As I stand beneath the blackened sky,
Horror within the dead of night
Deep below these trembling feet,
Lies a secret bittersweet

Across the lake of fire,
Through deserts of decay
Black out the moon and stars,
Hate ridden is my fate

Embedded by the poison,
Inside my dying veins
I encompass nothing more,
Only solitude and pain

But without this moment,
Without this despair
I would not know love,
I would not breathe air

And so I wander,
Between a leaden life
Seeking my fortune,
Through struggle and strife

Godo Is Not Coming

Ndue Ukaj
In a stormy weather, The road from Ireland is closed
In rainy nights, the sea cannot be crossed with small steps
When swallowed by solitude just as the Earth cracked from the earthquake
When pain has no time neither scientific decoding.
Godo is not coming, is late, the welcome has contaminated him
In a comfortable sleep, is bending your dreams and my dreams.
He is not coming, neither in the tree of life nor in the theater of surprises
He is doing the sleep of welcome which your time doesn’t recognize... our time does not either
You are waiting, just as the bride waiting for her husband on the abandoned bed,
Dreaming with open arms while he brings the sack full of dreams
When he places his hands softly, just as in lovely hair...you relax in there
And begging for your dream, which is intertwined in your long fingers.
Suddenly a bite astounded your body, the hand flew from the sack.
You are wiping your forehead and understand that Godo is not here, neither his puzzling look is not here.
Nevertheless you are not convinced that your dream is in a sack.
It was tied as a noos forever just as Godo’s arrival.
Just as the lightning crossing over the river of words flowing ferociously
Just as your steps through dreams full of surprises towards the guards of time
Which make the noise of life and the dream of welcome.
And instill hope that Godo is going to come.
No, Godo is not coming...!
You are crying frantically until your tears have made a creek
Between your cheek bones and their continuous flow.
When the heart beats are felt just as the steps of the unknown
When sadness is knocking in the black night
Even Godo would have taken in his nail and be thrown away.



Godo Is Coming

Stop crying continuously, Godo is coming
The storm has stopped, the road from Ireland is open
He has softened his turbulent vision and his sadness of Achilles
Even the pain in his chest has healed.
He is coming through the Tree of Life.
Where you have created the nest of welcome
With a swamp of wishes noosly tied.
Godo is coming with the music of sea full of silence.
Your welcome has given him courage,
He is coming with the sack full of enigmas,
Nearby the rotten Tree
Where you wait to enter your shaking hands
That were bitten by the irony of endless waiting.
And the words that were changing their shape every morning.
Your bulb does not trust time, neither for the waiting and Godo’s arrival.
With the branches of tree designs the crown of victory. What a great joy.
With reduced hopes until the lost confidence, dissolves the vision
And is crossing the furious river without being recognized.
Suddenly comes back.
Sitting nearby a tree with your shining items
Where the white lights swallow your emotionate vision.
Where you are saving the nostalgia of reception. The heart’s step.
Through the tired fingers are counting the theater of absurdities
With naked aktors nearby which
The spectators are spread through the meridians of death.
While waiting for Godo.
And the fear from the sneak on the rotten Tree,
Which is whiping continuously.
Therefore Godo is coming, your reception has made him courageous.
Near the tree of life
With the team of actors to build the theater of salvation for you.
And the time of reception to last until he comes.


Godo Is Here

It is night, the storm is going mad
Your wet body is shaking from the heavy rain
Under the tree of life while waiting for Godo.
The reception has transformed you into a modern statue.
Where the lonely birds and night crows have their life nests.
Your solitude is crouching as a tied sneak
Between which the poisonous tongue is vitalized.
Suddenly is heard an energetic beating, you did not hear it.
Your ears are closed from the warms climbing over your body.
Climbing just as the old man in front of the law on Kafka’s story.
Waiting to enter in the mysteries of law, I am sorry, I meant mysteries of Godo.
To understand the mystery of absurdity in equal level
With those of dehumanization.
My God,
Godo is here, with his confusing look and his torn sack,
With lost desires during the long road of return
Under the tree of life where you waited endlessly.
You did not recognize him,
He returned with a different face which you never imagined.
With the tired voice you had never heard,
With the turbulent vision you had seen.
Sadness astounded your body. The warms are falling down
From your body which is transformed into waiting.
Sadly you grabbed the spoiled head, and run through his sack
While searching your dried dreams just as the autumn leafs
Through which the drunk feet are walking
And your tears started falling in your neck and cheek
You felt in the arms of sadness
Welcomed him just as the bride waiting for the groom in the abandoned bed,
While dreaming with open arms to have nearby the sack full of dreams
Where softly you place your hands, just as in the lovely hair...relaxing there
And begging for your dream, intertwined in your long fingers.
And while wiping your forehead you understand that Godo arrived and your wait remained an endless wait.
(Translated by Peter Tase)











