Born From Deathless Mother © Surazeus 2022 12 31 I feel the Earth spinning inside my heart for she creates my frail body from atoms that spiral from God Eye of the White Whole so my bright soul vibrates with melody which radiates from heart of the universe to beam as visions in these magic spells. Around me on the spinning Earth I feel eight billion human beings with glowing brains composed of atoms beaming from its core so we all sing in global choir of souls with raucous harmony of adverse wills that weave disparate views in one world creed. In noisy choir of opposing world views we sing loud with dissonant melodies in contest over whose religious creed sustains our journey beyond paradise aiding our minds to perceive the real world so we generate life before we die. The simplest ideology of truth that best describes physical laws of nature defining cause and effect of our actions with coherent narrative of our tale will integrate all cultural myths in one so we share values of respectful love. This globe of minerals and swirling water swells in complex structure of chemicals composed of atoms bound in molecules enlightened with proactive energy beamed by the sun to weave our souls from light so actions cause construction or destruction. This pulsing Earth that spins in boundless void is Deathless Mother with ten thousand eyes who generates our bodies in the sea by weaving carbon rings from dreaming atoms with heat from hydrothermal vents of love so we evolve from fish to wingless angel. As wingless angel born from Deathless Mother I climb three steps to Heaven of my heart to study our indifferent universe that beams my conscious soul from the White Whole so while I strum my American harp I sing strange story of humanity. I feel the Earth spinning inside my heart so I connect neural net of my mind through beaming tendrils of the world wide web to the minds of eight billion human beings so we all sing in global choir of faith to generate new life before we die.
Saturday, December 31, 2022
Born From Deathless Mother
Shared Tellurian Faith
Shared Tellurian Faith © Surazeus 2022 12 31 What bitter season of disease and war transforms weird nature of our global state on the last day of this volatile year through random calculations of blind fate that oscillates between eccentric poles of evil and justice, fueled by our goals. Bright star of steadfast justice still shines bright on lands smothered by tyranny of greed to guide scattered squads fighting for the right till we unite our efforts based on need to ensure liberty for every soul who asserts free will to choose their life role. Unchangeable force of justice flows strong through human hearts open to express love that generates power of hope through song inspiring courage when our father Jove guides us through maze of fear to paradise where we gain expertise through sacrifice. Conversing in global forum of thought through tweets we share in forest of Dream Space, we analyze effects our actions wrought to legislate global values through grace so every citizen of Earth will play by moral rules of our Tellurian Way. Though ethos we valued as right and true dissolves in confounding puzzle of faith we join forces to construct new world view ensuring global rights from the mind wraith so every person breathing soul of Earth may interact in life with equal worth. Though fractured nations of our spinning globe contend in cultural contest to maintain traditional values, fixed with earnest probe of state judgment to balance loss with gain, we overcome barriers of social myth to develop one shared Tellurian Faith.
Gamble With Random Luck
Gamble With Random Luck © Surazeus 2022 12 31 The state of laughter in the world today that proves fertile romance can be oblique guides me beyond stone walls of paradise to wander the waste land where hope is bleak till I find mute statue of my soul mate that proves our relationship is unique. Holding hands with the ghost of my soul mate, I walk forever toward the singing oak where we decide to build our home and live with the lost colony of Roanoke to raise our children in the Evening Land in misty woods where ancient god-toads croak. Transforming into god with blazing eyes through spirit energy from the Star Lake, I wake as wingless angel with nine brains able to command the apple-tree snake who guides me through maze of the modern world so I can discern what is real or fake. Elected President of the Deep State, I build world prosperity by sheer fluke based on the principle of shared free will that not even the Devil can rebuke because I wield the Wand of Mercury that lets me control anger of the spook. Able to leap across the multiverse on my time-contorting wings of the hawk, I explore our modern world-city maze to find the sacred dream-key tomahawk Hiawatha gave to Son of the Crow who redesigns truth with the Vision Clock. Standing by world-city gates in the rain, I chant prophecies found in no real book which map weird history of humanity designed by faith of the temple priest-cook who invents religion to praise the hero who rescues his soul mate from the Fear Rook. Awake on snow mountain of holy truth after forty years on my soul-quest hike, I see how scattered peoples of the Earth unite with love to build the Seventh Reich where we do as we will if we harm none, till I fall off my psychedelic bike. Reborn as Raven on midsummer night, I dance amazed with my twin brother Puck to prove we are wingless angels of light who evolve from amoebas in sea muck because success in life is based on skill employed as we gamble with random luck.
