Set of cave genes If you could read... pluri freedoms of the dark light of ignorance teach understand that breathe under the Naturality Natural Nature is not necessary to have an understanding heart and store on their empty heads of knowing ancient rain where wisdom possess. If dance on every grain of chickpea for each foot plant what could a plant obey; foot, Plant, and Plantation...

Resulting in kingdoms on my animals, fungi, plants, and protists, media freedom as a seed to reach our evolutionary lack of ceased hopeness...

First  Ellipsis Angle loneliness"God felt Chained"

Chained down by dragging the last link of its multiple arcane freedom in which transfigured recent swings where he collapsed with the latter being of himself whose life lies lifeless alive but lost. The latter that child not to know and deprived of nascent freedom that will never be born and come knowledge in our genome of Independence.

When the caveman thought to be a complement to the world is enslaved by the mystery of lost in himself... The born and born, never dies, that's so naive and innocent... is still full unaware of their free will, rather it is he who must re-literate and be a living part of the ancestral genome Cavernario component. Oh Heavenly Lord of the steppes I look because more of you today without having lived what you lived, as he would have played with my gaze to succor and keep you had fallen into the fangs of an animal, or you had fallen on the glacier cliff where he has separated you from your Clan Cave.

Emancipation means to be always innocent, my blood runs through yours,
I read and understand any phenomenon of deprivation exist without you lack wisdom satiate if all your generations crushed by the ignorance of falling subject will be well, me and my being I take my precognitions as a tormented child's worst nightmare before about sleeping. Sixth Papal almost, almost kneel before the creation of memorizes creation. This prerogative Lord lives Bread’s God Minor remaining....of whose iconography will not leave this fifth fraternal dimension will not come, if not more will enter the latter end of absolute solitude... and shorter than the last thousand years of Neandertal.


Cavernary Political and Ellipsis:

On a day of gentle wind and tense rain proclaiming Clan joined, they all shouted running, the ground shook and the children slept in terror... the 10 infants who were talking about the Sign from above, but the nines they crossed his arms remaining to create solidarity roof that protects the man in your imagination...
The eighth child of the clan ran quickly into the arms of his mother and she imagined how far, how far would never come... uncharacteristically who came with his brother seventh had in their hands the word of entertainment of Being, to be a plaintiff political all of braiding them together with lines enabling the hermit may decide that creation is a mass of lines of certain fashions together, everything sings like the slightest cyclamen dew on the line pointy rough fallen fungus. All arms folded on the upper porch of the Vatican Macario in Franconia, saying that many who unite in their fevered requests large modern man ceased to be autonomous when it came out of their caves and charnel pit.

Ran all she enjoyed doing that almost without knowing whether or not they fall...
Ran because of every day the sun ahead of them a lesson for a man of the future...
They are running to be released the day of his birth chained to stars of light, to carry him to his mother and father, sneaking to his brothers.

Brother worn eleventh birth to her existence as another being evolved Eukaryotic: Surely those provided beings of cell membranes rhizomes reflected in higher liberty lives purged of ectoplasm walk without a discounted subsidiary. Shakespeare in Helsingor appeared immune to a blood brother to all that limits the Draconian feel in the pinnacles drawn 700 greened steeds. From the deepest swoon in the underworld subway Helsingor, follow the prevailing souls presided over by the great ear of the hard sandcastle, stressed hard Ghosts of Stratford upon Avon.

Freedom plague spits words of pancreatic poisoned exordium, spits verses of confusion disorders without permission, without solid bass sound without liquid sea that resists mad edges followed by solid sound...
But smaller stones give priority to conjugate final sentence and noble verses Guardian
to mission how important would Liberation:

Maybe it's a synonymy of Astral Solar...
It is not Solitude, is a free nation that has its own kind prosecutor's office for even when Euthanasia closes your eyes to the astral, will run the stones of the Sea of joy believing that neither you dare if there is no healthy grass to clarify the rainy day terror.


Reverse walk creeks aggravated birds feet, walking great playful ruse.
Reverse run my comrades preparing festivity meals with chandeliers and singing lay plenary., Singing Avenue pine port Firenze, Second run subtracting minutes and hours the minute is enough for me with your face in my arms to recognize your longevity anathema times oblique faces for lip-smacking hailstones Templars.

In 1297 in northern Italy nearby rural families migrate to chalky Venice, Perugia came the exiles walked to find their independence south of the Iberian Peninsula. They were so atoned as in the echoing flutes, harps, zithers, and harpsichords field temperate; They invited the blunting of intemperate monocordio.

Golden Chariot Carrenio

The golden carriage carrying them came without a single space rather than inheritances acquired goldsmiths of ancient noble and chaste solid shine. Carrenio; the coachman wore on his left arm bracelet thousand mobile travel without stopping to drink more water and to feed their horses. After revamping its gold pieces bartered by a slave who was getting Carrenio Christians fleeing the Romans. Well, they fled as far as the plains of great earthly squandered his memory and that end of the end should come.

How am away from my land more I learn it's back to her,
There is no ground for the first time, but that which is foreign
Carrenio of Perugia and sensed that ****** was Jewish ashes,
Luther King black paste of burnt forest,
Mandela and Biko Ogre garage from Victorian Empire,
Gandhi in his humility is always put behind the Sun
to figure out the small
Tagore trashed my heart caressing the entire universe uncorrupted
Hölderlin together in the cabin waiting for his mother at Zimmerman,
That my beloved Borker forest should shine gold teeth with black resin,
Theresa of Calcutta was eaten and swallowed all diseases lepers knowing good taste proverbial dessert psalm,
Jose Miguel Carrera was more than a trench, clay bullets in each of his temples where he received
To be doubly Lonco is to be halved, lacerated by lay his head on his land, not galloping on his back throngs of wit and hope out Nazareth trembles when an F-16 diluted ***** covering landless caravans Heritage continues to lead the people killed but the mosque wall has been Fe Erecta.
Helena plenipotentiary Kowalska at Vilnius, Faustina Divine Mercy Diadema
The agonizing deprivation of millions of people with cancer in every continent of private well-being analgesic, weighed down by increased pain, almost as strong as the Master Hammered Golgotha, so it was that Joshua has cancer always to slow it down on us. Benigno whether metastasis, malignant albeit benign finance.
The death of an innocent little angel devoured by the beast remains as a fluff hairless sardine in the jaws of a shark baron.
Khalil Gibran writes that with both hands to support the reviewer behind in Bicharri and bohemian Paris,

Salvador Allende Gossens was born since he was deceived by his parents who would heal politics, would rather dig their ancestors in their brains scattered in the currency in face seal or tail of.

Frei Montalva that today has to receive the Macro Augusto Heaven their arms, their sorrows, and regrets, although his worst military executioner.

Legion is an offshoot of liquid central gray material, which defers well done becoming but not defeated, it is the decree of the divine threshold space Living or ceases to live, that failure does not exist, it is the postponement of success - success.

The Genocide September 11 in New York was a ritual, who produced was a small wrath strength of the Rotary world, as the camshaft is upset in the history of trying to make more alphabet in schools where the flag hoisting and found scholars in West and East, so they can learn more than reading of both unlettered, lip and water to possess it to write with it. The worst disaster is read with the memory that will never happen... I write my greatest need with lipstick and my greatest need I write eagerly to participate. Yesterday I passed by a boutique and buy lipsticks that are closer to the language, written with the mouth and not the hand. !

Freedom, debauchery, libration, drawer, Bookstores..! Carrenio..: he said see I'm right! Raise and educate has a great synonymy with autonomy because the ancestors wrote everything that deprived them and made them fear, but do not have to eat the autumn gives me to dress the return of spring, bread orchid, and cineraria. Hence by that inner syllabic singing hunger sated that sought sheet to sheet rid of everything until the end of the book as the encounter between night and day without considering oblivious to anything or anyone on the track window swing wind, wind seeping.


It was old Zeus or Hera of Antique,
Cavern to house geometric polyphonic, angular seeds to create fashions kiss kissed everything that any vertical plane does not fit with the closed horizon
For hands and angels, Hebrews the inner soul of every carpenter and stonemason shrunk, wash their eyes and cheeks with songs of vibration and idyllic comfort,
Everything resembled and sounded Bethlehem 2.0 deities choirs sweeping grasslands,
The similarity of this clairvoyant child is born in a cave...
Rising motherly free Soliloquy Papini sitting to the right of ruminant cattle,
So archaic that to be born is not born in a clinic mega Cristus but hundreds of kilometers and hundreds who are born with the undergirding whispers and servitude being.
Where the multi gray impetuous born star is a healthy gauze story in the present tense... this angelic child grows by Miriam washes his feet in a belligerent abolished stone. His father must wash their hands on a stone which is where measured his ecclesiastical mystical stature, stone Madonna to heal his feet where he leaves to free himself, to free us... Marble gamete fémina vault, where he sleeps without knowing whether it is due, the ***** fell from the sky.
How wise is the Wise, it makes permissible for much more than two thousand years we stone quarry wheel and wheel, homily, and blessing to not wake at night to sleep startle middle and uphill.

Me of the referent of antiquity is not me of today is polished cobble stone,
Useful weapon quarry road there and backtrack to have blisters stone and soft thoughts under my pillow soft stone as a whole.

If you're ****** private living and have a free soul choosing coexist, then you are low in the cemetery on a tombstone of heresies.

Neolithic early 4500 after Hildegard von Bingen and his entourage and prowled full and channeled, swooning in her swoon with flowers in his hands and his followers planting forests on top of Stonehenge.

Carrenio says...: you see I'm right, we coexist, I die like the worst ****** cancer and then put a tombstone Stonehenge conspire in my honor black pain prayers of Salisbury. It blooms in vibrant red rubies that detonate in chromaticity and life. The stream itself is exceeded the aquatic plant Macarenia.

Call us and civilize us, outdated as far as my tired feet though I come not ashamed to see my new tracks.

Carrenio says...; see I'm right Joshua has traces of gold from other Caterpillar shod feet. Antique everything is prescribed according to their legacy today is Lent Pro that came before it was Lent vestige Pentecost came to be a nickname of the mystery of the passion in less than a rooster crows.

Beside it is the mystery of the disappointment of stubborn demon, which helps you all carry the cross, but not the entire load. Fire and Light at dawns where the splendor born...


Genome Freedom, even today every centimeter of my witness of each component, if the basic origin of the signs of the primitive world, is that we have lost the bark of the lexicon, which does not allow us to understand the meditations to ask for something, not You need to ask something. Today genome is requesting something because thousands of people who asked for millions of years, now it's time to cater to them. They were wrapped in cloth shroud of spiritual sacredness, today cemeteries mega dance their souls leave no sleepers both much grass on their heads not yet sullied by the puppet Azrael.


Impossible not to decorate the rocks forged empires that fall into the rubble, they bring 476 d. C., a new opening Middle age freedom of travel both in history thousands of years begins a new axis Golden Carrenio’s Chariot.

Carrenio Wagon

This great colossal ship Carrenio time is a timber that holds the sky, a beam that does not faint or distended thousands a. C, and the old age of King's large musings that were forgotten. It is astride ship millennium, their history of oppression has seen in the wheel, instrument wise rolling like a wheel before 5, 000 years ago, here  We fought and prostrated to distant lands millennium after millennium him away.