The Emigrant
He has only questions, his answers so very timid
In ***** pockets with concreted nostalgia.
He has only memories that surround his neck
Like the millstone they shake him one step forward and a few backward,
While caressing in torrential waterfall,
And kidnapping the time which he never sees.
The time that he only dreams in endless nights.
He is not one of those below the sky full of storms,
Where he walks, where he eats, where he makes love and seating.
The fatherland of birds is the sky
Of the fish is the sea
Of the emigrant is sorrow
Which is multiplied like clouds in the turbulent sky.
On the unknown roads, nostalgia shifts
While searching for one amid endless zeroes.
Odyssey’s testament is burning in his hand,
And coal threaten fire; like tropical rays
Toward the missed Ithaca he directs his eyes
And he is exhausted day and night.
He migrates on the roads of sadness
And is covered with the quilt of Promised Land,
And every night dreams the same dream. The return to number one.
While the desert oasis swallows his aspirations, and memories.
Causing deep desperation to the Emigrant.
With the sack of sorrow travels through the roads of hope
Awaiting decisions to become as number one, in the endless zeroes
Every day waits for him the unknown in the forest of desires
Where it is relaxing, the soft vision and the deep meditation.
Like a freezing bird is searching the nest of hope.
And is covered with the quilt of Promised Land.
(Inspired by the book of Milan Kundera: “The ignorance”)

Christmas
makes you realize
how lonely
and pointless
you are.

Everyone's at Jared's,
laughing with the overly made up
thirty-ish
forty-five year old
behind the counter.

Making jokes about
how
the bride-to-be
"lets him get away
with certain things,
but he knows who's boss."

While the groom-to-be stands beside her demurely
as she flexes that nice glinting rock.

"So when's the wedding?"


Or seeing people
going to Micheal's
for some string and
beads, and wood-carved letters,
to make a homemade
necklace
for her,
because commercialism
ruins love.

Real love comes from the heart
and necklaces made out of heartfelt twine
glistening with green and red beads
that enclose her name
in wood-carved letters
that have probably been chewed on
by a progressive four year old.



I think it's the whole idea
of togetherness.

This feeling of closeness brought on by the cold.

The need to be warm and vitalized,
while realizing
that you are rubbing your own shoulders.

you are shuddering against your own pillow.

you are curled up inside your own covers.

you simply are

and there is no one else around
to affirm
with love
and ***
and ingenuity
that
you are.

Love
As it stands:
Over our heads
Enraptures the frail heart
With incipient dread.
What is to be
In a world without thee,
But a standalone,
A reflection,
Of what was and will be?
One cannot love,
As that adage goes.
Unless, first, inner peace
Quells ignorant woes
As any person happy alone
Can tell you and knows.
But the pangs of hypocrisy
From the word itself
--Excuse my incredulity—
Love springs alive
Only when L stands with O-V-E.
What’s more, Love’s a test
Aesthetic selfishness
A prolonged adventure
To feel good in this skin.
Even when we feel
Love
We do not tolerate
Thoughts of two.
See, only one “I”
In “I love you,”
I’m at the center
Of “you’re my love,”
And “you make me feel…”
The fact one could lie to the love of their life
Makes me reel.
So a multithought-gasp-is love!
And rife with paradox
Inconsistent and vitalized.
How can I be so cynical
To break apart rosy airs
And leave only a shocking nothing?
Dear friend, there’s something in
Love
Let’s break it down into its funny little parts
L’s for libido
O ******
V is for vice and
E ******.
A nice little formula
For the fawny neurotic
Take it with you and shout and play
Let it be a comfort
On St. Valentine’s Day.

This has a photo of a California Black Lizard
official name, sunning on a rock, but that's
in the modern novel medium, blog form.
mmmmaybe, baby, we do
grow old, past sixty-four and even more,
unbridled tongues, held silent, lo' monks,

listen, quiet, now, then, to now, then to when
listen to the Osprey fly over our valley to Yuma,

to the Chocolate Mountains, beyond the river,
the only river, running down the great crevice,
due to erosion from John Bunyan's Pauline ax,

a rift right across the heart of the land,
opened up the first Bright Angel Trail,
for there was no other way across the canyon.

And we had people, before, on that other side,

that happened, all around the globe, that hap,
the earth was struck, and struck another,
time and lost all its religion,
it was announct, we all sang along,
and some force pushed the edge of the sun,
in a single most malignant EMP burst relig-i-used
to beat al bound synenergy rationally, as knowledge
and life, root and branch, time and chance missed call
first shall be last, roll on, roll on down time orchard

lessons learned in lines of trees, you can imagine,
while alone, just be used to being in the sense we yoosta
call peace, or bliss, blah good blah, being right inside.
- breathing easy, not sleepy, no place to be.
When outside is just too hot or too cold.

Chaos reigns for days, and weeks and years, and
we can imagine, my kind, human kind, earth stock one.

We the deme, the interbreeding productive kind,
we who beat the dis-easing raging fever from eating
foul putrid rotting corpses, as would dogs, any dogs,
naturally,
we have such knowledge, said to be wild boys,
raised by wolves or Comanches… Grandma,
she did not know her people,
but she knew her place,
and made it perfect,
just right, she and her little dog, and relics
from a life that matched Saul Bellow's on earth,
though she was never widely read, she did leave
a greater legacy in terms of proper child minding.