Friday, December 30, 2022
Bard Of The Dead
Bard Of The Dead © Surazeus 2022 12 30 The interaction of character tropes, that displays the progress of social forces through sexual tension of systemic power, constitutes the essence of poetry depicting effects from causes of actions that result in birth of the cultural hero. The Rambling Fool falls in love with the Princess trapped in the tower by the Bloody Tyrant so he helps her escape from jail of Heaven but they are captured by the Loyal Cop who crucifies the Savior of the World while she assassinates the King in bed. To avoid the tragedy of blind lust, because I am destined to kill my father and marry my mother as King of Heaven, I refuse to play the role Fortune writes by swerving off the path of social duty to wander the world as the songless bard. Choosing to live as solivagant bard, instead of grasping at fake straws of power, I stand in rain outside the city gates and sing satires of the Arrogant King who believes God appointed him to rule though he was born as first son of the Thief. The Weeping Jester in Blower of Bliss sings heart-aching songs of romantic love for the Fairy Queen who lounges at noon while longing for the Noble Knight of Wealth to return home from working at the bank while the Smiling Wolf stands guard by the door. Sadness for all the characters in plays that no one plays in theaters these days inspires me to think about the real people on whom are based those famous characters depicted as gods in every world myth who lived and died before recorded time. I hang masks of their faces on the wall in vast Temple of the Many-Faced God, then sit by the stage in the feasting hall to transcribe epic poems the Muses sing while they perform before the eager crowd who listen with attention to old tales. The stories of the living and the dead will be read by the people not yet born so I write as many tales as I can in Book of Souls that no one ever reads, then wander on into the city maze where I play my role as Bard of the Dead.
Ghost Of Every Human Being
Ghost Of Every Human Being © Surazeus 2022 12 30 When I go outside in the morning light I see the ghost of every human being who ever lived in history of the Earth float around me in amaranthine beams, begging me to record their names and deeds in songs that make people weep for their souls. In nameless pre-face of the former-born I see the ghost of every human being who evolved from carbon rings, fish to lizard to mouse to cat to ape to wingless angel, begging me to reincarnate their genes in children who spring from seed of my brain. When I gaze up at the clouds at noon I see the ghost of every human being who could have been born at just the right hour from every couple who never made love, begging me to generate souls for them so they can savor pleasures of this world. In nameless un-face of the never-born I see the ghost of every human being who will never exist in dream of time from every possible synthesis of genes, begging me to make masks for them to wear as they drench my soul in rain of their tears. When I stand by the sea in evening dusk I see the ghost of every human being who will be born in the tangle of fate when lovers encounter soul they desire, begging me to design new paradigm where they can play fertile role with free will. In nameless post-face of the not-yet-born I see the ghost of every human being who wants to exist bound by time and space lure two lusty strangers to copulate, begging me to compose new epic poem where every soul can play Queen and her Hero. When I gaze up at the stars at midnight I see the ghost of every human being conceived in minds of wizards who tell stories imitate the actions of living souls, begging me to build theater of dreams so they can live in performance of actors. In nameless why-face of the ever-born I see the ghost of every human being conjured as glamorous idol of hope from words of stories I arrange in books, begging me to dream them from nothingness for they will still live long after I die.
Thursday, December 29, 2022
Return To Somewhere City
Return To Somewhere City © Surazeus 2022 12 29 Every time I return to Somewhere City to find the doorless house on hill of skulls I climb the silver stairs of laughing trees where faceless people talk about the truth so I eat mushrooms ravens bring to me while floating in the Pegasus Cafe. I walk the hilly streets of Somewhere City past banks and hotels built from bones of giants where shiny windows reflect Shadow Me on my endless search for the perfect book that encodes history of the universe so I can remember why horses fly. Walking forever lost in Somewhere City, I hurry toward glass tower on the hill past buildings that billow and bulge with light to find the book with my complete life story that hovers on swan wings in temple hall yet run with my horse on the windy steppes. Stopping to look at map of Somewhere City that presents names of companies and streets in golden runes that glow with cold moonlight, I try to find myself in maze of myths so I can visit statue of Apollo who strums a tortoise lyre while horses play. Because no wolves run free in Somewhere City which proves priests lie about the afterlife I keep on walking in the silver wind past banks and churches with doors that are locked against the laughter of the flaming crow who shows me where the winged horse was born. Still wandering lost in maze of Somewhere City, I stop by polluted river of demons to play chess with Death in the treeless park who remembers his friend Antonius Block while Mia brings us strawberries and milk then gives ripe apple to the wingless horse. Dancing with smiling ghosts in Somewhere City, I paint the devil on wall of the church then ask the mute girl to call Lucifer so I can ask him why good people die but she gives me apple she stole from Death then rides to Elysium on Pegasus. Since I can never escape Somewhere City where I wander for twenty thousand years I play guitar by fountain of the ghost and sing about the god who falls to Earth to encode the Holy Grail in my brain while writing in the Pegasus Cafe.