Golden Chariot is the structure that freedman us to enforce a new life on earth, even the Gods prided themselves move the stars to constellations called her noble Auriga sailing in full the Universes and Cartwheel Galaxy or cart Wheel. As if to say that when the Universe and its own mythology, were visited between them inch by inch by wherever they shine.

Carrenio mask and frame used had strength, temper, and tittle. When the first libertarian squall of antiquity came closer, Rome was already small and nobles populate what is a quote, Piccola. The executioner always frightened and starts out of his own wickedness. Markos Botsaris as did in Greece, and surrounding towns Messologhi remote, they were free more than tuned in massif Arankithos high wind. He was riding to Kanti once again with the golden rider Etrestles of Kalavrita. According to the Chronicle that came from distant millennia has envisioning promote its neighbor's heroic to free Messolonghi of ****** wars. All this I saw with his own eyes Carrenio, every thousand years styling with Etrestles, cleaned their nostrils so that new breed of horses to thrive,

Avignon, in the necropolis, witnessed as Azrael was cleaning his wings Jade antipopes, another story begins... even he seeks to candela who can read this story, and who can provide it from hand to hand cutting semicolons who disclosed.


Second  Ellipsis Angle  New Era:

Ara released the ropes throwing a big ship, History makes a man is at the center of the world. Revolutions, thinking, communication, and especially vindicate man in his right-libertarian. artists with their creations flowing all over the world, mutating classic Renaissance to abstract overlook. Family appearing welfare and needs. A ramble and so many broken laws. Mankind is distracted l film and theater artist of tradition. Art now has sound and movement, then social and political revolutions are industrial that unite everyone behind the pivot deployment of social classes.


Everything evolves until we get tired of doing so. It rests and then continues. This is modern reality, we wrote about the history of events on facts that have never been told. The world has tired all the Eras, but each pause time that has happened has been recharged, nothing finished if not started again. After so many wise lawyers, clergy plunged into great towers bound books. Is evident again can not read or understand. Our realities are missing valid without knowing I close and then open another door. human and civil rights, fair wages, so excessive autocracy monarchy. Freeman can walk along the paths, even if they were trenches.

Zephyr soft murmur which clutters in the Irises by Van Gogh, the painter is the biggest star trek, called with his feet images and colors that would make his own liberty to live naturally insane. And many others Brueghel "Triumph of Death" that roam the countryside, perhaps a medieval piece of Tarskovski; Andrei Rublev in futile painters decorating steps in the fontano chignon Androniko Monastery Moscow, extinct Rublev 70 years, Tarkovsky 54.

Early ellipsis - Campo dei Fiori in Rome to see die at the stake Giordano Bruno by order of the Holy Inquisition. The irruption of the Inquisition, but their feet are touching the flowers, the seasoned cassock continues to haunt the universe of Faith Dominica Trastevere, it is seen to lectures on how to be bold with the informers and the Whistle Blower dies without shade in spring, you resist the star on the asphalt on the magical island of holiness.

Carrenio says: Come I'm right, we can not read, because the brutality of the Cosmos is manure per ton weathered in the backyard of the aristocracy. I will continue with respect and crosed in Crete. Lila Kedrova means the fear of bunk bed tied to her bed and is free in foreign lands leg. Queen insular matriarchy, she lives more than any Greek Goddess, waiting for his Adonis, to fill out honors. Win an Oscar but lost to Zorba, he loses his house but won a Tony Awards. How many women teach us that to win you have to give everything to lose his brains, and thus count as the lost number remains to be retained. Zorba whines in her arms, she moans in the arms of her husband Zeus Steve, proof of a new era. Onyx for his tomb, plate of this great tragedy.

On the evening of December 14, 1964, attended the premiere. Soul of Carrenio was with them but was denied his attendance at the banquet, finally running out and watching the glasses lips and stoles spent his neck.

                                          
          ­                      Numbered Mysterious Death
                                                  Mané

If I have to feel floe on my feet and cold in my prayers will be the Dark Glory. What is slimming rays of the day, everything smelled of silence, maybe it was Kennedy, or better was The Mané.

Closure of my glory suffers the wind...
Flowers lying silence my soul alight,
Thick square displays the song of my voice...
When they speak Quadratils one to one order their
Spirituous voice.

And the spirit singing fiber of my heart told me:
Never you say I Exist ¡ not exist because they do not exist!
Only face daily the different reflection of your body
In front of yourself with another face and another body...

I want to talk with the thought
And this same subtract my little silhouette,
Lavishes wingless bird that flies only in their theology...
That is the duty and melt with my look,
Solid colors components
Crunching the altars of heaven retaining its pale warmth of anorexia.

Yellow Glory hair good event...
If you receive yellow lights, plus I do not sing my own game here in my empty veins,
Yellow my heart...
Yellow my heart
Yellow my collective heart.

They are run by large green and sunny meadows, children who had Mane in this major milestone in its last gasp. Now she is the mother of his children; it up and them in the last temptation of the mystery of death.

Carrenio keeps rolling, the brightness offered his Golden wagon to the ground. Gold grooves ago, and looking at where it realizes that it's landmass light mud. Since he felt whispers from the confines of time he had never felt as if you were finishing your journey or the world. It raining years and years and continues because nobody mends the mysterious death Numbered.

Heaven and Earth did not hold, the bottom fell precipitously pocket Lord and denied several times uncontained. She shivered in the World and the rooster crowed several times to never be heard or the Pentagon.

He is walking and knees bent,
we embraced by the golden chariot and oxen nor held
we bent us all lying on his knees,
up shoulders not hear from where came the bad grace of his departure,
numbered all the time of complaints of how then she would come,
It is unknown who would be but brought wine in his hand on the crispy mask
We ran from side to side and nothing was real

Everything seemed to sing in the chapel on a sad day,
But I hear loudly like Latin and watchfulness,
Those who know his mystery is no stranger to them
They all look but transgress the sin of silence.

Carrenio still absorbed in the hallway,
Angulo ellipsis she comes winged like a star burning tar,
A high speed to give us the new
No garden can deprive greet in speed visit
Dome comes, it comes on the eve of the new moon.

Numbered Widow mysterious,
Mané is a land of golden color and no celestial whoever wants in his cell,
A breath test, and feeding the Toffy and his henchmen
That sustaining more lively detail, there is no one that can not be targeted

It was modern, it was night, it was his torn life as an accomplice of his exile abandonment in his allegory of tender dismissal. Carrenio achieved so say goodbye to the beams of light that told him of the mysterious death Numbered. He sat on the roadside and drank some wine. Then dry with his handkerchief his neck, and have never wanted to experience such an event in a toast ever drunk.

Third Ellipsis Angle  of  New Era

Independence of Chile, it concerns Mapuche atingent case. Araucania pound, then 1818 central Chile. In Brief, Earth makes free an entire nation. His naive and primitive braves inhabitants emancipated themselves from all sides, they came to save a people who were just following where nobody can reach. Independence of the United States separates us for approximately 42 years, breaking up owners of nowhere. Industrial Abolitionist and South Slaver and Agraria. The biggest event that more than 640, 000 men and fallen activists planted safely from repression fields.

In Chile all rule resembled this secession in today's Araucano man prays for his fallen by almost more than 3 centuries in Chilean lands of Araucanía’s men. Lautaro genius and his supporters the heart of Pedro de Valdivia ate; Map ever made to your battle mapping Tucapel. "Initiation and final symbol occurred after 282 years of fierce war" and Mapuche land forever their independence from the Spanish Empire Captain-General important in foreign lands never subjected to foreign rule would eat.

The Machis and Loncos make supplications in native forests falling on them pollen on its back as if nothing out 10 times better...

To Libertas strengthen in the west is necessary to push the limits of the earth beneath his tongue and penance for the greedy entangled in the lines of bloodied sky, rebellions Chieftains death-defying all together at the edge of a cliff. 1769 The Pehuenches led by Lebian Cacique, joined the Mapuches razing Yumbel and Laja, the most peaceful Huilliches also joined mass alerting perhaps innocent people land blood-stained war and the Mackay Luchsinger.

No doubt portals military rebellion trigger blood, where they opened a tip and swords in the past. Here's reading concern is that the succession is timeless time, a sword without a sword, but on the tip of her blood is seen where there were herds and warriors crushed by their own footsteps. Here the phenomenon of freedom begins; Humanity runs treading his own footsteps, to save his family from a threat, but not strange forces that force you to use your defenses, because in the groves populate many helpless souls with his sword unused at the expense of being forced to use.

Freedom genome; It aims to reach where it has not come without looking back,
Chalices pour out is where the troubadours do not cuddle her close looks like time, singing while watching the changes are not of a new life


Heaven star,
Come to me,
I ask a sign to see them arrive,
Because I want to thus been dragged
Being together Eager to feel...
Those respites without being comforted
going to the mouth of the serpent.

About the Garden,
My home is to put my love,
He has to put the days imagining close...
To enjoy yourself is nonexistent...

Oh, my house tormenting me...!
Because in it I feel your smell
They are alone lights
Where I would wait for me to be in the dark...

In the coming future,
You will not see or hear my anger...
Perhaps my happiness nor peace praying
As the spear in the hands of the perpetrator.

You know a storm of whispers
I do sow your name in the wilderness,
It's because my judgments of hope
They mount up arable land deposited in my frenzy
Misled by a love which is my love.

But you never understand,
Because time has invaded my dwelling,
Invading my brain to give
It has invaded my choosing to love...

On the grass path,
Every time I move away from you,
I turn to see if you have not been...

Love came,
And I think that leaves us alone to avail ourselves
Ranging in our time...


But I can not resist his silence,
For my house want the noise of its action,
Why keys to the gates that serve my understanding.

Tramples my heart the fragmenting oddities into smaller pieces,
Your answer that call.

Tur love be like if I had created...
As if only you had appreciated your beautiful creation.

Do not destroy your work expresses in his mystery give life to your dreams!
Man aiming better earth, ask some of you to join your dreams...

! Your wife of this land does not procrastinate your misfortune,
I discover far peaceful landscapes like an echo in the spring,
As large and deep as your forgiveness for loving me more


It tells the Earth to the Sun in its perky tear benefactress of new opportunities as good and healthy smile rainbow on the back of Oviedo sheep valleys of freedom of Pietrelcina life.

To be continued…

I urge that we make ourselves proud… of us
I urge that we go into and come out of these polls sober minded, responsible, uncorrupted, without ‘fight’ or ‘fuss’
Uncorrupted
I urge that a joyous feeling of an evolving nation moving forward be the only thing we can, in hindsight, say erupted… this upcoming Monday, the following Tuesday
I would like to state that a people gunning for peace in these coming days is the only topic I would like to be following in the news today
We should see what’s coming as the change of guard it is… and not as a dreaded doomsday
You may be black… I may be white, or vice versa… and that’s alright
We shouldn't even be asking ourselves “Who’s grey?”
I will vote with one heart for one country… my country
A country in which I’m confident can keep the peace, you see, we’re kind of good at this
I know this because we've had quite a bit of practice
I know this because deep down we all want to make peaceful transitions be the Kenyan way
I know, I hope… and whenever necessary, I pray
Happy voting.