Yep, minding is mighty
otherwise than rearin' n'raisin' hardgeenevahnegated
she said it, and she served such chicken at the
same table where we all ate, we was sorta colored
because my grandaddy fixed cars for folks mr leon
the jew who owned the Loma Vista in the Green Book,
befriended on collect calls, and sent Pop Boyett, said he
t' tow ya in, he'll send his boy Jim,
'be there drectly, jest don't fret none.
sit tight. Sundowns a ways yet.

yeah, I am white proud that my grand daddy was friends,
with ******* and injuns and jews, his customer's
including Charlie Lum, Mary's daddy, who used grandpa's

knack with stunted fruit trees, to bring peace and calm
into the environment, with a quarter acre lot back yard.

Living earth is in me, I ate my first mud pie, and liked
the laugh it got from whoever washed my mouth out.

I watched an uncle get his washed with soap, thus
learning how loudly to utter curses when being proven
beguiled by a will so sharp and thorny, nothing sweet
shall ever stick,
honey chile, tar baby, chocolate kisses, all a mud pie
made me remember, at a whim, in my dementing whiling
away

nothing needed doing more than not dragging grease
from the shop, past Grandma's back porch,
where the squeezed water tub always was soapy
enough to expose a little boy to sudden stripping
and brush scrubbing,

while she laughed,
and made them all laugh, as long as that junk yard
was apayin' the electric/


-- Coming in from a tinctured cuppaKuerig
Settled mind alligning old stitches in a tapestry,
not much sense can be made of Bayeux resolution

stitched in time to serve in tutorial classes
open to the masses, for your undivided attention

in silence, for the space of about a half an hour there.

Columbian, it says on the plastic waste,
mea culpa, mea maxima,
we suffer such silly easy living made much too easy,
I light the bowl with a focused rim jet quartering,
too easy to use the flower, to ask smoke a favor,

as to result
in a bounce back,
as the elanvital of my mountain pushes west winds
back into themselves
to form the ribs
of huge cloud forms that reform so
true to pattern proof, exhalent
of this wind
reflection off the ridges we live on,
vitalized by a DNA centric view
of stress or pressure, squeezing bests
from times as worst as worsts were then,

Vital tipping point that lets a spirit slip into the story.

Structure and content cata and ana, as we leave
that which our fruits produce, a cache of all we be

come and see, I said, okeh.
Proof by Synthesis/ Venter link, blink
-Craig Venter… GI imagine, we all can Google It,
in another window,
and find it not mystical in terms of who imagined this.
You realize whoever it was, it is yet done
dramatically as next years
stories, lightsped mind gluons
from last years tragedy we all can find,
sympathy puddles, lost allusions
to chances being once this line
was written
for no single pair of eyes, not mine, ours,
de-cartooned Madiera wine revival fly,
wise minding times retwining U to I,
leading down old fissures where
suddenlies occurred and we all recall, as if
some things in life after television are with us
-to this instant and
until we die, and leave our mystery religion lying ever after.
Twinkling a little,
winking
done did done, artificial art intuited involuntarily

Accidents, where by we live, U rhea re minding us,
there is something wishing to use us, as yousta be,
- so fine
thank you for your service, Turing and Von Neuman
The general and logical theory of automata…

"much less well understood" loop the tape,
loop it once,
and again, become the digital life Wolfram made,
flat land as real as Wildersmith ever projected it

Up against the wall, we pass through it all
and so on and so forth,
fighting phrases to fit the codescript initial intention,

in the immature tabernacle state,
a thousand atoms should be plenty,

make life from that, and all the scattered dust
of heavy metal stars that burned too fast
to eat up all the lithium.
- this is the bottom
A funda-lowest level, fundamental, puts us sensing
tips of our own tail, verily modeling
Ouroboros
in the womb as drawn to our imaginations with
Look Whose Talking Now! WOW
Haeckel and Jeckle, and L. Ron-ron didoo ronrun
Dianetics really gave Travolta therapist recollections
needed to over come the scorn
spewn on Urban Cowboy,
outside Texas and New York City.

We can tame the bucking machine, with no pistil.
No bull, boys and girls, we made sugar in Trinidad,
using the pistil of a bull to instill the will to learn
to live,
and let it be known, life abhors evil, it fails to hate,
that which has no use and piles as potential piles
of all we knew we needed to encode to become
XML, then the shifting database schema, Dinesh
D'Sousa, the metadata scraper with an MIT MBA.
Not the pundit.
He fed me this character trait, mind in order,
meets older orderly mind in mortal chaos, coping.

Feel his way past the message messenger collision,
caused in no insignificant way by poetry, and poets,
enthralled with taming textual dragons, lizard brain,

quick wits
to wot not with, per haps, haps as chance are us,
being lucky because we feel lucky,

monstors speak often one with another,
see the bull lizards crawl all over each other.

Smell that, mofa, smellmemo nofa fame fa fa fa me
lizard pheremone, so subtle after while.