Valley Of Sand Wind
Valley Of Sand Wind © Surazeus 2022 12 29 After walking along the river shore, gathering berries and eggs for thirty years, the woman in the valley of sad wind sings heart-aching tune of passionate love that glows with beauty in the timeless dusk, then lies silent for twenty thousand years. Scraping dirt around her skull in the Earth with careful attention to fragile truth, the woman in the valley of sad wind exposes ancient face of our first mother whose song still lingers in our aching hearts we still sing after twenty thousand years. Holding skull of our first mother with care, heart filled with awe at beauty of her face, the woman in the valley of sad wind feels heart-aching tune of passionate love flow from her heart with haunting melody clear again after twenty thousand years. As spirit of first mother fills her heart with awe at beauty of the trees and sky, the woman in the valley of sad wind sings heart-aching tune of passionate love so we all sing with turning of the Earth every new day for twenty thousand years.
High On Wings Of Infinity
High On Wings Of Infinity © Surazeus 2022 12 29 Pelé Edson Arantes do Nascimento 23 October 1940 – 29 December 2022 The way he glides with grace across the grid and kicks the ball in net of victory highlights passion for the beautiful game that inspires our hearts with adoring cheer to watch Pele dance with the spinning sphere arching high on wings of infinity.
Our Romantic Warranty
Our Romantic Warranty © Surazeus 2022 12 29 The old woman on the river shore frowns and asks if the soul inhabits the body or if the body generates the soul. She shows me where children of country towns would make love in the secret forest shadow before they fix their adult social role. The old woman shows me the tale she wrote describing the history bodies reveal till we all vanish in atomic swirls. I want to be with her on the wood boat so she can explain how the fortune wheel weaves new bodies from lust of boys and girls. The old woman on the boat of desire explains to me how we generate life so I dive into dark waters of time. Spotting star diamond of immortal fire that shimmers in heart of my unknown wife, I treasure its beauty with honest rhyme. Though lost in the waste land of sterile hope during one hundred years of solitude I build the garden of love where we dwell. I write new scripture to help myself cope with social changes of great magnitude in our world empire around the Dream Well. The old woman in jar of prophecy shows me how to find my hyacinth girl who dances on lush isle in the south sea. I write new epic of my odyssey to find meaning of life in the brain pearl that beams dreams from nine eyes of Liberty. The cracked screen of my eye-phone indicates how far across the Bridge of Truth I trudge on my quest to find Holy Grail of Love. With melancholy passion to trick Fates I design moral law that helps me judge effects of actions from the atom wave. The old woman copies genes of my brain to replicate my mental state in clones programmed to perceive one reality. Holding hands, we stroll in scarlet spring rain to energize divine soul in our bones which triggers our romantic warranty. The old woman in shadow of my heart explains, the body generates the soul for we are composed of atoms that dream. With stories in code I design new chart that maps my random journey to my goal to reincarnate my genetic stream.
Our Souls Glow In Atoms
Our Souls Glow In Atoms © Surazeus 2022 12 29 Gold light on the oily telephone pole describes in detail the moral content of each voiceless leaf on ten thousand trees so I give each one its own secret name as I walk the empty street before dawn to see if they are alive behind doors. To justify existence of my mind to birds gathered in lush temples of trees I whistle in harmony with their thoughts about the nature of material being as if never finding someone to love were normal as the song of ocean waves. When I sell my memories to empty homes I wonder if familiar tales untold bleed behind photographs on hungry walls which disregard faked spontaneities based on contentment of the empty room where the fridge sings to the window he loves. Though ghosts assemble in the kitchen gloom to sightread charts which prophesy the fall of naked empires because girls are killed we pretend to admire the billionaire who gambles for salvation in the church with wingless angel of the nevertime. Because the egret on lawn of the church reconstructs the true political state in which each person is rewarded well for painting visions of religious truth I read the latest novel upside down to understand why the tortoise is God. Compiling anthology of bad jokes, I search the internet for dangerous thoughts people refuse to express in real words that define why humans want monarchy to organize fierce chaos of desire instead of trusting their divine instincts. Excluded by fearful people in power from entering the court in castle of wealth, I represent myself on the lake shore before the crowd of refugees from war who just want to tend small gardens of fruit then gather at dusk to share food and sing. Breathless with wonder at his tales of love, we listen to Tiresias explain why gender reflects desire to procreate so our children will live after we die because we vanish into nothingness though our souls glow in atoms for all time.
