
                    like New York can laugh off
New Jersey, it's pretty much like that...
the only thing is: Londoners don't know what
exists outside this area: the buffer zone.
this is the buffer zone...
                 you experience England outside of
this very sensitive area of integration,
take for example a 3 hour coach trip to
a little town of Cheltenham in Gloustershire
not far from Oxford (a hub of learning)
and Bristol (Massive Attack, and that
bridge by Brunel - funny, engineers are above
architects, in that engineers build things
that *work
, architects are like science-fiction
novelists rather than scientists -
do you know how many problems workers
experience, because an engineer
"forgot to mention" something essential in the plans?
at least an engineer gives you a read table,
all architects work for Ikea -
          ah, here's pieces a - z,
put it together yourself) - anyway...
              spilled my Quincy whiskey, now i'm a puritan
of scotch - unlike that damning quote from
1950s Hollywood: whiskey with a drop of water...
   ok ok... a little **** of ice floating about...
when will the nagging stop? no one says jack
about putting water into authentic absinthe...
      why? cos it goes cloudy green when you do!
(too much digression, news paragraph).

   i was leaving London on Friday,
murky the way i like it... Albert Bridge never seemed
so out of cinematographic urgency -
               but the west end with its grand buildings
appealed to me to start imagining
                    Oscar Wylde ghosts leaving these places
for promenades in top cats and tiaras for the ladies...
                     west London... the best way to see it
is in transit... preferably rather urgently...
                    and in a coach with other people not paying
attention...
                       the Thames receded into the estuary (
as it does), those housed in boats experienced a wake-up
call with a 10° ***** into the mud -
                                past the Chelsea pensioners' abode,
past many monuments to be exact...
   and then onto the open M4... past Windsor Castle
and the streak of aeroplanes about an aerial mile
apart landing at Heathrow -
                                  3 hours later, there i was,
in Cheltenham - chitty chitty bang bang,
apparently dubbed the hub of all English literary
endeavours - well, if you're going to host
a literature festival, wouldn't you claim to host
it with at least one patriotic son of the word?
did i see any statue of a famous poet or writer in
that little rugby stockpile of excess triceps?
nope.
           well, at first i thought it was cute...
                                a little Portobello, albeit
without the St. Petersburg paintwork on the houses,
houses as grey as the skies...
                                           got lost looking for
the b & b hotel i was supposed to be staying at for
the night, went into a gas station, asked,
i was apparently only adjacent lost -
                           old school, map printer and no
g.p.s. on foot -
                                  i once read a map and navigated
a car from an obscure Essex city,
to an even more obscure city in eastern Poland,
past the dreaded Penta Germania consisting of:
Düsseldorf, Duisburg, Essen, Wuppertal and
obviously Dortmund -
                                           i call it the whirlpool
of navigation...
                            anyway, so i found the abode,
what a nice little place it was, shied away from
all the traffic - a lovely garden,
a room fit for a journeying writer,
          actually, everything a writer could hope for
to lock himself away and write,
            tunic scenic - everything to ease the literary
constipation - the surroundings, the whole decor,
i even took a picture thinking: shame if no
Balzac were to not emerge from these rooms...
                           i sure didn't,
i dropped all the things, took a shower,
went into town to do the g.p.s. topographic of
the city so i wouldn't need a map in the future -
bought a bottle of whyte & mackay with a huh?!
apparently this brand isn't popular...
               went back to the room and found myself
drinking in front of the dreaded sight...
well... it was a room fit for a writer...
               but it had a double bed in it...
and a mirror at the desk...
                                    i downed one puritan glass
and looked in the mirror: i don't need your company.
looked away and found to my amazement the
truth of modern writing: the industrialisation
of writing... it emerged in the 20th century when everyone
did it by himself, with a typewriter -
        the industrialisation of writing on an individual
scale can be quiet debilitating when trying to
rekindle the quill... i didn't write anything, i doodled,
and those were bad doodles, it wasn't writing,
it was doodling... i drank a quarter of the bottle
and went out...
        went into the first bar, ordered a Guinness and
and sat down by a table with a
(later disclosed) Gloustershire University student,
a Canadian, jacking-off a script for some
B-short-movie in a public place: to catch the oozing
exfoliation of inspiration from crowded places -
if ever that worked, it might have ever worked
in a graveyard...
                             we were joined by his friend,
some peasant, we got chatting, boy, it was such a thrill
to exchange names... the Canadian's name
i did remember: Darcy...
                          he had that look about him that made
it worthwhile to remember his name,
ah, when names fit the image...
                         chubby, pig-blondish, hairy...
i'm guessing a native of Quebec...
                               but i could be wrong.
so a few hey hey, yeah yeahs later i asked if they
knew something about this gig on the festival slot
that was starting tomorrow, 5 p.m. and for free...
sure sure... got to eye the guide... so i asked:
so, maybe we could meet up at this place at this time
and go from there....
                                  Titanic looked more graceful
sinking than the reply...
                                                 i had to really check myself,
this isn't London psyche chess, this is:
we are small people from a small town,
we think a charming stranger is a serial-killer...
                    the Yorkshire ripper case scenario,
not last... first.
                              i might have been ******* a lemon
by then and pretending to be drunk squirming
a Buddha look - i pretended the polite noting down
the details: suddenly i didn't think like attending
this ****** venture that would start at 5 p.m., end
at 12 a.m. and according to my travel diary:
having to wait 2 hours to catch the 2 a.m. home.
so i went to the first instalment of the "literature"
festival... lemn sissay and salena godden -
and i have to admit, it was a corker - a true
a champagne cork popped and hit the crystal
chandelier and i laughed... and that's how i lost my
virginity to "spoken word",
                                         i wasn't listening to poets,
but i was thoroughly entertained, i swear that
at the end of her performance Salena pointed into
the dark (great tactic, how can they be nervous
if they can't see anyone? they stand on a pulpit of pure
light and see black ahead, where the nerves?)
and said: esp. to my friend over there...
                i might have involuntarily back-laughed /
snorted like a pig trying to catch enough lung volume
for a ha ha...
                          got chatting to this lovely middle-aged
couple: told them: i'm being ***** with gags.
                prior, i was watching the queue build up
into the room, with a god-awful grin on my face...
i couldn't take it off...
                         perhaps because i was looking at
the demographic and thinking: where are my peers?!
i spotted about three people in a close age proximity -
the rest were farts and soon-to-be-farts...
                             now Sissay freaked me out...
in a good way... i met the two after the show,
i brought two copies of my own printed work to give to
them... i had to ask their publicist if i was allowed
to touch the Aegean marbles... luckily i did,
but then i asked the stupid question to Sissay:
so who were you trying to imitate when your eyes
were bulging out nearly gauged out like a Pink Floyd
song video of: teacher! let these children go!
               i should have associated something African
freakish in mask, a strengthening - the sort
of look that New Zealander rugby players put on
to frighten people off when dancing the haka -
he really did talk like that...
                                       the little devil voice didn't help
either... but i only asked that "stupid" question
while mumbling something about how hard it was
getting published and how anyone aged nearing 40
forgot the free press of the internet emerging and
how he asked for a q & a after the performance...
and... hand on my heart:
                                   got asked one question...
          and answered... only one question...
                                        a complete and utter ******* meltdown...
   not: oh yeah, so who's your major influence...
                      a Samuel Beckett moment from not i.
later i standing outside and smoking, a grand English
dame of the west approached me,
chitty chatty kiss the hand later i got to say the most
famous line known to the current Englishman:
unfortunately... from Essex.
             honest. anyone asks you in Essex the question
they always ask: so where you're originally from?
                         anywhere else in England
they just ask you: whe
Meagan Moore Jan 2014
I – the girl you observe
guilty pleasure