Coming to now, the story of life not as a practical lesson in wisdom as such in a parable or teaching only casual experience for individual. Experiencing this wisdom will change your knowledge gained through the events of becoming with the kingdom of heaven. Ways on the tree of life or paths which are ordained or divined in the Lords or spheres build your learned life knowledge. Adapting as a disciple on the natural skill of the soul shows a person whom, the individual is in a pure state of self and exponential in the ***** of the tree of life.
As a child of light I lived happily joined in the union of spirit, my young soul always with the Almighty Father and Creator in the Tenth heaven. From a dream of the past awaking as a watcher of an extremely large craft inside the entire vessel I could see animals each of them were named and had most important characteristics from the Father. From high aloft in Heaven to the boat a watch was taking place omnipotent over the last life within. Many hosts and angels spoke once I was inside the boat but wasn’t as a soul like a spirit invisible I saw and heard. Angels divine in accord to works of commands were at work in heaven whole groups of choirs known as orders were not ever interrupted by my watch. Trumpet sounded heard in the spirits from heaven to the sea and rush gate of the heaven’s upon the earth. The name of angel that sounded and captured fallen in the thirteenth month; Tebae-et, into the stellar order of gates or fallen paradise.
A child of light borne in spirit always with the hosts or different characters in life such as Chanokh (Enokh-Father of Melekhi-Tsedek order), but it was either in dream or warden amongst crowds of souls touring in celestial spheres with paths of light on the tree of life. Walking outside my house the morning after my dream, I felt as if I could float in the air body and soul light as a feather. Surrounding me was Topaz, chrysophrase, jasper, chalcedony, and amber gemstones still transparency like crystalloluminescence. Above me sapphire with alabaster and my soul looked down upon me with white eyes shining light out of them in a robe covered in my names brilliantly shone in gold light in the temple of my soul. My body was in euphoria and I stared into the future and realms of heaven, seeing into the seven seals as celestial wardens. The divine experience was wholesome pure enrichment to my soul each word I had in communion with the throne of supreme majesty firm with glory, order, and unconditional loving care. Differences in the Father; whom was a body of so many names and creations perfect in commands, recordings, gates, cycles of hosts myriads, elementals, migrations of stars, and firmament upon firmament.
The way of the most holy spirits as complete body of the Father the original tree of life, which is known completely in the true names it was created as. The spirits, angels, guardians or incessantly serving hosts help the Father governing of the kingdom of heaven in the four parts of man. The structure I remember is perfection with tongues that fill the heart with everlasting laughter, hope that cheerfully overcomes in a soul victory. The heavenly abode the height of the throne gives the soul countenance of wisdom to the word unto man. Upon a single walk with the Father had taken my body and spirited my being in soul countenance of wisdom so far through the future I had saw unto trumpets of revelation.
Melekhi-Tsedek order the true religion to be proclaimed unto man the creatures such as animals, fallen accursed, the plant life in, promise, orphans, and widows were watched over on the decree or divine ordination from heaven. Ascending up to the throne; I went through the knowledge of the complete day in heaven or paradise recorded then toured the solar spheres, through the knowledge of the spirits or holy hosts that did in accordance to the orders. The process was divined in the Father’s willpower over my essence I had knowledge to what was being experienced in a connection unto every living creation. Completely, opening the mind unto Ratsiel (secret of God), through the third-eye founding of my soul into mysteries of kingdom of heaven. Voices of many named angels were annunciating with pleasant tones and choirs voices of angels by the thousands. Recording archangels kept the things that were occurring in the kingdom of man, while also serving the obligated roles of their natural being as direct personification of God. Organized, synchronized, and in spirit of prophecy patterning so perfected without error moving about in every way structurally sound through commanded orders. Systems of planets were kept sealed in the seven hallways or wards that divide heaven’s celestial nether space from the foundation of firmaments of word and universe unto the highest Lords signs of zodiac places. Above Almighty Father can sit omnipotent as ascending angels, spirits, or orders can go the entire flight focused on the Father’s throne. The orders of body were eminence Seraphim, Cherubim, Wheels (Thrones), Dominions (Authorities), Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Archangel, and Angels. Although the kingdom in spirit was always changing and becoming according to the cycle of the sun’s orbital sphere into the gates of each day on a 28 year cycle and 7,000 year unto 7 days in heaven the Lord a light-giver and also Lord of completion, Sabbath day.
A fresh gust of wind and a light pure feel was a regular experience while awakening my mind I learned of the Elders of heaven whom had crazy stories like when Samson had the might to slay the lions or tore down the temple of Dagon. I knew the hosts and things that had become in the kingdom of heaven to allow the might shone as a show for the heaven, but also act of the devils in his life. This knowledge was in a book the scripted the entirety of all the acts that take place as a divine act, once a celestial being was in visitation in spirit. The seraph Ratsiel (secret of God) investigated the acts of the temptation of Adam by Chavah and the acts of the archangels in response to the threat. The accord to the acts of everything that exists in the accord to knowledge of the solar is obtainable through this book, the book of knowledge.
Later in another dream I met the minister of death in spirit which as within a myriad where thousands of spirits were at works performing the acts in which is their existence and adapted behavior as a role in realms. Being in one place while still seeing into a complete different world or plane of existence doing as is need or divined in nature. Black darkened pillars came down on me as this space ship shaped like a pyramid with the patterns of natural earth red and black like lava years after a volcano. Around me each pillar stood as a being in realm invisible to my eye except for one being on a throne centered in the myriad the throne of death. Fiery torment in flames along with brimstone flowed in two pooled lakes parallel from one another with a long path going from gate to the another gate leading to Sheol or Hades. A base foundation of the throne is a horizontal shadowed hallway with many smaller pillars which give no support to the throne, while the path is vertically centered. Two stairways go up to the platform of the throne one on each side of the platform decorated with images of Baaliyal in form of a torrent. Death sat upon the throne with darkness like the appearance of black smoke blowing from his mouth a complete skeleton. Skeletal body covered in black cloak with a screeching voice like a woman’s long fingernail’s scratching a chalkboard. Terrified I walk my being over the site of my soul-mate who is on my like side and here with me she is like a dream and become in multiple places at the same time. Beautiful she was consistently becoming in hosts of cherubim changing into many different forms of the adapting natural instincts of animal’s behavior for survival, she is tan Carmel skin color and flesh uncorrupted by any mans thoughts of lusting ruin. Passionate vivid dreams of a                maiden lying in an alien jungle full of plants most like a rainforest but yet close to the planet’s beaches, wearing a purple robe. Dark and warm humid with a damp feel to the observer of the smooth cover of the claylike terrain of the solar sphere. Again I dreamed of her while she was separated from me by the prince of Tyre or the cherub covering the mercy, she ran amongst different hallways while in the tower of Babel and giant nephlim watched with other gods in gold cursed trying to look down on things in spirit. I walked up the stairs and could see myself from outside of myself, seeing my form as a human being in appearance most like Michael or Melekhidael with breastplate of gold without a helmet. Death screeched out at me and I saw an ancient giant of hell also the spirit of Tanhumeth trying to send me into the past. Awakened into a new form I walked through the gate vertical in the chamber beneath death’s ministry. Sopheriael Yahweh took me into the spirit of a seraph Hadaneriael then, into the 10 archangels of punishment over the 10 nations of Babylon the great which took me into the depth to the ninth circle of punishment for a reign in gates of the Phul seal or in Phalek. My soul was the loosened stars of Kesil through Samuil the poisoned messenger a discernment spirit involved in the surfs of the accord of the kingdom of dark princes in paradise, the divine comedy Queen of Angels enchanted songs counted into paradise. Darkness in the kingdom of heaven, with the ability to paralyze minds with seraphim hosts of terror, I walked through the brazen gates of Hades seeing everything on fire but also thousands of thousands of different forms of creations each rarity seen with delightful insight to provoke interests into any living being. The life paths of a multitude of creations would come through Hades and become baptized through spirit’s fire of pure refinement spoken as worth in the golden city, precious daughter of the loom, here in accord to John the Baptist’s   prophecy.
At a young age of 6 years old I began to refuse the world or play directly into the kingdom of heaven which was a lonely elect of self in my family also in the church my family attended. Wicked spirits attacked the gates of my inner ear where and had began to tell me of things that would happen in future then, keep me from being with the Father completely in heaven. My memory started to fade in fear that I would only to struggle if I kept learning. Gradual disillusion way from the throne began while I was only a few years old, the devils were wise in deceit most from the tree of knowledge and future mistakes from which I saw rolling with wheels of heaven. Moments of times in the future I would soul determine things into happening from the spirit of prophecy it was something I kept special between the Father and mines relationship. Constantly I would hated life and wanted to die, feed into temptation, stole, and spoke accursedly cutting my relationship from the Father.
Was not until I was seventeen years of age when I felt an overwhelming feeling like I had just explained something about the firmament of heaven which usually gives me this same feeling like a gust of wind in my person with a prestigious self worth from outside of self comforting to my soul. Looking up into the pitch black night sky, I saw a strange and odd formed constellation of stars above me I raised my arm and pointed at three stars. As if on command or through a governing of the stars each was loosed and fell immediately after pointing to them. Excited as the skin of my body was stinging as hairs stood to the point of super natural acknowledgment of the world’s great mysteries finding depth in the human soul I watched the sky then turned to the east. About to use the marijuana I torched a bowl of green bud then thought in the medium mostly of the kingdom and Father in heaven. In the zephyr region of the sky I saw a light floating, soaring, flashing, and moving faster than anything I had ever seen in life but on movies scenes. Astonished again I watch the spirit jumping around in the sky with multiple purposes and clear intent to do for the Father most high. My only other witness to this was my black minx cat shadoe, whom I looked at and said “I going to have a vision tomorrow” then finished two more hits of the cannabis before leaving to my room in the basement of a two-story house.
Awakening to the day was full of feeling of mystery I didn’t tell any of my experience from the night before. On October eighteenth in the day I smoked some marijuana went to Crook County High School and a blood drive was setup, I planned to give a pint for my first time ever so I went to auditorium where the blood was taken from my arm. Feeling faint and in hope for a high opposed to school I left and was excused from classes. Arriving at the house I stopped my Suzuki Sidekick in front then went in and downstairs to the place after the last step knowing something amazing was about to happening I uttered the name Metatron. Linear thought was tremendous while spirit balanced on a pillar and the first seal Arathron had me in celestial hallway warding the ancient spirits from the night before. Sitting down in a lazyboy recliner chair I first start the satellite television turn it on with remote, the spirits are crazy making grandeur boosts of how I can control everything like that remote but from mind. Flipping through stations I begin to change the channel in accord to how I sense and feel the spirits. Crazy things start occurring watching until I was seeing a celestial vision. Hearing my mind from above it was intriguing and making my pride compulsive like no one living I was experiencing these sights. As a mode of characters in a set ordained function were becoming visible on the tree of life but each were in a different realm not visible to the other. Beautiful alien life most exquisite to the eyes in the planes of other worldly adobes just doing into a set way of commands rare without repetition. Nine characters panther, eagle, falcon, wolf, coyote, Siberian tiger, and one man with blonde hair came into view in a dense rainforest like jungle each was adapting to the environment but they were only one soul becoming the entire time. The forest was no longer and the upper places had new hosting since I had entered and changed things with my thoughts, I became the soul of the characters. Seeing upwardly was a flight to the top of the extreme heights of the Father’s presence through the third seal of Phalek. At the arrival of my being I saw the most adorned and absolutely marvelous splendor of white shine like that of the sun’s rays hitting snow filled fields. The Father’s presence so handsome and gorgeous I have never seen another beauty like it only his eyes were so bright shining when he created my being as a star to his left-hand above a white marble pedestal of wisdom. Father had most elegant white robe shining in purity and sat upon a throne center below seven pillars known as the tabernacle of creation or tabernacle of seven days. In the presence I was pulled back down I felt spirits by the millions entering me, fusing to the dawn star in me finding a place inside me. Possessively filled with spirits till an evil pride overtook me and I felt ever sinful or dark taint of the soul. Lightening fell on the seventh pillar in the tabernacle blue bolts streaked downward as I fell from the presence back to the sphere of Adam’s where I heard two voices speaking. Red clay-like surface with rough igneous and metaphoric rock on the solar planet were a tree had burned to charred pieces. Sin from the Tree of knowledge was present as a spirit she was a young apprentice of the ancient one or Athiquelis. Introducing herself with flaming hair of red orange flames, her eyes shone as big red gemstones of ruby and a body covered with a black dress that faded into the natural darkness of her nature. Waving and floating in the air seducing temptation in her words that spoke into my mind and not from the channel. Soothsaying feminist voice would move me to her place and origin beside a large eleven foot pillar of smooth dark bla

******.
A symbol of denial, congeniality, and assurance of love;
the fate of maternity, motherhood, that is witnessed
and cherished from afar.
From a sacred little haven;
from a struggle of motherly defense.