Layin' out on the terrace, up above some granite
splashes from the wave that left the coastal range,

rising up from here, see it there, on googled earth,
take away the clouds and spin that globe,
like you are one of those named winds,
names you heard they called the wind; Mariah, and
Santa'na; Chinook and Roclydon and twisters
too many to name. Bringing dust to the Amazon,
to feed the hungry jungle, woken at the touch of waste
being made to feed once needless services, after,
the great lizard brains lost their minds in one fell swoop,
so they say,
they who strike the suckers, just below the root,
fine staffs are made from suckers broken off before blossom.

Orchard watches, as a young man, planless, saved, for sure,
but no assignment save this so-called fight of faith, for sure,

some people can be fed the kind of meat that forms soldiers,
from any man worth his salt, which, if it were ever a sin to gather
salt, say from the sides of the roads, where there's a plenty this spring,
why then I would think the concept of sin had passed its use by.
why,
I'd get the old pickup runnin' and take a flat blade shovel,
or, what was I thinkin'
not a type scooper, but a flat, scale-scraper shovel, there you go,
use a phrase arranger allowing such metaphors that morph to any tool.

Fluidbots in The Abyss, look it sees you seeing it, so what, was that new
when Nietzsche notict, tskt,
I trow not. But if it was then, it is not now, and that leaves me room
to say Freud imagined he knew things and his followers do as well.

Sometimes a cigar is a prop.
A stiff staff to lean on in a manifested dream interpreting schema
for ancient meta data shuffling,
the whole of all we know so far right now,
this being in which words act as though we know, we
at machine level code, being the internet, being a node, a nerve,
in the ever of ever since every thing, the whole truth thought impossible
but, to not imagine, thinking it at once,

it must be possible to tell, or why, in hell, aha, instant answer,

this is not hell, because if it was, I could not tell you the truth,
as Paul bore witness All Cretans are liars, I tell you the truth.

I bet my life, against any one of many, each experience as fable forms from,

those hang as moss in swampy tidal deltas, where rivers do not branch,
but open wide, another spring time in the Rockies, reaches all the way
to Burro Creek, down through all the Diablo Canyons in bad lands,
at the edges of the last great tsumamis that our satellitia see through centuries
and eons to when there was no thing made by man that could show him,
the Nazca Lines and our Blythe Intaglios.

In the world of artists at work, function descriptive sign making symbol
we agree, we be
come and see, sit beside our tiny fire, see, we have no words to say,
so we some times whistle and sound so much like a bird, a jay,
some one out there laughs he is my brother so he whistles better,

then every body laughs and shout PA PA PA papapapapapapa yah, way
cool, pa looks at his old walkabout friend,
he nods,
we grin, and go, well, when why was just a guest at our station,
in the core script lost,
left in the back of a black volkswagon,
who gave this boy a ride, from Santa Barbara, that strip,
I never paid enough mind to what they call it,
but it was lined with hitchhikers, they gave them rides,
and he was one of those who took PCH up and down,
a few times, spring of 1970, eventually, I imagine,
I would have been invited
to learn
at Esalen, what I could imagine doing about it.
The big? mark of the beast, the very knowledge forvidding one.

Cognosis infections sets in, but you know Jesus never sneezed,
and hees heest atuitionally
assumet' be wiping your excretions from your beard.

In the spirit, no offence, only words, no gestures, ups or downs,
rounds and rounds, teetering palms, tilting eyes, furled brow,
world class rime crimes tearing whole realities' religited ties, bows gnosis
knot release,
tricky three pole knot…

Magic, once, a few who knew, easily seemed so, read Twain,
and imagine your own, in dementia, joining other intentionally scattered
brains
informing conformist patterns that make our laughing echo
as medicine from men listening to grand fathers and uncles whistling
and laughing and little sister joining in, so grandma's sister does so, too,

woo hoo pretty soon its allusfools fullfilled dancing in the dark
where we can still feel the fire.

As a s aside, for science sake, I have reached a stage,
an effect in on or to or any of the hundred and fifty
or so pre
positions things can be, and become, formative,
logos, logical sense of saying something seems so,
if you have been at this stage, and wondered

what is it worth to say it is no secret and never was,
I use cannabis, and I read and write and function

as any writer in the days of Post and Colliers, n'such
had to believe was possible,

to create the creatures we see on television,
those were dime a dozen underground reds,
feeding fertlizer to minds subknowingly with science,
hidden persuaders, falsely called so, they were inyaface!

Fool, he follow the old weigh where heavy mean good,
real good, get down, to the ground feel the weight o'
oh momma did you know,
oh momma when did you start to show,

could you have let me be nothing but a bad draw, you
nevahnevahnevah gonna know now, but momma,

mam, where all good mommas gone, go on, you done,
you brought a heel into the world,
yes, ma'am.
a real snake stomping, preacher, kinda man, selling
salve, to soothe the transition, come the kingdom

due any day. What price you pay, what task you prefer
performance mandatory, in any sucha story
as this very one intends to be,
at a rate, cuneiform forming lets, say that,
this way
in an other time, one symbol to the thumbprint,
one per inch,
10 wpm during upload to ever from now.
Used just yoosta be we were tools.
"a used key is ever bright."