marching through molten black
torch ignited
orbiting phantasms in the aphotic
burning within
corruption incinerated upon ingestion

tucked behind your frame
nestling ear
lip grazing canal

zest to soliloquy
vivacious saccharine tone
ruminating in the lilt of your tongue
resting in gum scoop and jawbone (mandible) reserve

adroit pivot
humbled gaze
locked
exteroception engaged

hard swallow
pearls scooped catatonic
atop lingering breast ascension

prudent olfaction volatile
cribriform annihilation
ginger – basil - brine - ruminate

etch of lace
sailplaning flesh topographic
aureate sunlight cresting soma
intoned morning – essence of miasma
Chapter XXVI
Messiah of Judah IV part
Miracle  V - Gethsemane / Aramaic Phylogeny

They come out of Bethlehem, all on the Giant Camels. Of the seven spaces in the column, the last one that was occupied was the seventh where King David was going. Of the five spaces that remained, the Cherubim were going they were playing with Raeder and Petrobus; they would shine with their adventures flying towards the heights of the majestic Sun. The cherubs tinkled with the tinges of angelic Abrahamic beings, involved in the adoration and praise of the Caravan. Cherubs are mentioned for the first time on the route back to Jerusalem, with the great participation of bumblebees, bees and wasps, all flying alongside the Cherubs, Raeder and Petrobus and Alikanto. They would all stay up to seven hundred meters before reaching the eight gates and returning to the garden of Gethsemane. They were surrounded by dance in the Aramaic phylogeny. The bumblebees were embedded in the hills laden with echoes outside of man…., Putting themselves to the east of the Garden of Eden in rows of Cherubim, with a burning sword that was stirring everywhere, to guard the path of the tree of life. Ezekiel describes “four living beings” as the same beings as the cherubim, each had four faces that were like man, lion, ox and eagle - and each had four wings. Regarding the appearance of the cherubim: "there was in them the likeness of a man" These cherubs used two of their wings to fly and the other two to cover their bodies.

Beneath their wings, the cherubs seemed to have the shape, or likeness, of a man's hand that resembled the Aramaic phylogeny, which linked the organic environmental pollinations of the Lepidoptera, which were carrying the fertilizing spheres to reach the scrawny angiosperms. The Christic language was inaugurating on the fringe of the frolicking land, which awaited the inauguration of the Linguistic Phylogeny, to attend to the edicts for the perenniality of language, which relates Gethsemane to the olive presses, the cherubs flapping their wings to reach the father - Abba. With the flashes of the Apocalypse the Cherubs danced happily, magnifying the presence of the Apostle in the Hexagonal Birthright with the holiness and power of God. This is one of their main responsibilities throughout the scrawny abbey of members mobilizing to meet one of the twelve apostles with propaedeutic assonance attached to the twelve giga camels, in addition to singing praises to Iahvé, they also served as a visible reminder of the majesty and glory of the Messiah.

The Apostle says by parasychological regression: “A fascinating walking route in Jerusalem begins at the top of the Mount of Olives and curiously leads us to the route that will be taken after the evangelical legs of the camelids that will take them to the Holy Sepulcher, continuing through the Damascus Gate ..., here the camelids were restless! Very close you could see the topography on the top of the Mount, between the route of the feet of Bethany and Jerusalem, the Garden of Gethsemane appeared to us full of Cherubim ..., Joshua's prayers in Aramaic are felt sneaking into the camels' snores as they felt the prayers before his arrest in the Orchard. "

In here, at that moment, it happens that the bumblebees arrested the apostle, taking him to a specific sector of the garden, where sacred water and humid wind continue to flow, having olive trees growing in the garden of the embossment with huge risers, to be bordered by the oil pipeline in olives to grace the Lord on the laurels in Daphnomancy, as a holistic form of divination by which they are intended to make predictions using the leaves and branches of the laurel, chewing the leaves beforehand and then igniting them towards the crackling of the sacred fire of Aramaic Gethsemane that lit the Joshua's sacred paths and feet, and the Cherubim also carried on their four wings, with four laurels on each laureate wing. Thickened with palm energy, they walked towards the main entrance of the alzamara. They arrive in the surroundings of Gethsemane, surrounded by the Daphnomancy of the laurels that the Cherubs, the bumblebees and others carried on their wings that would be in charge of inseminating the pollinating particles in the angiosperms, thus they would rescue the smallest words and their verbal serial in the words that were transferred from the Kafarsuseh stable in Betehelem, so as not to misplace the Aramaic word, being thus redistributed to Gethsemane, by the Lepidoptera and bumblebees, wasps and bees.

This inter-organic phenomenon would make re-couple the verbalized accents of Joshua in mature and unborn age, in such a way as to preserve the Aramaic dialect, to re-clone the same groupings and intentions as the environmental phylogeny of the dialect, in cultural ritual that would write it. with the insects and the Cherubs, to re-enchant all the pluralities that would be arranged in the Garden, to energize the oil pipelines for the salvific and appearing of the image of Saint John the Apostle, King David, Vernarth, Etréstles, Eurydice and the remaining that compose them beyond the seventh camelids until reaching the last one; the Fifth Cherub who will be the scribe present with Peter and the two sons of Zebedee; only one with the close in great courage San John.