O ******!
Temptations are to you never a bother,
in the tempests of lush dreams,
the draining of purity,
and veritable sensations.
Steadiness is your notion;
it barely leaves your mind
you may be deeply hurt
but never hurt,
you may be a stranger
but your grace is your power.

Truth that is unpardonable,
veraciousness at my simplest words,
clarity that is gleaming in your eye,
a token of pleasure but indestructible affection;
adorable as you are,
serenity is beyond question;
dreams are but inseparable from your docile life.
O ******, the sweetness and gentleness of thy eyes
are my irreplaceable silence,
my appraised soul,
and my most resolute
and irrepressible invocation.

O ******, one that is so rare a rose
Many as in the May-day dance are tainted;
marks of annoyance, omens of indulgence.
With hunger for nothing but moans;
unsober groans, and quickening breaths in paces of outward satisfaction;
intoxicated desires but unloving movements;
on the grounds for endless dancing;
there is the thirst for grips, the grossest of stateliness!
Voluptuous romance, perfidious touches, and
false-hearted toys!
In the wakeful dreams of which
I long for you, a handful of thy chastest kisses!
I pray for your hands, so delicate
as mine, how they shall fit into each other!
I long for your lips, your spotless, uncorrupted cheeks,
My demand is for your hands;
for sanity, and sincerest cordiality
Despite of my guilt and former unconsciousness
I shall amend my grief for you,
for you only,
for oureth perfect, unconquerable happiness,
and the union of our souls
in a day of holy matrimony.

Spheres floating in the chilly dark,
white and fluffy,
vain and uncorrupted.
They act as the air
being both here and never
there;
they act as the heavens,
little shining points floating
in a sea of black.
Islands so pure
floating in a nightmare sea--
how I abhorr their isolation,
their pure and careless
floating
though I, too, am alone.
Adrift in a sea of
introspective mutterings and
the utterings of a mind entrapped,
I sail the dark and simpering seas
of the Universe.
My vessel is a snowflake,
a crystalline craft carrying me
through the synapses and
nervous connections
of the thinking brain.
How infinite is the mind,
how wondrous is the world,
an immensity unto itself and
yet so tiny and contained.
I have never seen the ruins of China,
the fallen columns of the Romans nor
the ancient halls of the Al-Hambra.
I shall never see the samurai in bloom,
arranging flowers and painting
pictures of naked women
haunting their snowflake mind.
I shall never construct the
anonymous clockwork of Archimedes
but rather be trapped in the mechanisms
of the modern machine.
Adrift,
my confusion,
my blind anger and hatred of fate and
the gravity that pulls the snowflake ever closer to the ground
is pure vanity and self illusion.
Do the archways of Troy or
the mathematics of India
make us any larger in size
when compared to the Universe?
How can a snowflake
measure infinity?
What Universes exist
within the frozen ice of a snowflake,
what wars and great romances have played out
within the crystals;
what gods have been erected,
what nations have coalesced from the ashes
within the molecules and atoms
crafted by the cold
and the senseless flow of water?
The myriad explorers,
philosophers,
inventors,
geniuses lost to the ages
have mapped out the physical
while still being blind to the
finite world around them.
They sailed the Universe's
inky oceans of unknown,
their mind's sails billowing white,
puffy and hopeful
as they drifted off the edge of the known.
How they wriggled and rolled
so miraculously through the dark,
snowflakes floating carelessly
creating the world out of necessity
and pure ingenuity.
What white specters might exist
in the libraries of old,
in the halls of Alexandria or
the melting *** of Baghdad?
Do they wish to leave me a message,
the snow that saunters down,
to build a city in my mind
and a home in my soul.
What thoughts were caught
by the ancient genius
floating carelessly
like snow falling
in the anonymous black
of night?
Like islands they stood
for the men sailing the unknown waters
to rest and read and
contemplate
for just a few moments longer.
Swallowed by the darkness,
layered on the ground,
the knowledge is lost
among the infinitely white expanse
and the all-consuming darkness
of the night.
I am lost
like a snowflake falling too fast
I am buried beneath
layers of snow.

This is the unedited version of our story. It tells you they how and they why so you can know who we are and why we did what we did. It has the parts that only people on the inside will see. If you want the shorter version, see the edited version.*

There were five of us.
(Five is such an oddly even number)
Freshman who grew up to be seniors
(You don't really understand till you've gone through it)

There was the oldest, the skinny one
(Who seemed like the youngest)
He was tall and awkward
(Worked in his Dad's shop and strong as an ox)

He was so quiet and shy
(I knew him last, but understood him best)
He only texted
(He was afraid we'd see his curly hair)

He was uncorrupted
(With secret dreams of married ***)
He was a lover
(Not mine, he was lover of his family)

Then there was the Latino
(He’s short, dark, good taste in music)
Amazing athletic talent
(Parkour was all he was big enough for)

A great friend
(Who was in love with my best friend)
Funny as hell
(I became "one of the guys" with him)

Romantic and gentle
(Exactly what my best friend needed)
Loyal and patient
(Their love was forbidden and everlasting)

Next came the little one
(My beautiful best friend in the whole world)
Obedient and but passionate
(Controlling mother, rebellious sister)

Younger than everyone
(But ahead of us in schoolwork)
Guileless and enchanting
(She’s my girl-crush, she’s everyone’s crush)

In love with the latino
(They ran away together for a weekend once)
The most bendable, changeable one
(Unpredictable and easily swayed)

Also there was the clown
(He was my clown, we belonged to each other)
Everyone’s friend, no one’s best friend
(Except mine. I could reach him deep down.)

Wannabe family man
(But he had no good examples)
Strangely perceptive
(But he couldn’t look past his selfish nose)

Always smiling
(But passively aggressive)
Ladies’ man
(They teased him about being gay)

And then there was me.
(How do I describe myself?)
Full of surprises
(That’s what they tell me)

Loud, rebellious, crazy
(I always say what I’m thinking)
Fearless, childish
(No one tells me what to do.)

Independent and devoted
(Never clingy, but “I love you” means forever)
Steady and never-changing, slightly judgmental
(I stood back and watched it unfold with tears and frowns)

That was us.
(Pretty easy to imagine?)
We were all connected, but also independent
(One on one, but a great group)

The boys fought
(They all can’t stand each other now)
Mostly over the little one
(She and I fought too, but it passed)

Then we fell apart.
(Gradually, till graduation)
We’re almost unrecognizable
(It’s lamentable but inevitable)

The tall one, the oldest
(He’s still embarrassed of his hair)
Got his first girlfriend
(Who ******* him and dumped him)

He befriended so many girls
(Like informal dating)
But secretly was dreaming of the little one
(She didn’t notice him at all, till now)

He’s leading his brother
(Down the same dangerous path)
And he doesn’t even know it
(I keep trying to tell him to stop)

The latino is mostly the same
(I haven’t talked to him for a few months now)
He doesn’t fight as much
(Mostly parties and works)

But he never got over the little one
(He couldn’t wait, but couldn’t give her up)
Now he just gets admirers
(Nobody makes him feel as important as she did)

He’ll grow out of high school
(Better than any of us, I think)
He already knows how to do life
(Perhaps he’s the luckiest of all of us)

The little one got so lost along the way
(So many nights, an almost-baby, getting high)
But I decided to stick around cuz she’s my best friend
(She slept with the clown, and he still makes me cry)

She’s already taking college classes
(Spanish and dance, to remind her of the latino)
She’s working with children
(Teaching them how not to make her mistakes)

Now she’s planning her life
(Getting married to the skinny one)
But she doesn’t seem happy
(There’s never going to be passion like there was)

The clown found himself friendless
(But not without girlfriends, lots of them)
He made a lot of dumb mistakes
(But kept them all a secret from everyone but me)

He still hangs around
(But we never talk anymore)
He parties and smokes
(I keep an eye on him, but he doesn’t know)

To hell with being good
(He doesn’t even pretend anymore)
At least he’s accepted his fate
(I wish we could still be friends)

And I’m lost too
(Though I’ve done none of these things)
I don’t party or drink or smoke or have ***
(It’s just kinda stupid and pointless if you ask me)

But I’m losing my religion
(I thought I was better than them, but I’m not)
Bad things have happened to me
(Stroke, death, sickness in the family)

I’m no better than my friends
(Though my body is clean, my heart is black)
I’m sad I’m no longer special
(But was I ever really different?)

And so we’re lost
(Am I the only one who sees it?)
Some are on the mend
(Or they look like they are)

But we made it through high school
(Who knew it would end like this?)
We got so messed up along the way though
(Was it really worth it?)