Wednesday, December 28, 2022
Illusions In Mirror Of Lies
Illusions In Mirror Of Lies © Surazeus 2022 12 28 The mind-confounding truth we fear to face sparks lamp that leads us to the cluttered place unknown to cartographers of world view that frames our failures in narrative clue few dare to solve for reward of the prize we earn by shouting at mirror of lies. Though jester in the business suit knows how money barons enslave the working cow through incentives to work till they fall dead he prefers to run the factory of bread where only humble fools can spot the spies who fight for victory in mirror of lies. We build our civilization on wheat since bread fuels our bodies to pave the street where the blind pope in the bullet-proof car waves to worshippers who adore his star though he predicts new world empire will rise from our illusions in mirror of lies. We call each other on the telephone to discuss cruel deeds of the smiling clone who insists on proving he is the king clutching the invisibility ring which gives him power to measure the skies that vanish straight in the mirror of lies. Still culpable for aggressive regret contained in angel wings of the egret, the money jester buys and trades truth stocks, always out of tune with the maple clocks because even fake kings must compromise with poor workers who haunt mirror of lies. The badge with honey bee and golden key allows me to enter eternity long enough to chat with God about death but all he can say is take a deep breath, so he returns to Heaven in disguise as noble hero in mirror of lies. At home in the university maze, I study evolutionary phase in which I can wrestle angel of death to impress the indifferent global wraith, but in the end I choose to advertise demonic wisdom in mirror of lies. Yet mothers of warriors killed in the war still wait with cookies in the empty door for Orion to pass by on the road while he designs new world linguistic code which nullifies vain attempts to surmise whose real face I see in mirror of lies.
Sphinx On The Way Ahead
Sphinx On The Way Ahead © Surazeus 2022 12 28 She wonders what the weird world would be like if time keeps swirling wild as ocean waves, but then steps off the bus and up the stairs to sit in class and study static truths. Bound by the clock to trod the way ahead, she keeps on living till she must fall dead. Splashed sense of ocean in her hollow heart envelops her with sweet sagacity, so she assures each dreamless soul she meets that time will resurrect our vanity. Consulting old maps for the way ahead, she forgets all the history she has read. Secluded in house of ancestral bones with false memories that veil eternity, she strives with every god who falls as rain to climb the golden stairway to the sky. Searching ancient books for the way ahead, she translates forgotten songs of the dead. Lost past the teenage years of angry hope with eyes that understand the dawn of time, she peers through gray eyes at the rainbow world to calculate what nothing is now worth. Accepting lies that hide the way ahead, she lounges at home with the Book of Dread. Making room on shelves in the sunlit room where cats and ghosts in shadows of time lurk, she ponders meaning of life she designs with clever riddles through obscurity. Circled by demons on the way ahead, she dances wild where angels fear to tread. Vexed by bold spirit of Methuselah reborn with grim face of her serious child, she bakes apple pies for strangers to eat when she visits their shacks under the bridge. Startled by the Sphinx on the way ahead, she gathers flowers to bake vital bread. Inviting Death with his black robe and scythe to sit at the kitchen table for tea, she explains the apparatus of time that has not yet assigned her hour to die. With each attribute for the way ahead, she repairs dream matrix with psychic thread. In love with perishable angel of truth because he explains atoms with fruit seeds, she reveals frightened wonder of her eyes at strange beauty of our vanishing Earth. Encouraged by joy on the way ahead, she sings as she becomes the truth unsaid.
Tuesday, December 27, 2022
Glamour Of Skymind
Glamour Of Skymind © Surazeus 2022 12 27 Awake with subtle singing of Skymind at electric shock of passionate hope, I walk along sparkling river of eyes to gather berries in basket of truth so I can feel strange beauty of this Earth assembling puzzle in my new world view. Assaulted by angry shouts of Skymind who demands I obey his divine law, I crawl in underworld cavern of fear to claw diamonds from bloody corpse of Earth so he can wear crown of authority when he rules on ziggurat of desire. Observed by judgmental eyes of Skymind with cautious performance of my fake role, I bake clay bricks to build Temple of Truth, then eat apples I steal from Tree of Life so I can spread angel wings of desire to escape harsh prison of paradise. Assimilating concept of Skymind to energize conscious glow of my brain, I wrestle Zeus on ziggurat in rain till I cast him into abyss of lies then place diamond crown on my humble head so I become incarnation of God. Hypnotized by magnitude of Skymind that encompasses the whole universe, I stand in fane of the crucified god and sing hymns of praise to Master of Death while falling nine days and nights into Hell where I build city with ancestral ghosts. Programmed with computer code of Skymind that designs conceptual ideas of things, I dance with puppet strings of vanity as sacrificial lamb to the world state to resurrect with atom-powered wings though I still stumble lost in cave of dreams. Amazed with psychic glamour of Skymind to wear mask of stardom on jester stage, I fight against tyranny of wealth-power that binds our bodies with unequal laws to evade oppression of haughty pride so I can eat hot apple pie in peace. Escaping puppet drama of Skymind by leaping paper walls of paradise, I write new holy scripture for Telluria encoding riddles Saturna dictates because I follow Goddess Liberty who decrees equal rights for every ghost.