His Holiness Joshua said: “Abba…, Father, all things are possible for you; take this cup away from me; but not what I want, but what you. Then Joshua came and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, Simon, are you sleeping? Have not you been able to watch one hour? Watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. Again he went and prayed, saying the same words. When he returned, he found them sleeping again, because their eyes were heavy with sleep; and they did not know what to answer him. He came the third time, and said to them: Sleep now, and rest. Enough, the hour has come; behold; the Son of Man is delivered into the hands of sinners. Get up, come on; behold, the one who gives me is approaching. ". From a few lively little, henchmen lights were seen to the greater discontent ..., they were the executioners, attached to the hostile broken leaf of the laurel that fell on his back" On fire and cracking in all their offspring "

The anticipated visions were fertilized by the Cherubim, who advanced events in the chronological life of the apostle, which was related to his life as an apostle and evangelist of the new succession after returning from exile. It was coming close and entering by a path, it was a path where the lines of oil pipelines were that crossed the subsoil of Gethsemane.
Fifth Cherub Septuagint: “As a scribe of the Hexagonal Birthright, I refer to two hundred years before the birth of Jesus, where he developed a Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures that became widely accepted as a legitimate (even inspired) translation. Tradition relates how King Ptolemy II of Egypt established a vast library in Alexandria. However, it was not complete, and I wanted to have a copy of the Hebrew Scriptures in it. Ptolemy sent representatives to Jerusalem and invited the Jewish elders to prepare a New Greek translation of the text. Seventy-two elders, six from each of the 12 tribes of Israel, came to Egypt to fulfill the request. And like your Santiago you will write with me the allegory that will shine more in Alexandria. They were driven to the lonely island of Pharos, where at the end of 72 days, their work was completed. King Ptolemy was pleased with the result and placed it in his library. When the task was completed, the translators compared them all and each was found to be miraculously identical to the others. The result later became known as the Septuagint (from the Greek word for 70) and was especially popular with Greek-speaking Jews during the following centuries. Hebrew was displaced and Aramaic prevailed, which is the New Testament language that will influence the eclectic Aramaic language that was also promoted to heaven with Joshua to communicate with all the preaching of his Father, in the sacred phylogeny with the Lepidoptera and her entourage. "I am sitting on the last camel, and I know I will be the first.

Ellipsis  Prophet  Elijah: “They were on Mount Carmel, when I summoned the faithful of Baal, Ashera and others. I summoned them to seal a new covenant on the slopes that pointed to the barking in Jezrael, from which a long and cursed drought was lamenting. At the moment all the congregants were absorbed by the imprecation he made before Ahab, inquiring the abandoned Baal and killing the 450 pagan prophets, they called Baal in several days and nights and did not answer, Elijah mocked him saying: “Call him with all his strength. Maybe he fell asleep and needs someone to wake him up. “The people gathered on the mountain, and then Elias told them: “You have to make up your mind. If Jehovah is the true God, follow him. But if Baal is the true god, follow him. Let's do a test: the 450 prophets of Baal must prepare an offering and call their god. I'm also going to prepare an offering and call on Jehovah. The god who responds by sending fire is the true God. “The people accepted. Elijah put his offering on an altar and poured a lot of water on it. Then he prayed, "O Jehovah, let the people see that you are the true God." Immediately Jehovah sent fire from heaven to burn the offering. The people shouted, "Jehovah is the true God!" Now Elijah said, "Don't let any prophet of Baal escape." That day, they killed the 450 prophets of Baal. Then a little cloud appeared over the sea, and Elijah said to Ahab, “Here comes a storm. Prepare your car and go home”. The sky was filled with black clouds, the wind blew and it began to rain very hard. The drought is finally over. Ahab left in his car as fast as he could. Jehovah helped Elijah to run faster than the chariot. But were all Elijah's problems over?

The ground shakes and the initiations of the aramic roots appear, after the intervention of the fifth Cherubim and the prophet Elijah on Mount Carmel, the Phylogeny is testament to the links that flow between the subterfuges of the re-dogmatized civilizations by obviating languages and pagan dogmas. In this genealogy, there were the bumblebees, bees, wasps and Lepidoptera dispersing all this storm and rain before they all reached the arenas of Gethsemane, with the perfect annexation between the idiomatic form and the species communicated with the living expressions where so many times the Joshua's feet circled the Gethsemane tapestry. Without doubt here these species will establish the DNA, and its molecules for the successful genetic derivation for an evolutionary environmental testament in the establishment of pollination in the orchard.

Phylogenic dogma: The coincidences in morphological and embryological themes will be located in the garden, with a great genetic relationship and evolutionary similarity. To the garden, to eternalize the concatenations of both topographic niches, in such a way as to root the Aramaic in every organic element and not, to provide the great prevalence of an eternal pacifying and luminous discourse in creation that does not pass away, but rather is It reactivates with these procedures in a new phase that will be inaugurated by the Apostle and Vernarth, reestablishing the premature hegemony of the garden, as a link between birth and resurrection.   From the ratio Nazareth - Bethelem / Kafarsesuh - Getsemani. Of these diversifications, the key will appear with the trees and their adaptation to the environment and the new Methodist dogmatics, to adapt it to the material and immaterial elements as a habitat of paradise in Judah, with adequate species and aware of their own self-preservation and self-evolution.    At the Service of Joshua, preserving the Aramaic dialect as the axis.

Vernarth says: “In Greek mythology, Ilithia-Eileithyi, is our Hellenic goddess of births and midwives. In the cave of Amnisos-Crete it was related to the annual birth of the divine child, and its cult is connected with Enesidaon  the - shaker of the earth, who was the chthonic aspect of the god Poseidon. My divine child has similar "Behold the Fifth Miracle" coincidences both in a cave or stable. Ilithia is seen with the torch carrying light for the children to come to the world of the Messiah. Now we will shake the orchard, from its nascent oleaginous ducts in which we will have the salvific light that will flow from the hyposa secretion of the candelabra with the olive oil before a new messianic verdict, where we will populate the cave of the earth as a great similar light which will accompany the Shemesh-Sol philosophy, bearing witness to the Messiah and reconciling us with his instructions as it was in Jezrael and now in the orchard.

Under  edit
Chapter XXVII    Messiah of Judah IV part Miracle  V - Gethsemane / Aramaic Phylogeny
Pixels weigh upon my opaque mind set
The normal third tier of distance
is not asserting its wicked face

Never before has this scent wrung it self
From a fugitives discarded clothing
Dared to cross these topographic horrors

Deep in the hands of some bewildered mongrel
The evidence engulfs the ghastly thin walls

To lose the branding Hannibal
and his nomadic pursuit
Would mean retreat to an empty cavern

But With not even some flimsy novella?
The currents and the basket weaving
widows would not appease

The Ernest clock of monstrous honesty
Calls for us to depart
This holding cell is still filled
Deep with ticking heart valves

How many times has this repeated?
Were losing our grasp
It’s been hours
And without any thought devoid of mossy textures

Chalk smears and ambitious plastic
Dual neglected lives in this purgatory

The ones that have been haunted
They are boxed into some neurotic tri-valve machine
It spits back the violent and the tardy

Pleasing the populace is just not accessible today
It is without any grass
But this overly sensitive blanket that I touch
I must venture to this foreign world of pleasantries

Where cry shed over a dingy t-shirt
And the slow desertion of the wilder beast will not be tolerated
In my arms you become an ocean
seeping into the topographic cracks of my body
pooling along the coasts of our separate skins.
I hold you as gently as a shell cups a pearl
and float upon the current of your breaths.
You become warm sand against my skin.
I want to kiss every grain of your form
and count its golden glints that catch light
like the still pools of your eyes-
the small brown island beneath your pupil
into which I have disappeared nightly (like the moon),
and emerged to see my own reflection
made more beautiful by your love (like the sun).
You are the paradise of my heart.
The sun and moon of my soul.
A window and a mirror
through which the world unfolds.
Cut to me: tempting his anger with my white-knuckled grip and words so honest they could make a saint scream.