I drive home listening to Queen
(I’m a sucker for old music)
The clown showed me that one song
(I thought nothing of it at the time)

And I cry
(We are the champions)

You leave the dingy room 333 and walk
Out onto ***** honeycomb patterned carpet stretching
Down the infinite hall towards an open door
Where the housekeeper’s cart is parked
She emerges from behind the stacks of folded towels and ***** blankets
Body younger than it looks somehow she’s smiling in wrinkles of a sunken, toothless mouth
yet underneath the image is an original warmth untouched by a thousand years of junk
You say hello in passing and then onward down the steps covered with plastic
The ***** yellow carpet stains so worn they’ve become part of the design
A window overlooks a courtyard where junkies lay nodding in the sun
The girl at the front desk eyes you half suspicious as you slip out the door and into streets
of Denver where mountains loom in distant vistas obscured by skyscrapers
appearing as solemn watchers uncorrupted, beckoning some strange recognition
You remember your friend saying that the mountains play tricks, cast illusions
Stories of weary travelers confounded by the mountains, lost for days
Weather changing rapidly as buildings rising new construction in the city
You walk past the capital, past the U.S. mint, past the park where bums sleep or stare blankly
Openly with eyes dark as Moroccan hashish looking for a point of entry
A word you missed, a fumbled thought, a dropped coin
This will happen:
You will lock eyes with a man sitting on the cement, his hand gently resting
On an old rusted toolbox
He calls you over, more incantation than command
Says he’s got what you need
He opens up the box and calls you closer
Look
A box of uncut crystals shining in the high altitude
He smiles with a jagged and decayed knowing
You decline yet something insists you need these crystals
These stolen gypsy gems somehow imbued with meaning
Glittering in the sunlight in the park in the old worn out face like chewed leather
Glistening like the clear air rising up above the smell of **** and water seared meat and *****
You walk among the blind alleys where junkies shift and shuffle like shadows rearranging
They themselves part of the scenery, part of the alley backdrop and rattling train track sounds
You’re passing by and one calls out: “Don’t let ‘em tell ya I didn’t say live your life, son”
You look back and see a huddled shadow tying off beside a chain link fence
He’s looking right at you with perfect insect calm, features out of focus, dull and grey
You pass the scene in silence and feel the eyes of hunger casting subliminal fuzz down the alley
At midnight you will drink tequila in your room and hear the endless car noise of the city
While you sit smoking out the window staring at the brick wall and down into the alley below
Where windows of the hostel open up and your friend said once there was a woman
In the opposite room ******* and he took off all his clothes and they stood naked
Looking at one another from opposite windows but he never went across the hall to meet her
You will laugh and be amazed and get drunk
As the driving beat of car stereos, bass and hip-hop incantations rise up through the splintered window frame yellow like decay
You’ll sit out on the street corner smoking
A gigantic hash joint
Passing it back and forth
Denver’s finest
As you listen to the shrill harmony
Of the corner night club filled with glitter and women and alcohol all spilling out into the streets
& you will watch them all go running, howling, yelling, screaming, laughing, *******, and
spreading out like fireworks across a vast empty space
The cars that never end
Choked out exhaust and marijuana smoke twisting in the midnight air rising up untouchable where the mountain breezes cap the city
& penetrates the human circus all around you
You will disappear up the hostel steps returning
Higher than you’ve ever been before
Each step, each movement you are disappearing
Melting into the smoke-tinged plaster
Your pulse is in your footfalls there
Among the honeybees and hexagons
Your breath beat in rhythms of your skull
After an impossible moment
You arrive back at your room, 333
The demon door more unfamiliar
This will happen
You’ll go inside and lock the door
Knowing you have the fear
Raw and powerful
Pure animal chemical reaction
Every tissue and fiber now opposed
To the very situation, the very fact of existence, of
Immediate dislocation in space/time
Alien moments here in Colorado hostel room
Where junkies sit in vegetable stasis
Feeling nothing whatsoever
& there’s a needle hidden in the room somewhere
Your friend says not to worry man
& what did you expect anyway?
“Yeah it’s kind of a flophouse”
“Just throw it out the window”
You take a long deep breath and look
Into a mirror you see your form reflected
As your friend pulls out his friend, the trusty map
And there, emblazoned in ****** letters
Denver
The very words looks sinister
Denver
Written in ****** words of ******
You try to realize what you came here for
Not this
& breathing deeply you lay upon the bed
The too-thin mattress covered in plastic
& think of home
A lifetime & world of roads away
You seek to abandon all you know
And become attuned to the rhythmic engine of sound
You will become filled with desire and yet completely empty
Cockroach needle empty park wind howling distant peaks sculpted valleys
Self-reliant water smell pity bums like silent watchers in the night
Nature spreads her view of time in silent moments
Stillness in the room
In the spaces between sounds
In the fear of comfort separation
In the freeness of creation
In the wild faith of travel
In the foreign teachings
***** steps and office buildings
In the bars and libraries
In the hostel *******
In the wholly new experience
In the squalor of the uncontrollable
In the corridor passing like a phantom
In the stones and cactus flowers
In the romance of the body
Eager to pass through
Into this new dream
Tomorrow we are heading for the mountains

In the shade of the freeway
The pretenders stalks his prey
Innocence quite uncorrupted
Until today.

In the shade of the willow tree
You lay here next to me
Draped in Spanish moss
Cicada symphony.

In the shade of the old motel
Feels like she's got to sell
Cigarette lights up the night
Sees a face she knows too well.

You are beautiful forever--

the core of who you are..
still  wholly uncorrupted,
is made in the very image of God--

It is intertwined with your flesh
so that your flesh may become healed.

But your flesh is immersed in
the stupidity, placed there by others,  not you.
But you are the one that still  chooses
to believe its ******-up message--

The one that says   it will not work
or that   it's all too much
or that   no one cares, anyways

or that  you are not worthy
             of the magic that is in you.

The relational part of your own  healing
that already exists  within you
will come to you from those
who love you enough
to want to tell you the truth--

That the message your traumatized flesh, carries
is nowhere near the truth,  but instead
is immersed inside of the lie.
I tell you the truth, in response to your
acknowledgement of my faith in you
and you respond by treating me as if
you have no value for me whatsoever.

What tells you inside of yourself
to respond that way?

So, I make a play for you again,
not to make you mine..

  but to remind you of who you truly are.

All of the healing you will ever need
is already inside of you..  through the
Image-bearing nature  of the very core
of who you are.  Its deep ache  to permeate
your broken flesh  is held at bay
by Love's beautiful choice to  yield
to your own freedom of autonomy

Because love, without freedom
is not love at all--

but only control.. with a smile.

I weather your storms
because not even your own  lack of
believing in yourself  will ever
stop  me from believing in you.

--And yes.. you are at times difficult--
sometimes to such a degree,  that the dream
you actually are to me..  at those times

can feel to me as if instead,
like a bad nightmare..

But that is only the stupidity, of your flesh
and your own temporary stupidity  of actually
believing  that,  in itself..   as if  to be life..

 and as if  to be you.

You are my beautiful,  forever
that will never, ever  change.
One day  you will see, beautiful girl.

I know that one day,  you will see

I get off the Belt Parkway at Rockaway Boulevard and
Jet aloft from Idyllwild.
(I know, now called J.F. ******* K!)
Aboard a TWA 747 to what was then British East Africa,
Then overland by train to Baroness Blixen’s Nairobi farm . . .
You know the one at the foot of the Ngong Hills.
I lease space in Karen’s African dreams,
Caressing her long white giraffe nape,
That exquisite Streep jugular.
I am a ghost in Meryl’s evil petting zoo:
I haunt the hand that feeds me.

Safely back in Denmark, I receive treatment
For my third bout with syphilis at Copenhagen General.
Cured at last, I return to Kenya and Karen.
In my solitude or sleep, I go with her,
One hundred miles north of the Equator,
Arriving at Julia Child’s marijuana herb garden–
Originally Kikuyu Land, of course—
But mine now by imperial design &
California voter referendum.
(Voiceover) "I had a farm in Africa
At the foot of the Ngong Hills."
My farm lies high above the sea at 6,000 feet.
By daybreak I feel oh, oh so high up,
Near to the sun on early mornings.
Evenings so limpid and restful;
Nights oh, so cold.
Mille Grazie a lei, Signore *******!
Andiamo, Sydney, amico mio.
Let it flow like the water that lives in Mombasa.
Let it flow like Kurt Luedtke’s liquid crystal script.
We zoom in. We go close in. Going close up,
On the face of Isak Dinesen’s household
Servant and general factotum. (Full camera ******)
Karen Blixen’s devoted Muslim manservant,
Farah: “God is happy, msabu. He plays with us…”
He plays with me.  And who shall I be today?
How about Tony Manero for starters?
Good choice. Nicely done!
Geezer Manero:  old and bitter now,
Still working at the hardware store,
Twice-divorced, a chain-smoker,
Severely diabetic, a drunk on dialysis 3 times a week.
Bite me, Pop:  I never thought I was John Travolta.
But, hey, I had my shot:  “I coulda been a contenda.”
Once more, by association only,
I am a great artist again, quickly made
Near great by a simple second look.
Why, oh God? I am kvetching again.
I celebrate myself and sing the
L-on-forehead loser’s lament:
Why implant the desire and then
Withhold from me the talent?
“I wrote 30 ******* operas,”
I hear Salieri’s demented cackle.
“I will speak for you, Wolfie Babaloo;
I speak for all mediocrities.
I am their champion, their patron saint.”

Must I wind up in the same
Viennese loony bin with Antonio?
Note to self:  GTF out of Austria post-haste!
I’ve been called on the Emperor’s carpet again,
My head, my decapitated Prufrock noodle,
Grown slightly bald, brought in upon a platter.
Are peaches in season?
Do I dare eat one?
I am Amadeus, ******, infantile,
An irresistible iconoclast and clown.
Wolfie:   “I am called on the imperial carpet again.
The Emperor may have no clothes but he’s got a
Shitload of ******* carpets."
Hello Girls: ‘Disco Tampons!
Staying inside, staying inside!
Wolfie: "Why have I chosen a ****** farce for my libretto?
Surely there are more elevated themes . . . NO!
I am fed to the teeth with elevated themes,
People so lofty they **** marble!"
Confutatis maledictis,
Flammis acribus addictis.

So, I mix paint in the hardware store by day.
I dance all night, near-great again by locomotion.
Join me in at least one of my verifiable nine lives.
Go with me across the Narrows,
Back to Lenape with the wild red men of Canarsee,
To Vlacke Bos, Boswijk & Nieuw Utrecht,
To Dutch treat Breuckelen, Red Hook & Bensonhurst,
To Bay Ridge and the Sheepshead.
Come with me to Coney Island’s Steeplechase & Luna Park, &
Dreamland (aka Brownsville) East New York, County of Kings.
If I’m lying, I’m dying.
And while we’re on the subject now,
Bwana Finch Hatton (pronounced FINCH HATTON),
Why not turn your focus to the rival for Karen’s heart,
To the guy who nursed her through the syphilis,
That old taciturn ******, Guru Farah?
Righto and Cheerio, Mr. Finch Hatton,
Denys George of that surname—
Why not visualize Imam Farah?
Farah: a Twisted Sister Mary Ignatius,
Explaining it all to your likes-the-dark-meat
Friend and ivory-trading business partner,
Berkeley (pronounced BARK-LEE) Cole.
Can you dig it, Travolta?
I knew that you could!

Oh yeah, Tony Manero, the Bee Gees & me,
A marriage made in Brooklyn.
The Gibbs providing the sound track while
I took care of the local action.
I got more *** than a toilet seat, a Don Juan rep &
THE CLAP on more than one occasion.
Probably from a toilet seat.
Even my big brother–the failed priest,
Celibate too long and desperate now–
Even my defrocked, blue-balled brother,
Frankie, cashing in his chips at the Archdiocese,
Taking soave lessons from yours truly,
Taking notes, copying my slick moves with chicks.
It was the usual story with the usual suspects &
The usual character tests. All of which I flunk.
I choose Fitzgerald's “vast, ****** meretricious beauty,”
My jumpstart to the middle class.
I spurn the neighborhood puttana,
Mary Catherine Delvecchio: the community ****
With the proverbial heart of gold &
A backpack full of self-esteem deficits.
I opt out.  I’m hungry and leaping.
I morph again, grab *** the golden girl.
Now I’m Gatsby in a white suit,
Stalking Daisy Buchanan in East Egg,
Daisy: her voice full of money;
My green light flashing on the disco dance floor.
I, a fool for love; she, my faithless uptown girl,
Golden and delicious like the apple,
Capricious like a blue Persian cat.
My “orgiastic future” eluded me then.
It eludes me still. Time to go home again to the place
****-ant Prufrocks ponder their pathetic dying embers.
Time to assume the position:
Gazing out from some trapezoidal patch of green
At the foot of Roebling’s bridge,
Contemplating an alternative reality for myself,
A new life across the East River,
In the city that never sleeps.
I crave. I lust. I am a guinzo Eva Duarte.
I too must be a part of B.A., Buenos Aires:
THE BIG APPLE.
But I am ashamed of my luggage,
Not to mention my baggage.
It’s like that last thing Holden Caulfield said to me,
Just before he crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge,
Crossed over to Manhattan without me,
Leaving me alone again, searching for our kid sister,
Phoebe, the only one on earth we can relate to:
“It’s really hard to be roommates with people
If your suitcases are much better than theirs.”
Ow! That stung; that was a stinger.
I am smithereened by a self-guided drone,
A smart bomb full of snide antigravity,
Transformational and caustic.
My meager allotment of self-esteem
Metastasizes into something base,
Something heavy and vile.
I drop to earth like lead mozzarella.