Oblivion Of Thought
Oblivion Of Thought © Surazeus 2022 12 27 In the rush toward oblivion of thought I mirror wingless angel of my soul during sad prayer to nothingness of time, then stop on bridge beyond forever now to wonder why fate created my mind from swirling atoms of the nevermore. Soft scream of the road recorded by wind wakes yellow passion from fissure of hope with amorous warble of the whippoorwill who spreads her sun-blind wings with eager ache to fly beyond all bounds of time and space while falling into sorrow of the stone. Yet snowy plover on white ocean beach stretches her wings across the silver sky just where the marsh grass meets the singing sand to teach me art of dancing with the wind since I aspire to understand the flash expanding from god eye of the White Whole. So when I enter blue celestial door which unravels vast spider web of light, urged by energy of the predator to assert dream concept of my world view, the vibrant woof of undulating thoughts preserves imagined idol of my brain. Cured by incessant hum of honey bees erecting firmament of crystal words, I walk the radiant process of the road defined by signs with names I paint with blood to understand strange power of the cow who feeds humanity with milk of love. Still deep inside unmoving core of change, bright with atomic glow of honesty, the divine girl with hundred billion eyes weaves morbid matrix of our multiverse from surreal dreams of every conscious being born on every planet that blooms with life. With miraculous deeds no angel fakes our bodies emerge from pearl demon egg with crackling tumble on the river shore to sprawl on awkward legs of graceful fear as prophesied by riddles on the scroll burned in the kitchen hearth of arrogance. The black cat on the round table decides to reinvent the universe of forms with gold-green eyes designed by ocean mist when the unreasonable sun sets mauve through imperfection of the broken laugh now reborn from oblivion of thought.
Monday, December 26, 2022
Yamakiasham Mountain Range
Yamakiasham Mountain Range © Surazeus 2022 12 26 While climbing narrow trail among tall pines on high snow-frosted slopes of Mount Tahoma in svelte Yamakiasham Mountain range, I feel compact sense of time dissipate with eternal beauty of timeless glow that beams bitter-sweet song into my heart. Though thousands of miles west across the sea from the rugged Skanderna Mountain range where my ancient Elfin ancestors lived in rugged valleys twenty thousand years, I feel their lissom energy vibrate from Mount Tahoma deep into my heart. In sphere of glowing light through swirling mist I discern tall woman, with star-bright eyes and hair flowing long as clouds over mountains, descend on empyreal seraphic wings to place laptop computer in my hands so I can map tale of humanity. Entranced by haunting melody of hope she sings with melancholy faith in love that fills my heart with passionate desire, I sing in harmony with flowing wind that swirls around our world of dreaming souls to weave my heart in matrix of the Earth. Though I travel far over forty years across this fertile land of Onatah, I feel that timeless spirit of Tahoma, sacred mountain where my Muse dreams the Earth, still glow inside whole radiance of my heart, so I sing with deep pulsing of her power. Pure luminosity of primal love which emanates from mountain of my heart reverberates through fabric of our world so I feel ethereal music of truth radiate from every object formed of matter that rings with quick atomic energy. My ancestors followed vast mountain range Egyptia to Sumeria to India to China, then back across apple mountains of Scythia, so I have stood on top ten thousand peaks to feel immortal light of divine stars energize atoms sparkling in my brain. On high snow-frosted slopes of Mount Tahoma in svelte Yamakiasham Mountain range my spirit lingers far outside my body so I always, no matter where I dwell, hear siren song of my Muse call my name, urging me to return to her dream cave.
Shadowed Wing Of Truth
Shadowed Wing Of Truth © Surazeus 2022 12 26 With every shadowed wing of truth I feign at wretched flash of lightning on the sea my heart contrives to break free from desire so I transcend this mortal coil through hope to stand on stage of prophecy and sing terrible visions that life may soon end. When Triton lurches from the seething sea to blow loud horn of warning from the storm that blows across our global city maze, I wake from slumber safe in cyberspace to see fearful men form gangs from despair that threaten our peaceful democracy. Unresting tumult of continual change inspires whole nations of eager young souls to rise against imperial hierarchies and form world alliance for liberty with justice-loving tribes in every land regardless of their religion or race. Asserting universal slate of rights for every person to live as they will with equal opportunity to thrive, we resist tyrants who clutch at state power by opposing their vested privilege they claim based on their fake nobility. When empires build their process of success around personality of one man to foster religious cult in his name, enforcing mindless obedience from fear, their fractured institutes fail to address problems faced by poor people in the streets. Such empires built on illusion of trust collapse into warring states that compete through bitter conflict for the fertile lands where common people raise crops with their hands when the perfect god who centers their cult dies in relentless cycle of transitions. Kings and presidents ruling vast nations come and go in constant exchange of power through rebellions against authority, yet herdsmen, farmers, and craftsmen remain performing constructive acts of design to organize labor of equal workers. The men and women who work with their hands, converting rich material of the Earth to food that fuels our bodies, and machines that aid production, inherit the Earth by forming governments based on fair laws, so we live with peace in our new world order.