Cut to him: choking on his own twisted tongue and front-door fear.

Cut to me: still holding the reins of the wreckage, still not letting go-

Cut to him: saying sort yourself out, saying he’s broken women far stronger, saying anything he can to turn me against him, saying he’d pay for my own heart to be sealed.

Cut to me: a daisy in my mouth, a blackbird in my hand, a shattered window in my chest. I have this feeling that I'm not supposed to be here, I have this feeling that I’m only half-way through this story.

Cut to him: six feet tall, and each one a cellblock of quiet anguish.

Cut to me: cutting my feet on breaking branches, scraping my fingers on the rough bark of a tree. The poems don’t say anything, the tears never come. The rain falls in the wrong places, the daffodils die for the wrong reasons.

Cut to him: new job, new state, new life. Starting from scratch but still scratching at the itch that looks like me, still licking wounds from the daggers aimed at my hope that ricocheted back to his own. What does he do with his hands when he thinks of me? How does he deal with his guilt when it claws up his throat and he’s afraid to spit it out?

Cut to me: dreaming him with long hair. I don’t know where to imagine him when I imagine him; a topographic map of unknowing in my mind- an uncured landscape and rough terrain. I see him as a question mark in the wilderness; forging his own labyrinth of twisted truths and hop-scotching the minefield he planted.

Cut to him: Not really in the wilderness, probably in a condo in a mid-sized city. I think if he meets a nice girl who tags him in her Facebook posts, I’d have to **** myself.

Cut to me: demolishing the both of us, casting his secrets like seeds in the dirt, watching scandal bloom, and his character rot in the high noon sun.

Cut to me: imagining annihilation, holding his hand while leading us to slaughter, destroying us both, and having a marvelous time doing it. I’d make sure they slit my throat first; he’d have to hold me while I bleed out, stroke my face as it loses color, and tell me it’s going to be okay as I fade away.

Cut to me: doing none of these things. I don’t have it in me; when I told him I’d never hate him, I meant it. Wading through summer defanging the snakes in my belly, hoping he’s declawing the tigers in his mind. I won’t admit that I’m waiting, but the story's just half-told. Our plot is paused, and I’m sitting alone, but what if it’s merely intermission, and he’s just at the bar, getting us drinks?
Nothing Much Feb 2015
The first time I saw you naked
I felt like I had discovered an entire planet
Uncovered the secrets of the universe in the curve of your hips

You are a galaxy of a girl
I had already seen the stars in your eyes
But I had missed the constellations on your skin
All the little craters like the moon

Your body is a landscape
The kind that the masters strive to paint
With valleys and rolling hills
Mountains and caverns
And I'll explore you with sunset kisses
Topographic touches
I'll give you a bouquet of compass roses
And let you know that you're my home
Mitchell Mar 2011
sinister lback leaves
fall atop all our beds
roaming black currents
ghost like and fervent
brushing past a whisper in the morning dew light
with white pale membranes
last night insane
past pushing for love
past pushing for fame
past pushing ofr words
past pushing for hugs
a million words to desicribe nothing at all
two words to say everything at once
a gift
a loss a toss a boss
that never paid their bills to the one up above
that forgot that their last christmas
was given to a flying dove
fat and empty a rocking back and forth
touched by insanity
tounched by
inevitiablity
underneath the fast currents wrinkle time that is eternal
a learner
a teacher of the infernal
Corrupt, the original, a blistering medieval
all words and no play
makes any ****** man or woman
a dull and ****** boy
devil is in us all and theres nothing but these four walls
with the streets and the beats and corner store market meats
the cell phones and the pads of "i" and the lingering dead dad's
a plastered up postcard
of an incoming and bleached fad
fast and fattening and rough and tumbling and fresh
upstairs we'll meet
in the kitchen we'll eat
Paris and its streets and lover's in heat
wine pours down throats
as king's lower moats
a break from reality and a break from you and and a break from myself
Oh lo' the world and all of its miseries
What happened to the human mystery?
I do not know or do not seem to know the answer,
Floundering in a childish and electronically muttled despair,
a black mist of feverishness pushing the popsicle stick to the top,
friends old and new,
new and old remember their first note,
a clarinet plays itself as the washpan listens close,
almost hearing their imaginations in unified float
Topographic in science
Matted down love notes
Scribbled last words
To a mother who swerved
A pointed brow peaks its top from the crusty old box
Pandora sighs calmly
As she fastens the key inside the lock
(Land that doth marry mother lode
of sublime earthen land and sea).

Age of exploration
   ushered cruel fate
   against “red” men living
   in bliss by agents

   patch of eden north
   o Mason Dixon line
   latitude: 39.64839
   longitude: -75.95591 alee

perchance designed
   by divine providence
   with dyslexic humorous bents
   Cecil county Maryland

   lies like plump backward letter “e”
witnessed topographic erosion
   pocked imprimatur marked
   meteorological dents

   thru inundation of
   oceanographic propensities
   melding coastline like Galilee
in particular by Chesapeake Bay,

   that body of water
   abutting like natural fence
   first witnessed by captain
   John Smith in 1608

   mistaking himself tong tied
   in sole of Italy
learned faux pas, when crossing paths
   with Susquehannas hence,

   offered tobacco sticks to natives
   while recovering
   from injured wounded knee
said other sundry tribes curiously eyed
then (I utilized poetic license)
took smoke from packet of Kents
   which twist on actual
   historical facts manipulated by me
but more truthful account awash
   and replete with more

   than interspersed nonsense
   and incorporates tract situated
   in so called Fertile Crescent – see
settled by Europeans of English stock,

   who emigrated with nary a pence
   “taming” shrew like “noble savages”
    plied Leviathan sized ukuleles
whose might exploited for felling forests,
   which timber built cabins with vents.
ARI Jun 2017
My heart has become
An eternity thread
Sewing itself to various
Shards of vibrant life
Ive found within this world.

My sorrows and joys
Like hard earned stamps
Sleeping in my passport to life
As evidence to my heartaches.
Each one is treasured dearly.

My never ending scars
Acting as a topographic map
Across my young yet weary body
Of which documents my travels.
My mind is my legend.