I am unworthy, unworthy in the maximum mendicant,
Roman Catholic mea culpa sense of the word.
I am now Umberto Eco’s penitenziagite.
I am Salvatore, a demented hunchback
(Played flawlessly as a demented hunchback by Ron Perlman),
Spewing linguistic gibberish in a variety of vernaculars:
“Lord, I am not worthy to live anywhere west of the Gowanus Canal.”
By East River waters I weep bitter tears,
The promise of a promised land denied.
I am a garlic-eating Chuck Yeager,
Auguring in, burnt beyond recognition,
An ethnic trope, a defiant Private Maggio
From here and for eternity,
Forever a swarthy ethnic stereotype
Trying to escape thru a small but significant
Hole in the ozone layer above South Ozone Park,
New York, zip code 11420.
That’s right, Ozone Park.
If you don’t believe me, look it up.
GO ******* GOOGLE IT!

And I just don’t know when to quit.
So why quit there?
Work with me, fratello mio, mon lecteur.
Like you, I took the LSAT so long ago.
Why am I not a distinguished American jurist
Asking the one question that seems to be on
Everyone’s eugenic lips today:
“Aren’t three generations of imbeciles enough?”
I am Charly from Flowers for Algernon,
A slow learner with a push broom, swept up in
Some dust from Leonard Cohen’s cuff.
Lenny: a grey-beard loon himself now, singing
“Hallelujah” for fish & chips in London’s O2 Arena.
“Suzanne takes you down, Babaloo!”
At last, I am Jesus Quintana—
John Turturro stealing the movie as usual--
This time in a hair net and a jumpsuit,
"Made of a comfortable 65% polyester/35%
Cotton poplin, you can even add your own
Ribbon leg trim and monogramming
For just the right look to be one of
The Big Lebowski’s favorite characters.
Mouse-over the thumbnail below to see our actual style
(Color must be purple). Style #: 98P, Price: $55.95. On sale: $50.36.www.myjumpsuit.com."
Fortunately, I am a savvy marketeer:
I understand the artistic potential, the venal
Possibilities of product placement. Go with me
To that undiscovered country.
The humanities uncorrupted till now by
Crass gimcrack television ads. That’s right:
******* commercials smack dab in the
Middle of a ******* poem. Why not?
Great literature has always been about
Selling something, even if only an idea.
Hey, **** me, Herman Melville!
We both know the publication costs of
Moby **** were underwritten by the tattoo artists &
Harpoon manufacturers of New Bedford,
Matched by a small research grant from some
Proto-Greenpeace, Poseidon adventure in some
Great white whale-watching swinging soiree.
Murray the ******* K, pendejo!
At last, I am The Jesus, a pervert & pederast,
According to Walter Sobjak—another post-traumatic
Post Toasty, like me, still out there in the jungle,
Still in love with the smell of ****** in the morning.
My bowling buddy, Walter, comfortably far to the right of
The Dude, and Attila the *** for that matter,
But who gives a **** if Lenin was The Walrus?
(“Shut the **** up, Buscemi!”)
“Once you hang a right at Hubert Humphrey,”
Said the streets of 1968 Chicago,
"It’s all ******* fascism anyway.”
That creep could roll, though, and as we know so well:
“Nobody ***** with The Jesus.”
Can you dig it, Travolta?
I knew that you could!

INCOMING!
I just heard from an old girlfriend who is miles away,
Teaching school in Navajo Land.
The Big Rez:  a long day’s interstate katzenjammer,
A Route 66 nightmare by car, but by email,
Just down the block and round the corner.
I had previously closed an email to her with a frivolous
“Say hello to my stinky friend.”
It was a total non-sequitur, an iconic-moronic,
Ace Ventura-mutant line from Scarface,
Which may have meant–in my herbal lunch delirium—
That she should say hi to some mutual acquaintance
We mutually loathe, Or, perhaps an acknowledgement that she–
My surrogate Cameron Diaz–has a new **** buddy,
Of whom I am insanely jealous.
Or maybe it was a simple Seinfeld “about nothing.”
Who knows what goes on in that twisted *****’s head?
She spends the next two hours in a flood of funk,
A deluge of insecurity.
A veritable Katrina ****** of self-consciousness,
Interpreting my inane nonsense in terms of vaginal health.

Hey, you want to ruin a woman’s day?
Tell her, her **** smells.

Your hands have seen the inside
of a carborator. You took apart a
hard drive and called it procreation.
They've been blackened by grease and
bloodied in your desperate attempts
to clear the clouds out of your head.
Seattle is our ocean, water all around
to drown away bad memories and forget
the sunshine of our conception.
Rain can cover up scars, hurt, and spilled
ideas, take them far away to different oceans.
But never our own foreign lake, somewhere
close to Mount St. Helens, or so we thought.
Could our hands ever touch such a pure,
uncorrupted pool as holy as the depths
of your eyes? Would it wipe clean the
slate, dirtied over years of poor decisions?
Your cloudy eyes tell me different.

in the weeds where the dark bees
believe in dark dreams; savoring the frostbitten
nostalgia of wet mittens and smokestacks
hacking hearth-smog and dingy bitters
against clouds from a nameless
grudge... spawn from downcast holly.
where red berries
gasp for yellow
in the crotch of a wooden Fluegelhorn
sprouting from the branch
of a hedge without
Lips.

But a mouth full of snow.

II

in the weeds where the dark bees
believe in atoms of uncorrupted joy and pollen.
where they collude with silent majorities
and swindle sunlight for a spawnsong
anchored to the beak of a kestrel...
shrieking the maniacal disquiet
of a perfect moment.

rattling the hinges -

adored.

without
a key.

in the corner of my disastrous mind
i can always seem to go on and find
all the things that i have wanted defined
in the corner, i see the beauty in my mind
there are things i've wanted, i kept left behind
now i wonder all about my state of sorry mind

i used to only wonder about the blue sky
i used to think how to reach, it was so high
thought how it was to be free, to be able to fly
a chance for me to reach the peak, to defy
all the logic, rules of nature to be a butterfly
but that time's long gone, now i say goodbye

to my forlorn dreams of summer and spring
to the things i once filled my joy, everything
there is no use to stay around here and cling
to the colorful yesterday, future in full swing
do not remember the flowers that did sing

in the corner of my mind, i still see
the uncorrupted youth that was me
there were no troubles in the sea
in the shores calm space to be free
the illusion has cracked, here reality
sets in, no place left here to flee
in the corner of my mind, there is me

as i grew, sick reality is all i've known
i turned to art, to music but felt alone
poured my heart and soul, all i own
the shadows grew, my heart into stone
i can never outrun all of this the unknown
i felt corrupted, removed from my throne

i remember how much i cried that night
i told you that i am so tired of this fight
told me i was wrong, that you were right
that my dream was too far out of sight
i went outside and burned it with light
all the innocence was gone overnight

i cried and shouted if this was alright
to burn everything that was in my sight
but at the time i had to give up that fight
the miserable cold clung to me with spite
it took a while the future has taken its flight
I still watched as my past was set alight

in the corner of my mind, i still see
the uncorrupted youth that was me
there were no troubles in the sea
in the shores calm space to be free
the illusion has cracked, here reality
sets in, no place left here to flee
in the corner of my mind, there is me

we reunited again and then i was in  love
everything felt right to me, fit like a glove
over and over, you healed me, kind of
i am a stranger to myself, just a someone
but with you i felt like i could shove
all the shadows in the name of your love

i don't ever want to let you go, so stay
let me have you in my life until i'm grey
every dawn where the stars turn to day
we could celebrate any and every holiday
i would do anything, find it all anyway
cause if you do, then i might be okay

i know that dark times will always come
but with both you and i we can overcome
we can be both numb but never succumb
there will be more memories, we live for them
we still have a life to share, roots full of stem
i have no idea what i'll be what i'll become

so still stay, give me the chance to grow more
let me live day to day to know what i live for
understand life to the very edge of its core
we have so much more to know and explore
so just sit beside me and watch the rain pour
let us live in peace and not leave or part anymore

in the corner of my mind, i still see
the uncorrupted youth that was me
there were no troubles in the sea
in the shores calm space to be free
the illusion has cracked, here reality
sets in, no place left here to flee
in the corner of my mind, there is me


so long as i have you by my side i won't flee
so long as i have you in the corner, i will see
a brighter future, such  beautiful glamorous glee
as long as you are in the corner with me
i think we can overcome conquer all in reality
in the corner of my mind, i smile what i see
sit beside you, this is where we are meant to be

This is the shorter edited version of our story. It tells you the facts, but it doesn't tell you the why. It leaves a lot of blanks that you can fill in, so it could be about your own highschool experience. If you want to  know our story, read the unedited version.*

There were five of us.
Freshman who grew up to be seniors

There was the oldest, the skinny one
He was tall and awkward

He was so quiet and shy
He only texted

He was uncorrupted
He was a lover

Then there was the Latino
Amazing athletic talent

A great friend
Funny as hell

Romantic and gentle
Loyal and patient

Next came the little one
Obedient and but passionate

Younger than everyone
Guileless and enchanting

In love with the latino
The most bendable, changeable one

Also there was the clown
Everyone’s friend, no one’s best friend

Wannabe family man
Strangely perceptive

Always smiling
Ladies’ man

And then there was me.
Full of surprises

Loud, rebellious, crazy
Fearless, childish

Independent and devoted
Steady and never-changing, slightly judgmental

That was us.
We were all connected, but also independent

The boys fought
Mostly over the little one

Then we fell apart.
We’re almost unrecognizable

The tall one, the oldest
Got his first girlfriend

He befriended so many girls
But secretly was dreaming of the little one

He’s leading his brother
And he doesn’t even know it

The latino is mostly the same
He doesn’t fight as much

But he never got over the little one
Now he just gets admirers

He’ll grow out of high school
He already knows how to do life

The little one got so lost along the way
But I decided to stick around cuz she’s my best friend