Sunday, December 25, 2022
Merry Song Of Joy
Merry Song Of Joy © Surazeus 2022 12 25 If I could sing new merry song of joy to cheer up all the sad souls in the world I would design lush garden for the scene where each young mother gives birth to her child safe inside ancient walls of honest faith who might embody spirit of the wraith. Then I would play sweet melody of hope with slender flute I carve from demon bone to lead lost refugees from bitter war on signless road to garden of the skull so they can feast on fruit by glowing hearth and sing again about true peace on Earth. But men with weapons of oppressive hate will always find the helpless and the weak and force them to obey their laws of greed by working every day till their hands bleed, so I play eerie tune of psychic spells that hypnotize their minds with Christmas bells. Men blind with greed for power to control the workers who extract wealth from the ground build institutions based on noble genes to run global food-production machine that feeds the wealthy with blood of the poor based on false narrative of divine lore. The hidden dragon is the new-born child who one day will rise high from poverty to organize bold army of the poor and overthrow the tyrant in the castle through revolution of justice for truth at cyclic coming of our messiah sleuth. So every year on this cold silent night we celebrate birth of the chosen one destined to follow purpose of their heart by speaking with the voice the people feel, then lead them in fight for the noble cause that supports equal rights with honest laws. With turning of time every eighty years the social system that sustains our lives collapses in factions of civil war till spirit of the nation sparks one soul to project vision of justice for all in programs that inspire men to live well. When vibrant energy of social hope oscillates between political poles well balanced process of government roles provides fair system for all to succeed who choose to help construct our global state through laws that let each soul define their fate.
Children Of The Deer
Children Of The Deer © Surazeus 2022 12 25 Where in the wild forest of laughing skulls do children of the deer still run and play? When Icarus leaps on glass wings of light the eyeless princess of the lost lake weeps, but he cannot hear her calling his name so he falls to Earth and rise again lame. Where in the dark forest of screaming ghosts do children of the deer still weep and pray? When Icarus stumbles from swirling smoke he finds the blind seer of the frontier town so she heals the wound of his thirsty heart and sews new wings from ones sad angels sold. Where in the bright forest of mocking owls do children of the deer still tend fruit trees? When Icarus draws map of weird star worlds with blood of gods who commit suicide he teaches eyeless princess how to see soul energy flashing in dreamless brains. Where in the vast forest of joking wolves do children of the deer still steal mushrooms? When Icarus breaks from the dragon egg composed from glass of television screens the eyeless princess gives him book of dreams so he opens portals to distant worlds. Where in the strange forest of searching crows do children of the deer still build glass boats? When Icarus sails down river of tears to find gold ring of invisible power the eyeless princess transforms his old soul into mask of God that everyone wears. Where in the weird forest of humble kings do children of the deer still play with death? When Icarus climbs high ziggurat steps to find the diamond that calls to his heart the eyeless princess runs into his arms so they dance till the whole world falls apart.
Tune Of Atomic Zings
Tune Of Atomic Zings © Surazeus 2022 12 25 Lonely in the quorum of marooned gods, I shout in echo chamber of fake lies so I can hear tune of atomic zings when I detach strange riddle of my name from the global narrative of success that conspires through fertility of love. To monetize the pain of loneliness, on my way to the higher ground of faith, I anchor my soul to core of the Earth while seeking refuge from hypocrisy, contrived by peddlers of dishonesty when spurned sister assassinates the king. Through elemental cipher of my brain inventing words to express how I feel my mouth unzips new formula for laws when I rise from Hell to preach the new cause through revolution of the landless clown who digs up lawn of the stolen estate. By planting turnips in the garden maze, I reclaim land, that my ancestors stole, from the wealthy duke who stole it from me, so in the forest of the laughing crow I can play chess with death to save the world till he defeats me with the clever move. So lonely on the misty moor I stand and will my fragile body to transform from wingless angel into the werewolf so I can fight the King of Neverland though my heart is tightly wound as the clock that screams beautiful hymns in the oak trunk. Emerging from hot muck of the brown Earth, I bask my crystal bones in red sunrays till my soul ripples the galactic sea with ancient doctrine of the novelty that proves my spirit is worthy of love when the sea-lark twitters sweet on my tomb. The fact is hidden in the fable code, the old blind Titan declines to explain, so I purchase the perplexity boon from the lonely woman in the sea cave who always knows what is about to happen because she perceives true heart of the world. I measure pattern of reality to understand how matter blooms in forms composed of atoms swerving in the void so I can protect the people I love from burden of sorrow all souls must bear as we follow the road to Everywhere.