-ARI
A sorcery
of flying
heels that
extol porphyry
that has
gemstone wheels
as topographic
glance never
enhance more
than now
this romance  
sweeter than
yore in
her parts
of ******
desire ground
in philosophy.
Robert C Ellis Jan 2017
Hear them sing, the comets
Hung from gravity
Flung among the trees delicately
Reaching for you and me

A congenital rotation of Time
Topographic damage from the rhyme
Of fingered activity, blame and climb
The grist of Humanity; disease, ragtime

We’ll meet  again as the Boatman’s guests
Our clothes wet from the ocean’s crest
The shadows indicating our trip west
From this world my heart I wrest
saige Feb 2020
No wonder each tickle is seismic
There are mountains in your fingerprints
Tiny topographic maps
I want to sculpt a range of them
All peaks, plateaus and lowest points
All jades and pines and shades of you
And epoxy brooks will pool
Where swirls of myself etch the plaster
For if I touch you,
I thirst to water you
I thirst to water you
EssEss Jan 2019
Landing in Bali, you are greeted by the hot and humid weather,
Tourists throng from world over, going hither and thither,
The colorful atmosphere on arrival is a prelude to fun that is in store in this haven,
As excited visitors hop into taxis and head to hotels to which they are driven

The island is famous for it's yoga and meditation retreats,
Also for the vast number of two-wheelers plying on narrow streets,
The landscape greenery is so lush and refreshing as you drive through,
That the reason it is called "paradise on earth" so easily strikes you

The multitude of handcrafts on display at roadsides is such an unique feature,
The variety of intricate stone carvings is as diverse as the mind can conjure,
You cannot but admire the skill and patience of artisans working countless hours,
Carving out majestic designs in stone, wowing buyers to say "this is ours"

At other roadsides are displayed stunning hand blown slumped glass bowls on driftwood,
Each uniquely hand crafted for the specific end use that you decide if you could,
Molten glass takes on wood, creating a wonderful terrain for flowers, floating candles and an endless wish list,
The finished products are a touch exotic, making them must-have mementos for the visiting tourist

The famed rice terraces stretching across the countryside are so ethereal,
The manner in which farmers came up with this ingenious concept appears so surreal,
Steep mountains and deep gorges that were a topographic deterrent to cultivate rice,
Circumvented through creation of gorgeous terraces for water sharing, as if in a trice

Kopi Luwak coffee is one of the most expensive coffees in the world,
It is a Bali specialty with an interesting history that one gets to be told,
Free sampling of eight teas and coffees of different unique flavors at the coffee farm is on offer,
A must-have experience with the scenic splendor of rice fields below, on which views don't differ

Batik is considered the original Indonesian textile which has a worldwide reputation,
Visiting a Batik factory to whet the curiosity requires a bit of determination,
Such is the wide array of colorful floral and geometric design motifs seen on display,
That one cannot resist the temptation to splurge on shopping, before deciding to walk away

Some of the most mystical waterfalls in the world can be seen in Bali,
Many of them are hidden in the backdrop of rice fields and mountainous valleys,
Reaching dizzy heights that seemingly merge with treetops, make the views gorgeous and enchanting,
Waterfalls vie with one other in visual splendor, making it appear that nothing is found wanting

The majority of Balinese identify themselves with the Hindu religion,
Taking pride in their identity, prevalent over centuries in the region,
Numerous Hindu temples spread across the island is therefore not surprising,
Most with a history of their own, necessitating a visit to the more enterprising

Yoga, meditation and wellness retreats are spread all over the island in natural and exotic settings,
Surrounding jungles, waterfalls and trickling waters of rivers lend an ambience that feels so settling,
Massage treatments, spas and water healing sessions also facilitate visitors' well-being,
Such programs assist in mastering the body, mind and clarify life's purpose among other mundane things
the following poem composed years ago when my mindset less upbeat than the present
yet please try to avoid making any judge mint.

Like a tumbleweed aimlessly blowing in the wind
across the infinitely open and wide prairie land
(which wasteland famously epitomized by T.S. Elliot)
a barren vista ravages the metaphorical landscape
of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping along an accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding and dodging the diabolical demons
mercilessly and unrelentingly
ready to ****** this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst the pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence
racked with the pinions that describe demonic dungeons
damp, dark, demented domains - a veritable no man’s land
and one impossible to escape from no matter how fast I flee
from the fearful, fierce some and phantasmagoric forms
figments of my imagination
yet real and tangible as bone and flesh
who haunt sacred house of slumber
and transmogrify me into a loathsome madman
ranting and raving senseless gibberish and gobbledygook
yet perceived as metaphysical and philosophical sane
and sound syllabification
from one womanly World Wide Web wayfarer
which virtual vagabond venerates vowels
and possesses means and tees to till verse
akin to a sorceress who waves a magic wand
to produce such supreme sentences
and weaves tantalizing terrific topographic tundra’s
that this admirer
of her artful and colorful poetic endeavors
prompts him to accompany her
as a thought-provoking troubadour
amidst the information super byways and highways
along winding labyrinths of critical thinking
or simply stepping stones of silly rhymes without reason
all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight
to maintain that sure footed stance of solitude
whose only entities happened
to constitute the trappings
of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified as great works and masterpieces of literature
yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest that cherished solitude
shattered and a heart rent asunder
twin perils of loss
that provide an understandable cautionary tale
to the author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive and acute Ape man
touched to the quick with a bit of angel dust
and aware that this agonized
and angst riddled  arboreal beast
contents himself with the confines of cyberspace.

from::matthew scott harris
who resides in pennsylvania, usa
email address::hay4four@aol.com
From the Genius Loci, Vernarth fell for an apocryphal anticipated death; there were rumors of the Seventh Heaven of having found him extinct in some ruins where they were excavating for the expression of the locus of the Megaron, in the space of the holistic visualization field, to relocate the Áullos Kósmos IV, as an interaction of the Invisible Eclectic Portal, doing it for the patron of the parallel world, and of his apocryphal death. The naturalness of his parallel residence led him through this canon and sketch, clearly with an archetypal character of symbols that meant more than his own image, with parapsychology and Genius psychics who considered a being of high dignity deified with the Gidon or Gideon; as a catastrophic exterminator of his being in both dimensions that separated him from a predicted death, which he had already experienced at the site of Arbela.