She’s already taking college classes
She’s working with children

Now she’s planning her life
But she doesn’t seem happy

The clown found himself friendless
He made a lot of dumb mistakes

He still hangs around
He parties and smokes

To hell with being good
At least he’s accepted his fate

And I’m lost too
I don’t party or drink or smoke or have ***

But I’m losing my religion
Bad things have happened to me

I’m no better than my friends
I’m sad I’m no longer special

And so we’re lost
Some are on the mend

But we made it through high school
We got so messed up along the way though

I drive home listening to Queen
The clown showed me that one song

And I cry because we are the champions

by: William A. Marshall


I stepped off the world
today,
off the broken streets
that winter has damaged
and municipal assessments
off the political gluttons
and performative marks
off the know-it-alls
and wild dogs roving around
with their ****
noses in the air
it’s not pretty
they cover what they don’t know
so that they look good
I head back down the dark hallway
to get a more primitive angle
off of privileged confidence
they are vulnerable
basic caretakers pursuing opulent corsages
to free them from their anxious quotas
and ******* rules
telling me how to wipe my ***
and how to use baby wipes
jointly acting like they run things
from their phony utilitarian bus stop
and cutting-edge applications
their personal band plays a cheerful tune
in the background
as they search for a bigger
advantage and more likes
even though we all share the same horror
youth is about mistakes
and making money
and choices with one eye here and now
the other eye on prevalent professions
students and maintenance men
bureaucratic puppets and academics
farmers and auditors
sales greasers and coaches
writers and board members
somewhere they end up there
carrying a liability
and it creates a vibration in my foxhole
but right in here baby
deep down within me
inside my tomb
I transfer to a silent
place away from
rambling rotting fungus
I step off of it
not always methodically
and then back into faults
and louse packs
I can only assume my rock
that sits in my hole immobile
next to the ****** candy wipes
unless I push it up ontic peaks
nonbeing begins to doubt me
and grips part of you so don’t
think that it doesn’t
I cut it with my knife
obliquely
finding unfortunate contagions
and courage down in the vault of silence
it is there or it isn’t
it is what keeps my will interested
far from the ones moving rashly
without it you would leap from bridges
through minefields I remember
a certain detachment
an uneven and sick progression
paperwork and a number with
a D affixed to its file
the ceiling became the nightly norm
this plastic vacuum-packed
wedding gown made of white silk
made weird noises
in the back of my closet
like it was weeping
the kind of dress
only worn once
it smelled like her that closet
retelling me each time
I opened the private door
making fake crinkling sounds
an icon of pure young tenderness
love expense and faith
eventually cooked and burned  
but it is too early
those individuals that gloat in pictures
and dream about their prince
they are busy playing with
their hair and organic shoulder bags
driving around in furnished cars
the uncorrupted ones
constant courses to come and
subsequent interviews
nailed skintight dresses
soon to be colored sweet red
with danger competing
well you had better feel lucky
because when you plunge into
future swamplands
incompetence and repayment
of what to do with it
and how then to
fill up your cup
without spilling it
all over your soul
don’t tell me how
to live my **** life
now is your time
to reason and shake imperfection
interruptions
over and over
those that listen to your intrusiveness
false performances in chic coffee shops
it is not sustainable there
but you play the part to maintain
your chair in the cooperative
you will miss it
neglecting real evil
because you were talking too much
maintaining your image
Bradbury whispers
from the counter,
“You can't make people listen
they have to come round in
their own time wondering
what happened and why
the world blew up around them
it can't last.”
and numbness above nightly cocktails
distracted dub tracks
ultimately attending
hectic personnel meetings
in drenched swamps
spinning with heartless ***** jobs
unconcerned about safe comforts
two things balance them out
people and things
all part of it out there in the world
and they approach like a train
suffering shocks
unemotional images in chambers
some actually never return
from the beatings
but this isn’t the end
this is a commencement
for me
the forecast is water-resistant
they hurry snatching their
body spray and shower gel
on mirrored reflections
that scowl back at them
all alone there
in their glass steeple
family photos
thinking they have nurtured something
more than endless gossip
and ****** strains
much more important now
bent into independence
pausing with the approaching sunrise
as it splashes powerfully
inside their speculations
pride doesn’t care
if you think you are not puffed-up
at all you are
who in the hell are you kidding?
nothing to cling to
essential oilskins and manuscripts
credit problems
and autobiographical *** packed expressions
corner office windows
and diplomas
behind high-back chairs
trying to copy Sunday magazine’s
hottest statement
to fill up their life
a reminder just who the comics are
but it does not register
until that day
when it becomes intolerably vile
beneath wreckage
and burnt ruins
they find his
caring donation
clinched in the saviors grasp
jutting through burning garrisons
there is no truth more senior
than this truth here and now
but they can’t all be imparted
in this culturally planned folklore
I see them
when I am walking away
from the insulated bubble
down the street
like recruits in boot camp
and zealously rich parents
who send their youngsters
with luggage and loans
nearby like idols
salesman explaining things
as they nod like they are approving something
perhaps autonomy
from fathers and mothers
who stand with them astutely contemplating
the whole arrangement
they stare at the marble floor
I observe the run-through
the glittery entertainment
and documented departments
for happy pilgrims
who are insulated
for now

I created a ray to save the world.
We had come too far,
had lost ourselves, it seemed to me
and we were taking the Earth along with us
into the abyss.

Too much knowledge: too much thought.
We needed to go back.
And so I created the Great Devolver Ray
and stood, trembling, by the trigger.

This would return us
to our basest animal selves.
Would tune us perfectly into Nature,
re-thread us into the fabric of Creation
destroy the wall between Natural and Unnatural.

Pure uncorrupted survival: nothing more.

And so I stood, on the brink,
unsure as all great revolutionaries must be,
put my hand in place,
and pushed.

And the ray burst forth
and we were transformed
into the pure ******* creatures that Life demanded.

And absolutely nothing changed
at all.

Like a deeply buried and well hidden time capsule...


My mind preserves our memories

    Each kiss is protected with the same
     Delicacy and gentleness as the moment given.

     The softness and tenderness of every touch
     Remains un-withered and in it's purest condition.


My heart safeguards our Love

     The innocence sealed in, it remains untouched
     And untainted in this stronghold.

     Shielded from days light,  it goes uncorrupted
     By the realities of this cold world.


My eyes give sanctuary to the secrets of our blended souls

     Locking away passion and understanding
     That was beyond the human realm.

     Encrypting our story so that it is exclusively
     For only us to know and tell.


My body is here, just as you left me

     Keeping watch over these treasures
     Concealing them from all who might discern

     I am here, longing for you
     And awaiting your return


©Tina Thompson 2012

We never obliged ourselves with any sort of passion or alignment with natures splendor, we just flip-flop'd about like disenfranchized plastic pieces of footwear; Fleetingly and disparingly as we float adrift through a toxic sea of consumerism, entranced with the notion of celebrity, swirling and whirling around until we undoubtabley wash ashore onto the pristine beaches of someones elses uncorrupted, isolated and darkly pigmented subconscious. Ready and willing to establish order in the magnitude of exploitation and apathy. As we scream freedom from tryanny, TV to TV, a bunch of muted and silenced over commercialized under adulterated humans trickle fed lies through screens. Everyone knows but who is speaking up, As Miley Circus flies across the manufactured dream a handful of youth stand up and puke as they throw there hands up like the ones before them and say "this isn't my scene!"

The rain falls, a soft pitter-patter in the background
Over it plays our music, calm and sweet
A song of love lost, never to be found again
Sad music, the best we have
Outside the windows, we watch the world pass us by
The rain distorting images, refracting light
Making the world a foregin, beautiful place once more
Like when we were children
Uncorrupted by the cynicism we develeop as protection
From a cruel cruel world
You drive, while I sit passenger
We don't talk
Words would only spoil the moment
With the rain, and the music
Your hand and mine, intertwined
We achieve a state of peace, tranquility
Perfection
And then
SWERVE
No more

The problem
With
Poli-
Tricks-
They mention every
"God"
But the only
God-
And they wonder
Why their lost in
Misery-
Ashamed
In darkness
Falls- evolution
In schools
Meaning no
(Morals)
Their standards
Are that
man's a
Monkey, using
Euthenics( reviving ******) in their
Man-made
Mural's.
Eat your cereal
Live life as if we have the
B
L
I
N
D
E
R
S
   ON-
Though my eye's are
Uncorrupted ( not seeing through misty nighttime glasses)
Breaking to the other
Side
Of the
Fog-


    Science correlates with dios
And dios with science-

Yet popular belief
Is a tool
Of diablo's
Machine.

Reaching into the dome
Of the great
City-

Where America
Is astray
With the globe
In the horned one's
Mean's.

Has the man who said
There is no
God
Just walked out into nature-

To see the spectacular
Creation
On a universal
Scale?

Yet their bucket's of
Disbelief have been
Shown beneathe the
Veil
Where the impious
Are stale
And their
aspiration
Is
None!

A strange soft stirring begins in my heart
I’m not sure what caused this fluttering to start
Like innocence still uncorrupted captured in butterflies
Except my stomach is no longer where the majority flies
But just a little while ago a few still hovered there
But to trap or imprison them I wouldn’t dare
There hides a few more in the lungs in my chest
Only flap wings when I can’t catch my breath
When silence is the single sentence I have to not speak
Your smile leaves me speechless
Knees growing weak
No clock
No noise
All surroundings fade away
Colors suddenly emerge where before was only grey
Waiting for your melodic voice to disrupt that magic spell
Heaven momentarily suspended til one word snaps me back into hell
The illusion of perfection not once falters or affrights
As you come closer the swarm inside my body takes off in simultaneous flight
It’s mindblowing the way my senses react when you are near
How you still manage to give me butterflies even after all these years

She lies
on white sheets against a white wall,                  
strawberry lips stealing
the minds of all who see her.
That color, delicately smeared across her skin,
brings you back to a moment as a child,
when you first glanced down the rows of red
orbs dangling in sun touched fields of green.

You sat,
eagerly, beneath the arms of an old opalescent,
waiting as the sun stretched higher in the sky.
Others roam around, touching and tasting
as they steal a sample of sweetness,
discarding each after its filled its use,
but not you. You will wait for the one
you want to give in to temptation, and drop
into your unwavering arms.

It falls,
and you watch as your coveted ruby
plummets towards you. All you can do
is think about is how beautiful it looks,
momentarily suspended in the sky, shining
like a lunar eclipse on a cloudless night.
You reach for it, praying you can soften the
bruising blow it would otherwise
receive from the harsh ground.
And you do.

Its skin
smooth to the touch. Its surface, shiny.
With squinting eyes you can see
your own smile in its reflection.
Tongue tingling, mouth watering, you yearn
for a taste. You’ve seen excitement
before, but for some reason, this moment
makes your heart beat faster than the flap
of a hummingbird’s wings. Your lips
meet its skin, slowly, shaking,
nervous of what may come.

You bite.
Firm, yet supple. Sweet nectars drip down
your chin and fall to the ground, showering
the ants below with tiny drops of heaven.
Its core sits uncorrupted, not spoiled or
stained but soft and succulent. You see her
lips, touch them, taste them, and once again
you are a child in an apple field, waiting
for the right one to fall into your arms.

A hidden key
To unlock this soul
A Victorian queen
To confine mine home

An ancient lass
Druid class
Unpolished
Uncorrupted

I seeketh one to give me all
As I her
Two words
(King and queen)

To be the apple of her eye
Bringeth me back to life
Push the red soup back in mine arteries
Light the alpha and omega torch!!!!

Scorched!!!

By ones petting upon mine countenance
A cigarette of Aphroditus
A holy plus and sacred minus
A positive and negative so attractional!!!

Her long darkened locks
To zephyr across mine chiffonier
As she drenches me in cartoon weird
A delighting smear of two bodies in the swelter!!!!!

Unplugged
Raw
Unkiltered
Filthy animals in rawest mold!!!

Antediluvian souls!!!!

Her slaver
Uncustomarily
Her quiver
I tasteth as dairy

Unadulterated by man, plush by god!!!