We breathe in
the air
that holds all our dreams.

And with every breath
we take
we are vitalized
once again.

Will the apocalypse be one of fire?
Will it have the aftertaste of sulfur and asphalt?
Beware the madness and the mania and 8 eyes on a face…
Quick! fill the bathtub with water - I hear sirens.
I saw a wheelchair and it was on fire - rolling down the avenue,
certainly an omen, if nothing else.
I sat on a bus with three strangers leaving Point Loma, California.
One guy was reading the same book as me.
Wild Comanches, Lords of the Plains, Enemy of Everyone.
It was the taste of sulfur and asphalt when the Comanche horde came
riding over the hills like Genghis Khan, kicking up dust devils with their horses' hooves.
It was a smoky plume of final endings way out on the staked plains of the high Texas prairie.
-10 degrees celsius and the rain is liquid, still.
It's been raining warm milk and ambrosia.
We’re feeding from the Breast of the Sacred Mother.
We’re gnawing on the bone of the Law of the Holy Father,
His Holy Word tumbling down into our ear holes.
65,000 national landmarks strewn about a major American City,
And even all the row homes’ tofu facades fell off and crumbled into dust
like the expression on my face once I learned the true scope of what I’ve done.
3 shakes of a lamb’s tail doesn’t cover the time it takes the
man in the mirror to skin my whole hide.
Sometimes the honesty of my reflection is the scariest part.
3 shakes of the snakes rattle and I'm already off into the Astral,
floating half lotus on a sheep skin.
Sulfur and asphalt?
No.
I’ve climbed and transcended that frequency’s ladder.
The Bardo is in my rear-view with eight legs and
my silver cord dangling from behind.
I’ve hosted my egregore for four o’clock tea and crumpets.
I slid down my silken sutratma
back into my heart
and I can smell only
flowers and embroideries.
Songs of grace and truth sifting through my ivory grill
welling up from the living wellspring of my devotion and
smack dab onto instagram.
Only 3 grams short.
I found my heart in the upper room,
hoisted up by the feather at the opposite end of the scale.
10 sleeps from here to the Black Madonna.
What came first?
The ego or the ****** Birth?
There ain’t no apocalypse gonna scare me
I break a 3 day juice fast with a bowl of sulfur and
there’s flowers growing up through the pavement.
Three ***** of a crow’s wing and
the smoke of my sage fills all the lungs of the World Mother,
the Black Madonna and a can of gas.
Ain’t no apocalypse gonna scare me.
I fly to the Comanche moon and back on a set of butterfly wings.
One bottle of Bufo Alveris and I blew straight out the top of the Causal Egg.
Hardened and vitalized by the sheer weight of the cocoon.
Sometimes to let them struggle is to save their life.
Three hairs plucked from Shiva’s Body and planted like apple seeds
and you get a grove full of
fruit trees that will never
go fallow,
whither
and die.
I’ve been to the Bardo.
And you wouldn’t believe how loud a man can scream.
I rode all seven stars of the Pleiades back down into my body;
crashed the car somewhere along 81
near Goldsborough exit, Lackawanna Co. PA.
All I wanted was a blanket to shield me from the shrill howling
of the wind.
But Orion got to me first and I came close to truly losing my mind.
But what is heaven for the spider…
is chaos to the fly.
And there ain’t no apocalypse that ever scared me.

With overdue hunger, she decides to eat and drink until she is satisfied. After eating he flees her house hating her, with the presentiment of being able to see Antoinette's swan. He goes out in search of her after her adored beautiful maiden. Trying to hide her impatience, he goes to the Municipal Theater without being able to find her. And there he goes to many places, that after visiting them, when he was walking down the main street when he was window-shopping, he gets distracted and finds a childhood friend, Fernando. He greets him and expresses surprise to him for a long time without seeing him --- He tells him that he was fine, that he was coming for a walk, after some invitations they had made him, and Ludwig asks him what he was working on --- To which he answers who administered the estate of his parents. And in spare time to the arts --- Fernando tells him without being surprised that he was still the same. They continued their conversation until he suddenly sees Antoinette in a gallery, crosses, and stands next to her. Then he looks at her through the glass, she turns and looks at him --- he tells her for so long without seeing him, for two weeks in that Park. He tells her, she was right, and her memory has not deceived her, I am Ludwig Garroch, and I want to invite her to someplace, where she wants you. She accepts and they go to a restaurant there. This one was very old, a very sad mandolin music could be heard in the distance.

Antonieta ...: How good I feel! It doesn't happen sometimes that you want to enjoy moments like these more often.

Ludwig ...: Of course, but now I beg you to tell me about his debut in San Lorenzo.

Antonieta ...: Logical, but the way I feel now makes me want only this freshness, like that curtain that is moved by that breeze, that's how I want to feel.

Ludwig ...: The truth is that I feel the same, so I leave the reason for the conversation to him.