Vernarth, after finding the ruins that had succumbed to his own Genius Loci, unleashed his religious soul for souls in the atonement that sheltered the construction plunged into ruin under the Megaron, conforming worlds of sensibilities with risky existentialisms in the glossary of two-dimensional man, which is transfigured into being of the Eclectic Portal and the Genius Loci, seconded by the pyramidal conifers that alluded to the Romanesque bilocated appearance of terminologies after the sacred war of Amphibians. Making of this nature the two-dimensionality of Vernarth, a naturae that embraced him in the Greek landscape, spicing up all the topographic characteristics, towards a territory that surrounded him with a God who threw him into the hierophany of the being that self-erected him as his own host, so that it is definitely related to its natural environment, this being the Goddess and numen of the same in her temple as a sacred declaration, in a room that was always next to the sanctuary immersed in her templar necropolis list. Thus he refounds and strengthens his ties with Saint John the Apostle, who from the genesis of his encounter with him spoke of the portal that would lead him to the limit of the sacred, but contiguous to the profane of Temenos, for the dimensionality of worldly proselytism that will help him with the surrounding voices when called! seconded by Wonthelimar de Chauvet and Kaitelka, when he gets tired of this voluminous Áullos Kósmos, and parade with the Souls of Trouvere, Helleniká, Armas Christi and Messolonghi, together with the Ghosts of Shiraz passing through the propyla of the Megaron, making him pass the triple porticoes with their bilocated parapsychological lives, and by the global cendal of the In Antis, with two columns in the first portico where the vigil of their Sibyls and Eurydice will reside, pointing out the treasure of herbs and magic mushrooms that they keep in the Stoa that walled Borker and Leiak with their Xifos crusades. The frontispiece flew with the Gerakis from the peribolus that lay afflicted by the amber and violet essences of the rites in transit, making polyverbality in the protocols that led to the transcendentality of his apocryphal death. Vernarth lived the apocryphal death of him intensely mounted on his Alikantus steed, and without a semi-tight mount, to point out the essences of his acropolis that conditioned him to the temenos, more than a profane skinned to a sacred rite of passage in the Genius Loci.
Geniuses Loci, Apocrypha Death
Akin a tumbleweeds  
aimlessly blowing in the wind
umlaut punctuation
courtesy of let herd Mother Nature
nsync with markie mark,

(or other faux nuke heads
on silent auction
ajudicating bidding chopping block)
or getting sparred
sum xtra mo' mints

before morphing into gamut
tuff height (against opposing
super cross currents)
bow willing head over heals

deftly thwarting encroaching
enfilade enhancing
invading army of deplorable
dust devilish debris
with full Stanley steamer ahead onslaught

opposing approaching phalanx
ta become a foo lush fighter
putting kibosh
across the infinitely open
and wide prairie land

(which wasteland fictitiously
epitomized and described by T.S. Elliot
with absolute zero relevancy here)
a barren vista ravages
metaphorical landscape

of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping
along an accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding
and dodging diabolical demons

mercilessly unrelentingly ready
to ****** this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence

racked with up pinions
(halving smartly put irons in the fire)
deployed incognito
tub hest describe demonic dungeons
damp, dark, demented domains -
a veritable no man's land

and one impossible to escape
from no matter how fast I flee
from the fearful, fiercesome
and phantasmagoric forms

figments of imagination
yet real and tangible as bone and flesh
haunt sacred house of slumber
and transmogrify me
into a loathsome madman

ranting and raving senseless
gibberish and gobbledygook
yet perceived as metaphysical
and philosophical
sane state farm mister soundcloud
syllabification stutterer

from one whoa man
World Wide Web wayfarer
(perchance yourself)
which virtual vagabond
venerates vowels

and possesses means
and tees to till verse
akin to a sorceress
who waves magic wand

to produce such supreme sentences
and weaves tantalizing
terrific topographic tundra's
that this admirer of her artful
and colorful poetic endeavors

prompts him to accompany
Gaia as thought-provoking troubadour
amidst the information
super byways and highways

along winding labyrinths
of critical thinking
or simply stepping cobble stones
comprising silly
rhymes without reason

all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight
to maintain sure footed
stance of solitude,

whose only entities happen
to constitute trappings
of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified
as great works and master
pieces of literature,

yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest cherished 100 years of solitude
shattered and heart rent asunder
twin perils of loss provide
an understandable cautionary tale

from author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive
and acute Ape man
touched to the quick
with a bit of angel dust