Yet its a lost chimera
Laughing back at me
There's none that standeth at mine gate
All a whimpering dream

A fantasy of hopeless romantic!!

Why chase the treasure?
I see no chance
Still a dunce
Of high school dance

As I'll sit in the bleachers glancing the crowd!!!!

We were legends
Mythic anti-heroes and sunbathing statues
To be handed down through the fervent fires of forever
Untouchable by the languishing winds of time
Smiling at our own mortality with ****** knuckles and ****-eating grins

We were at once privy to all things and blank like hungry canvases, ready to absorb radiant smears.
They often laughed and asked how we made it this far allowing our uncorrupted appetites to persevere.
We winked back as we took another sip and listened to the music they couldn’t hear.

Such beautifully melancholic catharsis.

We openly dined on our borrowed time

We offered back no apology for our burning hearts.
We rode down the bridge on the backs of exploding horses looking to see what was over the next horizon
With inexhaustible decadence and the confidence of lightening we strolled down the sidewalks without avoiding the cracks,
In fact we hoped with thinly veiled secrecy that one would swallow us whole and reveal to us why the clouds are never satisfied enough to stay in one place

We danced our way through the unremarkable
Side-stepping the gasless motors and cynical flowers refusing to grow on the side of the road
With full glasses and brilliant bursts of light that couldn’t be held behind the cage of a bulb, we descended into the careless waves and let them stain our souls like fire onto coals

It was always the beginning of the day.
The night was always young.
Our souls were always wide awake.
The clocks simply couldn’t keep up.

And at the final beginning’s end, we refused to shake hands
Taking whatever breath we had left to fill our lungs with one last smoldering theft
We greeted death as an old friend whose invitation had been lost in the mail
And left this world the same way we came into it; on fire.

On fire.

We were you. We were them.  We were all the parts of this adventure that slipped through their hearts.
At least we left them our ashes so they find their own new starts.

I just saw a reflection
Of who you could have been
Had you not fallen from glory.

Had you maintained your beauty
Had you maintained your health
Had you remained above the drudgery

I am sorry
For who you have become
Even though I tried my best
To make **** sure I wasn’t responsible

So I bid you well
Whoever you had the potential to become
And should you ever stop your frantic run
Know

I will not be there anymore
I will be in the mirror
With your reflection
Altogether more beautiful
In that uncorrupted bliss

In the gallery of a town, art was duly contained
and cared for carefully without contamination.
There was a painting there, painted with oil
paints that rained and formed a picture of a bird
on a canvas of vivid blues, browns, and greens
that fixed eyes on it like webs to hair.
The artist spoke:

“We are all swallows: proud, free, agile.
We are all oceans: formidable, hostile.
We are all stormy weather: thunderous.
We are all columns: supportive, calloused.

Entwined we will walk,
down to and up to the sands,
into elixirs made with salt;
swelling our joyous hands.”

Men, women and children all strolled by,
and let not one of them see the lows and highs
of the artist's soul. A boy stood there with
no-one: his uncorrupted eyes walking up and
down the mined canvas. He felt no sand
under his feet; he felt no wooden skin and
complexion in his hands.
He spoke:

“We are not swallows: ashamed, caged, stiff.
We are not oceans: defenceless, mild.
We are not stormy weather: soundless
We are not columns: defective, defiled.

Like slaves, we sing
on top of the wings
of new-born Spring.

The ground we sowed and toiled,
reaped dangers of fantasy untold.
Soul-reaping bird-singers
singing the siren song to us.
But we must not fuss.

I bleed the colours
of a deadly rose garden.
Red, yellow, blue, green:
colourless eyes remain unseen.”

stone faced, sand blasted,
cemented
and half-assed,
sleeping soundly
like Pompeii
dreamless,
uninspired,
uncorrupted,
unavailable for comment.


You see, there are bones
inside of me.
Bones embracing each other,
in tired poses
laying in the dirt,
uncovered by the studious,
                                   curious,
                                   fastidious, and
                                  woefully unlucky.

Good luck cataloging your finds.
I wouldn't buy it.

meanwhile,
i am petrified
in perfect fashion
filling my space
filing my cells
and ever.  so.   ****.    slowly.
i am whole again,
rock hard abs
and chiseled jaw
Adonis
in slate stone
with chipping lungs
stand **** for the world
in demonstration of man
"This is what I was,"
     i will say,
"Proud never to change."
pigeon **** on my shoulder
and no one knows what color my eyes were

About a year ago, before the candidates were in the running.  The headlines read "Hillary defeats Satan."  I , at the time, could not understand this.  "How could this be?"  I questioned myself.  After all, wasn't she the one that handed over the POTUS position to a muslim/socialist?  And wasn't she caught with a truckload of articles that belonged to the United States when she moved out of the White House?  Yet, some women groups still believe she is the right person to steal the office.  (Remember Dickandbush, no one voted for them either. Remember?  REMEMBER?)  The Presidency is not a position that is voted by the people anymore and hasn't been decided by the public in a long, long time.  As a matter of fact, the whole election process is merely a choreographed dance or ******* if you will.

  Now to the matter of topic.  How she does it.  First she gets a crazy old man who preaches socialism is the answer to be her opponent.  Is any one in their right mind going to believe that socialism belongs anywhere on THIS PLANET!  Listen friend, if it didn't work for the Russians and the USSR then how in the hell do you think it would work here.  Some one PLEASE purchase a one-way ticket to China for Bernie boy or maybe send him to Mars.  Maybe it could work there. Okay?  She has the Democratic ticket.  In like Flint.

  Now the other side,  the Republicans had so many choices and only one of them had the nads to challenge the SUPER-PACS.   (You remember those nice scumbags that pay politicians so much money to destroy the country that they (the politicians) just have to take it.  Let's see, there once at the time was about eighteen of them.  And not one of them could match the evil wits of Satan.  I really believed at one time that he DID have a chance to beat thunder-thighs.  Then he did this.  First he stated that he was good friends with Hillary and has known her for a very long time.  Then, he did the unthinkable.  He hired the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man to tag along with him.  You remember him.  Don't you?  The guy who not only single-handedly bankrupted an entire city.  But, also gave the State of New Jersey a $384 BILLION deficit.  Great choice Donald.  Why don't you just meet Hillary in a motel for three days and you can be the next leader in about eight years or so.

  The other Republican hopefuls were 1.  Pretty Boy (he could get the eighteen year old vote but, that's about all.)  2.  *****-Nilly (just not leadership material.)  3.  BUSH? 4.  Some guy whose name sounds like a ****** disease.  5.  The Penguin, or as he put it Dracula. And other fiends of Hillary.

Sorry Folks,

The fix was in from the get go.
It's in the bag.

Let's just hope that thunder-thighs doesn't squeeze us too hard.


Oh, just one last thing.  If we limit terms in the Senate, Congress, and most importantly Supreme Court.  Then, and only then will we have an uncorrupted government.  You can thank me later.

A Poet

We drink coffee on a rooftop in Edinburgh.
We've been awake for so long
That sunrise has become sunset.
(Or is it the other way around?)
I long to press my lips against every inch of you,
Inked and bare,
Until nothing is left uncorrupted.
I will not come down
Before we have felt each other everywhere,
At last at peace with the skin we hate most.
My heart races for you,
Like some sort of manic tribal drum,
And you smile,
That sheepish little smile.
My capillaries coil around your finger like wires.
I am yours, purely yours.

Let the storms erupt,
Let the clouds turn to ash and dust,
Let the world collapse within itself.
We will raise the sky together,
Stars and fire and all,
In our caffeinated stupor and young vigor.
We're only getting older now.
We can be fools.
We should be fools.
We could jump from this rooftop
Or we could take the stairs.

this is the shard I’ll use.
it’s just a small, broken piece of glass,
but I figure it’ll do
just fine.
there’s nothing particularly special about it,
aside from the fact that it broke off a picture frame --
a picture frame that you gave me.

a picture frame holding a photograph
of us together.
I look at it,
and while I remember it well,
it still feels like it was
another lifetime ago.

why is it that when I think of you
during the day,
when I’m straight,
the David Bowie song “Queen *****”
immediately comes to mind?
can it simply be because you became
a tremendous ***** near the end?

no, that’s too easy.

cheap shot.

of course
it wasn’t all bad.
we were good,
you and me.
and when we were good, you know, it was...

we had our moments,
as few and far between
as they may have been.

...and they were fleeting.

no matter how hard we tried
to hold onto them,
they would drift away
and then we'd forget.
that was the hardest part --
the forgetting.
it always was.

it still is.

but when I think of you now,
late at night,
when I’m like this,
you’re still so
******* perfect.
you were always perfect with the lights off.
away from the world.
maybe it was selfish of me to want
to keep you there

away from the world.

uncorrupted.

perfect.

maybe once again,
I’ve just got infatuation
all confused
with love.
maybe that’s all it is --

all it ever was.

can you blame me?
it seems like that’s what
always happens right before a
crush
becomes a
grudge.
and boy, do we really know how to hold onto those.

at least we have something
to hold on to.

yes,
this is the shard I’ll use.
I figure it’ll do
just fine.

Death awaiteth us all
Waiting for us to trip up;
To slippeth fast
In the bask of the universal law.

And whilst the reaper calleth
"Brandon cometh here mine friend"
I swayeth over in slow step's
Awaiting, knowing mine end.

Though on the other side
Dearest amour, and truest friend's;
A feastful party of uncorrupted
None beast's for the homestead.

With a romantic who's hopeless as me
None longer hopeless, but taken by her sweet;
She'll be a comet, of heavenly treat's
She shalt be mine queen, I hopeth to meet.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

I saw you in a Dream.
I was lying in the grass,
The panic filled my lungs
With a silent scream and my
Eyes with tectonic tremor.
You sat across from me.
I had never seen you before,
A gentle touch to my temples.
Perhaps it was the uncorrupted love
Of a beautiful stranger that
Made me ache for you when
I awoke. I know that I will
Never see you again.

D Vanlandingham

Boundless..

In its ability to extend beyond all forms of containment;
the big circle contains within it, the little one
And if it is true relationship through genuine volition of the beloved
that is to be desired most of all,
then spirit, wrapped in flesh is the autonomy most needed
     in order for the dream to become true.
Spirit is being.
Spirit cloaked in flesh is being--
feeling its relationship with its own self.
Spirit, mastering its own flesh by reigning in  its emotions  along
with the synaptic-firing of every one of its nerve endings into full
submission of the spirit's own core nature, is the root-basis of all true volition.

Spirit, in its raw form is perfect-- wholly unable to undergo
corruption, or decay..
     but the flesh..
     the flesh,
     Always needing to substantiate itself through its never-ending layers
     of self-promotion  apart from the realities of its own spirit's  core.

Yet,  pure Love--
wholly unable to see itself as that which is to be rejected,
enters in to the very act of the rejection, itself;

..that autonomy may  continue to  contain
the uncorrupted core--
     and the smaller circle becomes established:
     smaller.. yes.. but in truth,
     its parameters self stretch all the way out
     to those of the bigger one

And so, with the necessary advent of autonomy
into the relational equation,    comes also
The necessary advent of God's wholly-volitional
self-depletion of God.. entering,  in to it all
so that, in time, God(Love) alone  might take the full brunt
of rejection's unjust hit--
     in its autonomous movement  away
     from its own incorruptible core..
     away,  from its own true self.

So, follow the smaller circle, if you will, my beautiful--
either way, you are still following God.