Our Dead God Rules Earth
Our Dead God Rules Earth © Surazeus 2022 12 25 Our dead god wanders empty city streets, leaving unwanted gifts at every door where millions of people hide in their rooms, safe from pandemic of wrenching disease, then stops and tries to hear their secret thoughts which they encode in tweets of wingless birds. Our dead god knocks on sorrow-shattered doors but no one ever opens tombs of hope, so he stands on dry meadow by the sea, polluted by centuries of steel oil drills, and reaches out his hand to touch the sky, then cries out, "Why have you abandoned me?" Our dead god searches garden of cracked skulls for Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, but finds old sterile apple trees instead that grow from graves of tyrants clutching guns who killed millions in their bids to live free, so he gnaws on their brains rotten with faith. Our dead god wrenches off doors of bank safes to expose wealth stolen from hands of workers who slave mute in factories and offices to run global food-production machine that churns new bodies for the institute to program as robots in school and church. Our dead god tears mask of God off his face and howls among abandoned factories to lament fall of Ozymandias, awake forever in the mangled book as he clutches the telephone pole cross where his puppet hangs crucified at dawn. Our dead god stumbles in the empty church, erected on doctrines with fear of death he shored against the ruins of false hope that he can resurrect his children from the dead who wander in the waste land of true faith searching for Heaven in handful of dust. Our dead god falls into abyss of time, tumbling ten thousand years from ivory tower, then rises from the television tube, reborn as savior of the broken world who promises resurrection from death, but people of Earth hide in doorless homes. Our dead god rules Earth with story of hope that we will live in Heaven after death, modeled on the realm of formal ideas where the Craftsmen molds atoms into beings who wake on Christmas morning to sing hymns that worship indifferent light of the sun.
Saturday, December 24, 2022
Eyes Of The Girl I Love
Eyes Of The Girl I Love © Surazeus 2022 12 24 The slender girl in the long wind-blown dress gazes through window of eternity with heart-aching joy for the lonely sea. On her hand the raven of happiness describes state of atomic circuitry that powers flaming heart of liberty. Deep in the black eyes of the girl I love shine countless stars that weave our destiny as we lounge in quaint garden of our hearts. With every snowflake that swirls from above I comprehend celestial chemistry that operates our bodies with coiling parts. She reaches out her hand with gentle care to guide my journey through sincerity into the secret garden of her heart. I feel her soul radiate love everywhere that helps me perceive life with clarity so I map our liaison on the star chart. The melancholy angel with star eyes gives me holy grail with fruit juice to drink so I give her home I build with my hands. Her calm loyalty is my greatest prize which fuels my passion to forever sing as we work in love to fulfill our plans. The slender girl in the long wind-blown dress before the window of eternity holds my hand and smiles with joy for this life. Our current state of successful progress we earn through struggle for posterity as we unite our hearts to dispel strife. I treasure her above all that exists for she is focus of my artistry as I create this Heaven where we thrive. Though death destroys all, true love that persists sustains our fragile souls with honesty so we sing amazed that we are so alive.
Bright Eyes Of Angels
Bright Eyes Of Angels © Surazeus 2022 12 24 Bright stars that twinkle in the ice-blue sky shine with timeless beauty beyond death indifferent to birth of man on the Earth, yet still we gaze into its diamond eye as we huddle around glowing stone hearth and sing bleak hymns of hope with desperate breath. Bright snowflakes flutter from the ice-blue sky in languid terror of hungry despair that gnaws our twisted hearts with aching hope that we live long enough to question why we shiver lonely on the mountain slope while longing for the sun to warm the air. Bright moon that glitters in the ice-blue sky refracts ten thousand rainbows on the snow that shimmers silent over rugged hill in necropastoral scene where no crows fly except blind ghosts whose voices are too shrill for me to feel how frozen rivers flow. Bright eyes of angels in the ice-blue sky gaze down from walls of castles in white clouds when my pregnant wife grips my hand and screams while giving birth to child with one star eye who will interpret riddles of our dreams when he must preach before truth-seeking crowds. Bright sun that expands in the ice-blue sky unveils eternal beauty of the soul that emanates from neural net of brains when I measure real things to classify complex matrix of atomic domains that beams worlds of spirits from the White Whole. Bright dawn dispels fear in the ice-blue sky so we explore beyond the haven wall to gather wood and fruit from forest store then work together to bake apple pie while holding hands with the one we adore to feast and dance in warm festival hall. Bright energy glows in the ice-blue sky we mistake for some god who gives us life, inventing purpose from random events to soothe our hearts fraught with anxiety by giving each other heart-felt presents and shaking hands to put aside our strife. Bright nothing vibrates in the ice-blue sky as we celebrate rebirth of the sun that shines again after the longest night embodied by new-born child with the eye that sees infinity inside the light till he designs the law-enforcing gun.