and aware this agonized
angst riddled arboreal beast
contents himself with
the confines of cyberspace.
life at the whim of forces beyond our control
it was around 2001, i.e. circa 2001 (tautology,
but not for rhetorical purposes, not as tool of the sophists)
when the mad cow disease spread across
England: that beef and hoof and moo genocide
when the cows got their "geriatric" wobblies
their Parkinson's shake-a-doodle-do's -
frenzied like Elvis finding gravity in the knees
and the pelvis with suede and blue dogs...
music before drug affirmative mantras...
yes... then... around that time...
i was still one year short of sitting my GCSEs...
me and this rascal, Peter, Richardson(?) -
we used to roam the streets on the weekend...
climbing trees, throwing glass bottles into the air
waiting for them to shatter... going up multistorey
car parks and spitting on people...
well... i did have an agenda about spitting on people:
another time when i was much younger
i was taken to Chessington World of Adventures
theme park by my father... there we were minding
our own business watching seals
when a ride passed us... one of those train rides on
stilts - a group of boys in a carriage decided it was
fun to spit on people... one massive phlegm landed
on my father's head... i was furious!
i wanted to get my own back... as it happens...
karma can be blind... there are always collaterals,
innocent bystanders while karma is allowed to sentence
some sort of compensation...
karma is hardly personal: or rather people THINK
that karma obeys personal qualms,
you can't harness karma for your own sake...
but people always cite karma like so, especially in the west...
well i did get my own back...
i managed to land a juicy phlegm hark on a collateral's
head from about 20m high up in a parking lot
with Peter one beautiful Saturday afternoon in Ilford...
so i was supposed to go to this outdoors resort
centre for "poor" and "disadvantaged" kids in Wales,
Glasbury (see it? now say it... the Welsh say it
as Glaze-Bury: it's not Glass-Bury, more on that in
a minute)...
          i didn't go with Peter that year because said X...
bad moo moo...
          but the P.E. (physical education) teacher was kind
enough to offer me a chance to go again
two years later... but then i was sitting my A-levels
but by then Peter was long gone:
deciding to finish his education at 16 and go into tattooing,
getting his teeth knocked out in pub brawls,
ending up working in a carpet retailer
(although, much later i found him shacked up with
this honey and i thought to myself: ****...)
so i went to this retreat...
                    we did horse-riding, caving,
canoeing...
                         but one day we were told to do this exercise...
split into two groups...
one group: older boys with younger girls...
group two: older girls with younger boys...
   we were given a map (topographic to be more exact)...
we were driven out into the countryside away
from the resort...
group two (older girls with younger boys) was
dropped off first...
we were explicitly told... you can follow the road
from where you came... or...
so the first group was dropped off first...
our lot (older boys with younger girls) was dropped
off way way further afield...
to this day i'm wondering if i cheated...
when our lot were dropped off... map in hand...
i asked the driver... so... where are we?
a creazione di adamo finger hovered over the map
and pinpointed our starting position
(don't all public maps ref WHERE YOU ARE
on a map? YOU ARE HERE... so i wasn't cheating,
was i? you need to know where you are on
a map before you can start reading it and then
translating it onto the environment, no?)
so as Michelangelo pointed and then drove off
i took charge... ah! i spotted a short-cut through
a little grove, forest(?) and a cow field...
so as the boys in the group were busy trying to chat
up the girls i ended up (unconsciously or otherwise)
the leader of the group, taking responsibility,
being accountable (**** me, this NVQ3 in spectator
safety is really brainwashing me into being an upstanding
citizen)...
          and so... we managed to beat the other
group... so much so that once we reached the retreat
house we were already busy doing physical exercises
in the yard to **** time while the bewildered group
were coming down the hill with that HUH?! expression...
point being:
now i find myself in a similar situation...
if not a physical intervention dynamic then at least
an insinuation at... dialectical-sophistry...
because you don't have time you don't have
a Platonic leisurely for dialectics per se...
therefore in conflict situations you need
a dialectical-sophistry dynamic: to become quickly
persuasive...
like in my last shift at Tottenham Hotspur...
operating a human cordon at the entrance of
the Seven Sisters tube station entrance...
           the Pareto Principle:
        in terms of crowd control...
         20% of people will cause you 80% of problems...
how did i manage the massive queue of people
with only 6 SIAs (security industry authority operatives)?
i left them to it while i studied the crowd
and listened to their complaints
in order to spread my point of view INTO the crowd
for the crowd to hear my own constraints...
constipations... concerns... whatever...
talk to one person and then word-of-mouth
will do your bidding...
"yes sir, i agree with you, but it is not the football
club's fault, Enfield council should have started
making logistical improvements to the area,
they knew for well over 5 years that
the original stadium would be demolished,
from a 30,000 capacity to a 60,000 capacity...
the infrastructure of the area should have been
updated to accommodate for a strain in egress..."
boom bara boom... talk to one person and then
that person talks to another person in the queue
and you contain the disgruntlement...
you also add the empathetic:
"well sir, every single shift i finish as Wembley,
even though the staff leave at least 2h after an
event, i still have to end up queueing with the spectators,
yes, i too feel like i'm cattle and i'm being herded,
but please appreciate the fact that
when these transport hubs, stations, were built,
there was no incentive for a coliseum culture
revitalisation, football stadiums weren't even remotely
near the capacities they are at the moment,
so how would you begin to increase train station
capacities, would you think that double-decker
trains could be envisioned to accommodate more
people in transit?"
i might not be a police officer... but i'm second best...
my mother always wanted me to be:
either a police officer or a teacher...
well **** that... but it turns out: if i do this security
job and write sly poems on the side...
i might have eventually become both... in an informal
sense of the word...
not that i'm thinking about pleasing my mother's
ambitions for me...
i have my own ambitions... or call them dreams...
only today i sent a picture of a note i crafted
upon waking... first thing that popped into my head...
to my girlfriend... in ******* Hawaii...
go figure... but technology has made such relationships
possible, bearable even...
yes i'm going to have hiccups: i'm a man in my
30s... i wasn't a flirt in my teen years or my 20s...
now i'm a natural flirt... and that's my bad...
i've gained enough confidence over the years that
it's hard for me to not be a flirt...
but a flirt is a game without actually wanting women
a flirt is a way of studying women...
i have one i don't need a harem...
    if girls used to tease boys in their teens...
see... girls play a game of tease...
boys play a game of flirt...
tease for flirt... tease for flirt...
but only once you reach a certain age can you start
to flirt proper... and it's usually with the younger
girls in their 20s... who you have absolutely...
respect(?) - no... interest for...
         but then again: is that neurotypical given how
many instances there are of clucky men
wanting to settle down with younger women?
me... ha ha... am i neurotypical?
                    so i woke up... wrote a note...
took a picture... sent it to HER...
and it read as follows:

                        Groß = Groz
                                         (the same Z in Polish and English)
                 Since Zeit = Cajt (not z'igh 't
                                                 but (tseit - in English
                                                   of ****** phoneticism
                                                as above, cajt)
                ∴ - the one time that Braille influenced
          mathematics, not really, but that's
            therefore:
                      ß = Z                 not Ś or Š
              ß = Z (proper, the Polish and English Z,
          which is not the Deutsche Z which is
           the Polish C and the English TSE)
          
obviously i could have looked this up in a dictionary:
but it's so much more rewarding
when you wake up and have an epiphany...
it's better than waking up with a memory
of a dream... because you wake up with a memory
of a dream rather than the dream itself... no?
well that's what memory is to begin with:
the blurred line with the unconscious
and dreaming... obviously when memory is stripped
of this airy fairy day-dreaming construct
of relaxation and utilised proper for: arithmetic
and spelling... well... that's another matter...

scharf: spitz (spits slavic C)...
Aglican X - kss...
sharf Es stumpf Zee             dead Ed... living Dee
for the three K'appa sounds:
                                "
Cat Quip K' (potassium)         'alium

i had this Spaniard called Jorge... everyone
English called him just that... George (not gorge)
Joerge...
so when i asked him i sort of knew what
he would say: written Jorge...
but in Spanish... d'uh J and G are... H...
Horhe...
                        and yes i could have learned this
from books...
but then... people write books...
so...          why not skip the books and read people?
c rogan Aug 2022
Descend
Like a particle of dust

..
.
Landing on a *****,
A steep curve sharp as a knife.
A white car, backpacks, a guitar,
Sing life to the rims of the empty canyon
The sound returns  
It echoes like circadian drums.
A chasm, a fold in your bedsheets,
The space between you and your mother.
It divulges words of a great marble book,
Dialogue in dissonance
Pages upturned, eager to be read by the sun.
We run our hands along  
Stories carved in this valley of jaggedness,
Seeking horizon lines  
Under oceans of stone.
Mist falls
Through the sleeping cusp
between two gray shale wings
of the deepest river canyon,
Weaving strings of glacial waters
Like topographic canticles.

An internal breathlessness
Guides us by maps written
In shards of glass.
Rhythms of instinct
Pull me forward
Yet the blade on her hand
Collapses me in
profound solitude.
.
Arek Sep 2019
I'm a guy who loves his maps
physical and topographic
staring at them more perhaps
than pictures pornographic

and maps political and aerial
i find them all hypnotic
they contain more material
than any story that's ******

there's historic and climatic
they're more beautifully complicated
than the beauties in the attic
when i'm watching films *******

so i'll always love my maps
at the Atlas stare for ages
but you might find weird gaps
and a bunch of sticky pages
Implementing chops to acquire self survival

speculative fictional account
courtesy yours truly interpretation
impossible mission to surmount
tooling topographic factors,
solving quadratic equations,
rubik's cube generally tantamount.