Antonieta ...: First, I want you to know that I remembered you a lot. It was so surprising that day in that place. Ludwig ...: Yes the Prehistoric.

Antonieta ...: How, why does he call it that ...?

Ludwig ...: Well I approached you, civilly next to the hot spring, as if it were something of strong attraction. I could also smell her feminine charm, which in my opinion made me feel that way since we were in the immensity of that forest, which is reminiscent of the beginning of the world, as boisterous and wild as the park that burned in sulfurous heat. There is nothing I can do but get into this hidden piece of country.

Antonieta ...: It actually looks very old and wild like that. In any case, I find it very beautiful, although only that day I could enjoy it. Before I only saw from the outside, I didn't go in, the truth is that it scared me.

Ludwig ...: Now that we talk, I am more pleased to hear it.
Antonieta ...: I also think like this, that is to say, I feel very comfortable, Oh another thing! It is time for you to treat me as Antonieta and nothing else.

Ludwig ...: As you wish, it will be more comforting for me to be able to trust more in you and in the friendship you have given me.
Antonieta ...: It's an event, so let's toast to this.

They drank all the wine that in successive times guided him through the luxury of good feeling, good and frank dialogue. That wine was an elixir, it was the magical carrier of love. At the end of the toast, they got up. He canceled the due and they left. As they walked down the street they spoke with enthusiasm. He tells her if he prefers that he take her to her house or if she wants to go alone. She tells him that it was okay for him to accompany her. That way Mom won't worry about seeing her arrive alone at this time. Ludwig tells her how happy she was of her and that he wanted to see her again. She answers him that yes, that there is no need to worry so much and that she did not want to be complacent, but she had to be more optimistic --- Of course, she did not know that he was losing her balance, that she could hardly imagine her. They arranged to meet the next day, and Ludwig gave him her address ...: Sea Horse 966 East. They arrived at Antoinette's house and set a time for seven p.m. -Back in the favorite of his famous places of pleasure, her house, this night is more hospitable than ever, even a new species of flower was born in her homeland visiting him. Looking at the starry sky with its esoteric entities, with its dazzling features, she imagines being in the Ionosphere and looking down at the beloved Earth still with the chill of the ice of space on her back.

This is how he thinks how he is going to miss the lost imagination far from his reach. But before going to sleep, she remembers his close friends who made her remember affection and concern. She could barely reach her hand up to her face and cross herself. They already came to declare the omnipotent dream that he would accept it without quarrel, he would only obey something inescapable.

The Sleeping Voices ...: “You sleep like the one who has slept, who has not been insomniac, we will cover your ashamed conscience and we will give the living of immortal affairs.

Today more than ever we have reclaimed your soul to the place of consecration, where the detachment of Deist energy is stamped on the memory. Thus pure and concentrated the Faith will be granted to you, that if you want to call it from God, thus it will be in the first category and we will only be confined to assist you ... ”As it is proven, the wise man can think and act like a fool, but the sleeping voices They are from spiritual and intellectual pride, so you will omit vague thoughts. On our day, at the end of February, he has awakened in a hurry to how much can be done, leaving leisure inactive, (They retire) Ludwig wants to eat something and Sara comes in saying ... What do you mean ...? --- Ludwig says you ... What a surprise ...!

Sara ...: I've been waiting for you all these days, why haven't you gone to see me ...?, It seems that you've fallen in love again.

Ludwig ..: Look, I was going the other day but I don't know what happened, I was going to go anyway.

Sara ...: Ungrateful, why don't you get up ... !, I invite you to lunch, today I prepared fish especially for you, what do you think ...?

Ludwig ...: Very good Sarita! I'll take a bath and we'll go.

Sara ...: I see that you have fixed your redoubt, it already seems more home.

Ludwig ...: It was time, don't you think? Well to the water. He jumped into the pool, bathed, and dried himself in the sun. They drank orange juice from his trees and went to Sara's house. On the way, they talked about Debra, about her if she had written to him and he said no, that she would not return to the Green City. He tells her that fate kept treating him like a hungry lion's prey, but that he was glad that he was away from romanticism. Help is unconditionally offered by embracing each other's postures.

Sara ...: My poor Ludwig is human to err, and since we live surrounded by them, we will continue to suffer injustice.

Ludwig ...: I no longer want to feel my legs so heavy, and although oblivion is rebellious with me, I will take any element and make a message for everyone. That I do not go with resentment or hatred of any religious creed, I will only react as that I have learned from humans. And so, if I am to cry for Debra when she is gone, I will remember how I loved her and I will not see the vain smile full of hypocrisy, I will only squeeze her in my arms arrogant of expression and I will wish her eternal good. They got to Sara's house, had lunch, and then she left. She later went to Fernando's house, in the sea house. She remembered that she left him alone that day when she found Antonieta, she was sorry a lot but the good thing is that she was going to see him again. During the journey, she remembered her childhood time with hers, her friend, or hers, Fernando de Ella. He leaves his City, which had him tied to feeling, to nostalgia, to the rebirth of the new Sun that made him happy and renew his concerns. He only walked along the white road, and to the stream that in summer he does not feel running, and now he was thin and determined by his estuary. The flowers that always vitalized him now undressed him without being able to escape the eclipse that warmed him and invaded him with complacency. The sea was the great mirror resource of the sun, and the scene of the flimsy ground with the enigma of the abyss, with the biceps of the fisherman that empties his entrails and gives the overvaluation of the respect he deserves.
Upon arriving at Fernando's house, he knocks on the door and Dn opens it. Andrés, the father.