Perchance yar juiced
a young man or woman
Aladdin on cusp of securing lass
maybe born, bread and raised
in the city that never sleeps
and as loyal returning native son
or daughter taking a tram
to enjoy tasty repast
with widowed momma,
cuz ever since da papa passed away....
a futile attempt made to fill that void

awash with more'n than half a century
of wedded bliss,
whereat purposelessness pervasive
regarding surviving mother,
who feigns happiness, regales others
with showers of affection,
and remains active feeding kith and kin
her chosen avocation
comprising, striving and succeeding
to be adept within the culinary arts

thru self taught trials and errors
of brave taste testers,
(which unwitting guinea pigs ought
to get medal of honor for bravery),
though her exemplary cooking reputation
exceeds five star Michelin rating
through meticulous and
exacting measured ingredients,
she glides within the kitchen
howsoever upon one occasion,

a fork and spoon slipped to the floor,
which inexplicable gravitational
alchemical phenomena
fused separate pieces of cutlery
into finely wrought eating implement
whereupon a dead reckoning,
takes shape, that "mum"
might be in mortal danger
from inconspicuous cooking tool,
whence ya stop SnapChat tin

and shutterfly as greased BuzzFeed
lding lightning twittering
like a bat out of hell -
ya swoop down
smash mouth Facebook first
presaging a fatality visiting
upon the head of mum
(christened name Chris Anne Thumb,
the last appended word linked
with her diminutive size),

who intently engrossed,
keenly self absorbed,
and rapt attentive with tasks at hand
most likely oblivious
to potential safety dukes of hazzard
as a benevolent offspring temporarily
ye take instagram reprieve,
and utilize fancy footwork
(incorporating song with dance routine)
generating kickstarter tiktok fame

yanking attention and
re: turning to counterpoise
vis a vis match less laws of physics,
whereby toe tulle lee tubular
jump starter antics applied
to kindle hurly burly
gnarly melded flatware
serving sub bastion bach up
(analogous to state of the art beet oven),
which upright pedal poised pose
quirky tool allows, provides
and enables pulley zing leverage.
Yours truly constantly repairing
psyche delicate ruptures
afflicting me since mine birth.

Which late afternoon/ early evening
today adventuristic, edenic, and idyllic
April 13th, 2021
pitch perfect weather
serves as temporary tonic
to balm away blues.

Like a tumbleweed
aimlessly blowing in the wind
across infinitely wobegon open wide
prairie home companion land
(which wasteland famously
epitomized by T.S. Eliot),
a barren vista ravages
metaphorical landscape
of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping

along accursed habiliment
barely avoiding and
dodging diabolical demons
mercilessly and unrelentingly ready
to ****** this somewhat sanguine Simian
finds himself amidst pitfalls
of tortured twisted existence
racked with pinions describe bing
demonic dragon filled dungeon

damp, dark, demented domains –
a veritable no man’s land
impossible to escape no matter how fast
I, a beastie boy
foo fighter flees
from fearful, fearsome phantasmagoric forms
figments imagination seemingly real
tangible as bone and flesh
haunts sacred crowded house of slumber
transmogrifies me into loathsome madman

ranting raving senseless
gibberish and sic gobbledygook
perceived as metaphysically
n philosophically insane
as soundgarden syllabification
from one wily World Wide Web wayfarer,
which virtual vagabond venerates vowels
and possesses means and tees to till verse
akin to sorceress,

who waves a magic wand
rendering subject spellbound
(housing bajillion words)
to produce supreme sentences
weaves tantalizing terrific
tweed topographic tundra’s
that this admirer of her artful
and colorful poetic endeavors
prompts me to accompany my mindscape
as a thought-provoking troubadour

amidst the information
super byways and highways
along winding labyrinths of critical thinking
or simply stepping o'er rolling stones
of silly rhymes without wing less reason
all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight to maintain
that sure footed stance of solitude

whose only entities happened
to constitute trappings
of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified
as great works and masterpieces of literature
yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest that cherished solitude shattered
and a heart rent asunder
twin tower ring inferno
imperils of loss that provide

an understandable cautionary tale
to the author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive
acute Ape man
touched to the quick
with a bit of angel dust
aware that this agonized
and angst riddled arboreal beast
contents himself within
confines of cyberspace!
All la names bespeaking deity froom
Noah Mo' Room India Arc
of Covenant to crypt tick Blood
(sweat and tears) of
San Gennaro devout wowed,
and/or Turin shroud
consonantly, demonstrably,
desperately, faintly, glumly,
yet plaintively, muttered aloud,
no evading the steadily avowed

atheist approaching COSMO funnel
(dumb mental) stormy dan yell cloud,
cuz far as the eye could see -
at least by this Beatle browed
bipedal hominid (north, south,
east, and west), the conical, demoniacal,
and elliptical endowed
sky high reversed cone, bow wowed
wailing 10,000 maniacs +
same number of banshees

wove weft and white
across wide whirled web
whereat, the black vortex
vacuumed everything insight (chowed
down) with loud violent row
dee earsplitting soundcloud everything
within a vast path got plowed
obliterated, and annihilated proud
lee into bajillion smithereens,
hence mine entire being

held spellbindingly agog
frozen in place ruff lee akin
to well trained dog
without a chance to bark a blog
mired stock still courtesy,
sans extreme fear comp
pounded (maybe attributed
to absolute zero apr) via
quintessential supreme tear
roar immovable paralysis

plus helpless as pollywog
lacking seizure of critical
whatsapp cerebral cog
as if blinded by skewed light  
feeling doped up Asian a mental fog,
cuz nothing withstood
the incalculable suction
emitting barrage of sounds -
hmm...methinks or imagined,
I heard cry of a hog

amidst the pandemonium,
plus uproarious, ominous,
and insidious howl,
though still some
scant miles removed,
the deafening roar
felt like top of my head
blasted unable to jog
free (like a bajillion trained
thundering mashing monsters

at loggerheads) these screaming
quasi nemesis seemingly
horrifically, and directly
into my tender ears
constant subjection analogous
being ****** into a huge blender
to make eggnog
seemingly already felt
fate hermetically sealed,
where state of this Union

soldier reincarnate blocked
by quasi confederate, both of us
being shell shocked
blinded ability for me
to stand or wok
to plot life saving strategy,
meanwhile precious seconds
thinking about dark chalk
oh lot ticked away, and rocked
thee entire firmament punctuated

equilibrium by ram pent up ***
bull leave able decibels,
with Mother Earth locked
in life snd death battle accompanied
by volcanic explosions
humankind feebly mocked
puny battles, how so laugh
able compared and/or
contrasted nitpicking pelting,
and raining terrain akin

to cosmic giant that knocked
Gaia, whereby massive
objects in the mirror are closer
than they appear  
hurled at light speed deeply pocked
whirlwind raked every square inch
(triangulating, circulating),
videre licet topographic terrain)
witnessed me brazenly, frenziedly
and painstakingly crawling

to storm shelter
while simultaneously yanked
contrariwise ad hoc just in the sainted
nick of time, a flock
of seagulls (particularly Jonathan
Livingston swooped, and took me Bach
to the House At Pooh Corner
safely ensconced yay
fo' yew dear reader, cuz -
no mo' poetic schlock!

— The End —