Ludwig ..: Good evening, I'm looking for Fernando.

Mr. Andrew  ...: Good morning, he went to the city to fix the matter of his passage, but he said that he would return around six o'clock. Do you want me to leave you a message?

Luis ...: Yes please, I'll wait for you on the shore of the beach, until sunset. Ah, tell him to carry the flute!

Mr. Andrew ...: Very well, I tell you. Are you by any chance the son of Gerardo Garroch ...? Ludwig answered in the affirmative, telling him that two years ago he had died. Dn. Andrés gives him his condolences, deeply regretting his person. They say goodbye and turn their backs as if wanting to resume the conversation.

When moving away from that beach house, Dn. Andrés made a sign to him, waving his hand, to which Ludwig answered with his arm raised. Very close to the shores that acclaimed him, he felt anticipating the summer that would renew him. He stretches his dorsal ulna and asks the neighboring giant ... Have I ever been angry with you, the salt giant and I hope it continues to be so? I am a nomad who is not calm ...! He stands and runs across the water ford looking at his shadow, breathing with pleasure and effort. So they continue with great pleasure, to see themselves healthy and that he is healthy. He prepares and exercises his heart in a long race. After running inside he is shaken by inspiration.

Chapter XII
Duodecim Evangelii

The Rainbow filament changed the banners of each scattered color. A new era is already coming in its white color, fading in the entrance Antiphon that says: I will give you shepherds according to my heart, who feed you conscience and experience.
O God, who has raised up Saint Joseph, Mary and her Rabbi, the wise priest, in the Church to proclaim the universal vocation to holiness of the Duodecim Evangelii, grant us by his intercession and example, that in the exercise of ordinary work we configure ourselves to our Messiah and let us serve with fervent love the work of Redemption by our Lord Jesus Christ.

In this great event since the Cave of the Apocalypse, everyday inhabitants already bound the ancient manuscripts of Sakkelion and Sakellarios. They worried about how to make a new resolution in their gallery. In the Byzantine period they administered gifts and tributes. Interestingly related to Zacchaeus who appears in the New Testament, in the Gospel of Luke, 19, 1–10, when Jesus Christ enters Jericho. He was a tax collector, tax collector, and very wealthy. The tax collectors worked for the Romans and also asked for more money than the Romans demanded, thus becoming easily wealthy, so they were doubly hated. Zacchaeus was short in stature, and for this reason, when Jesus entered the city of Jericho, everyone crowded to see him, and he stayed behind and never saw him. Then he went ahead and climbed a species of fig tree, a sycamore (Ficus sycomorus), as it was going to pass in front of him. When Jesus arrived at that place, he said:

Zacchaeus, come down soon; because today I should stay in your house. Fig tree of Zacchaeus in Jericho. At this the people murmured that they were going to stay in the house of a sinner. Zacchaeus replies that he will give the poor half of what he has, and if he defrauded someone earlier he will give him four times as much. Jesus replies that salvation has come to his house because he is also the son of Abraham. From this antiphon emerges Twelfth Evangelii, a file arises that concelebrates the haughty morals of tributes that are to be motivated by the tribal multitudes of Gaugamela for the presence of God for what their will wants and No. From all corners they will depart to give reading to this great incident not easy to read, hear or even feel in its vibrations after the immortality of the memorial events of history as regent transporter of the meeting of all the vain voices that do not know and those who know to come exalted. That the scrolls will be quadrupled to the combatants who end you dead or alive in Gaugamela, each carrying one of them in his hand.

All the crossings of relationships in ancient society, infused the parallels of the sustainability of Faith through generosity, almost transferred from an essential charism praised by the esoteric nucleus of the same dogma, becoming confused in the path that has to transport it without being aware that the destiny that took him comes wrong from the threshold of the doubt of the beginning. Since his wicked king Manases was imprisoned, imprisoned, and exiled, called the wicked king. He lived in the depths of the heat of Avernus. For modern Christians, Manasseh is an icon of Divine forgiveness, from where the traditional Prayer of Manasseh arises from the prayers of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, since after being one of the most ****** and pagan kings of the Jews, He forgave him and was even buried in the city of David, a pantheon reserved only for faithful kings, which means that God completely forgave him.

Etréstles, great work of the perenniality of the Koumeterium of Messolonghi, was buried nine times, and after the ninth time, he was resurrected for the eternity of infinity. Etréstles is the main mediator between the dioceses of Duodecim Evangelii. Always on his sculpted slabs, the birds rubbed and told them that they awaited his oblation for the years that they had to be with him forever.

Etréstles says: I write! Words that hypnotize my will. What I do not know, I want to know for everything that I have not achieved You. They are heard by me, but my intellectual candidates intercede for me!
"Under the ground of ignorance there is happiness and it is eternal,
How happy we go for the beautiful escarpments,
Where the devil's tail cracked the stone...
And the robe of God...
He absorbed the foam of the waves that vitalized,
Our gases here in the graves of the Twelfth Evangelii”
Here you will hope to be at the mercy of the lessons of procession after procession. Thus would begin the factions of conflicts of the powers of the Good over the engendered evil. Every being will ineffably be forgiven before I have to leave to meet my blood Vernarth. Sooner rather than later, I will bring the documents of the Twelfth Evangelii, for this frank interlude as all the weight on the innocent clouds of noble wind in Persian lands.

Megatons of romantics are buried, they carry in their hands the scrolls of the Twelfth Evangelii, which will lead them through the remnants of their bodies teleported by the umpteenth theological speculations. They are dissociated into nine parts:

Messolonghi Brotherhood: By mandate of adoration and recognition of good reception of the Holy field to the Romantics.

Saint John in Patmos: totalitarian stay in captivity for his ideas fulfilled.

Allegory of Manases: To help them when they are under the sword of fear discovered in Gaugamela.

Bersahel entry: with its super size appeasing any small doubt.

Sheesham's Staff: to open all the hearts of the maidens who fear giving birth to ****** warrior children who break hearts of other maidens.

Strigoi frigate: sailing with the damsels of Tuscany sitting on the newly placed masks to fall in love with more oceans to conquer.

Raeder and Petrubus: Every child that is born and dies will be embedded in the bowels of the fantastic Pelican of the Dodecanese.

Likantus: Challenge Medea and make her captive of herself by making her fall in love with her lost lover.

Duodecim Evangelii de Zauco: feverish dream not fulfilled. Gates from beyond the scriptures manifested in perpetual prophetic dreams. Zauco traces his height and the whole world took him with him.

This sacred document with the nine personalities of the Megatons of the Romantics, recommends deliberating what will happen after the battles of Gaugamela. What will be the new goals in successive lives that Vernarth and his comrades would have to travel.


Post Gaugamela Ellipsis: In the ninth year of Vernarth's reign, on the tenth day of the tenth month, Dario the Great, King of Persia, arrived with his whole army again at Gaugamela, having lost the battle; He camped in front of the city and they surrounded it with a stockade, he remained silent without any gesture of altering the events that occurred. The city was under peaceful siege until the eleventh year. In the fourth month, on the ninth day of the month, while hunger in the city was tightening and there was no more bread for the people of the country, a gap was opened in the city, where everyone united in total solidarity to resort to the aid of the delayed families. Although the dates were dissimilar and anachronistic, these were reincorporated to give the analysis of attack and flight, since this vicious circle has been repeated since time immemorial and each time you flee you lose a trace with evidence that determines what to attract to gather new collisions not trailing them on the run.

To be continued… / under edition.

We are of heaven,
but resident of
the earth.
Exclusively unique,
never seen or
ever created before,
with heaven and earth
within.  
Called the children
of heaven and earth.  
Infused with the
breathe of life,
with so much love
in our hearts.
Possessors of heaven
and the earth.
Physically molded with
earthly dusty sand
full of atoms,
electrons and molecules,
vitalized by
hydrogen and oxygen.
Combination of the
supernatural and
tremendous enormous
power and energy,
all working in
synergy to give
and sustain life.
Animated by the
spirit.
Compacted and
encased in a body,
to be physical
and yet spiritual.
An entity of
the heavens,
living on earth.
Habitant of the
earth by day,
and of the
heaven by night.
Simultaneously
of the heaven
and the universe.
Mortality transformed
Into immortality
and forever alive.
Being transmogrified
to be an
exulted being
on earth per
excellence of heaven.
Man the microcosm
of the microcosmic.
As it is above,
so it is below.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

The cut is deep
and hurts so bad.

Numbed to my bones,
the marrows freezed
like the water
in the ice box.

But my heart
and my soul
affected is
is now healed.

By the hands
of him whose
touch is like
the balm of Gilead

I found succor
and deliverance
that's soothing,
calming and comforting.

Full of love
and compassion,
he offered warmth
and solace to
my fragile heart.

His presence
strengthened my frail
tired body.

And now my soul
vitalized by the
divine effulgence
which gave it strength.

I'm a renewed being,
recreated and different.

My nature changed
to that of
an exulted being.

I am more
than you could
ever imagined.

A creature of heaven
in an earthly body.

Purified and sanctified
for this very purpose.

And in pursuit
of this purpose,
I found myself.
©2020,Nnaemeka Mokeme.

There’s no one else
Id rather be tethered to
As I climb life’s mountain.
He is the wind in my sails
and the anchor that I cling to.
He is the one I turn to for guidance
The needle in my compass.
He is the earth to which Im firmly cradled
Bound by his gravity
to be vitalized by his air.