To Prove I Belong
To Prove I Belong © Surazeus 2022 12 24 The weird stars obscured by mountain of truth pierce my soft heart with unalterable rays of hope that reveal the alternate course I choose to take through the pummeling wind when I grasp strange happiness with frail hands to prove I belong to this nameless tribe. The luminous squalor of my lost tale conceals the tangled sorrow of my heart I pretend I never feel when I face hostile crowd of vampires in the cold church after dancing along the stream at dawn to prove I belong to this hapless tribe. The blazing colors of the rainbow bridge that leads me to the world buried by snow reveal the unasked aftermath of faith betrayed by rancid greed of the door clown who denies me a seat at table of hope to prove I belong to this faceless tribe. The shining sorrow of the tall pine tree screams at every hack of the hate-sharp ax when the grim priest chops down my spirit tree then hangs heads of my clan on weeping limbs while he celebrates birth of his cruel god to prove I belong to this homeless tribe. The stars exposed by gallop of the horse that races swift across the wilderness reveal the signless road to mountain castle where the tyrant wearing gold crown of gems enslaves my mother to bake in the kitchen to prove I belong to this listless tribe. The glowing hearth of friendship arrogates ownership of land to the sons of God who kill rebels against their claim to power when they colonize vales of my ancestors whose bones form structure of the holy church to prove I belong to this faithless tribe. The indifferent sun drenching hills in blood shines bright on face of the man on the horse whose hands clutch golden coins of stolen wealth he earned from sweat of our unwilling hands constructing empire of his right to rule to prove I belong to this ruthless clan. The flashing light bulbs on the Christmas tree that blink with carols on the radio hide centuries of oppression behind tunes of cheerful joy at birth of the world king whose sons kill people who will not convert to prove I belong to this headless tribe. The gleam of headlights on cars in the snow casts frail beams of faith at horror of death when people gather in the church of bones and pray to the vampire god for salvation in their war to conquer the world with love to prove I belong to this restless tribe. The dreaming flames of atoms in the void that flare forth from first flash of the white whole congeal into this mortal coil of flesh which generates conscious mind of my brain so I feel immortal till hour I die to prove I belong to this godless tribe.
Friday, December 23, 2022
Liberation Of The Mind
Liberation Of The Mind © Surazeus 2022 12 23 In tragic story of my moonless life I conjure impromptu sparks of strange thoughts that constellate new unrelated facts through single flame of ideology presenting vision of our multiverse where I am always no one else not me. Astonished in harsh beauty of the wind that shrouds my mortal coil with finite glow, I measure liberation of the mind through struggle against indifference of time that binds my body with atomic rings spinning bright with divine wisdom of truth. Still lost in darkness of unchanging night, I sing strange ache of sorrow in my heart from psychic fever for knowledge of life that glows with flame of love on our small globe somewhere in boundless void of evermore that feels more real than my body of flesh. Assembling structure of our spinning sphere from atoms swerving in the mindless void, I will our planet into solid being by speaking words that describe its content designed by random swirls of molecules that pulse with painful pleasure of existence. The void that feels more real than my nonbeing cradles planet hot with organic life who question nature of the universe till we recognize our face on the moon when humans invent the concept of God based on form of the ideal human being. Exasperation through the final song, reflecting beauty no one knows they have, frees fearful minds from absolute unfaith who seek bold liberation of the mind through dismal turning of seasonal hope to seek redemption with the holy flame. Based on global scale of indifference, our planet requires we honor with lust, we build huge empire of aggressive tribes who manage state of chaos with their hearts when we seek origin of everything that blossoms from ground of being we embrace. With mutable book of eternal truth we pray for equations of noble love based on song of rushing water at dusk which flutters on fragile butterfly wings at revelation of mysteries we share that sustains liberation of the mind.
Unrooted From Solid Truth
Unrooted From Solid Truth © Surazeus 2022 12 23 Unrooted from solid truth of the ground, I travel for over two million years, spreading out from the lush valley of fruit to follow every river from the sea till I climb every lofty mountain peak, always searching for Heaven of my dreams. With rootless energy of eager hope I keep on walking to follow the sun, since I first learned to walk in surging waves, forever toward horizon of my mind so I can see the whole world as it is, sphere of dirt and water in starry void. Old spirit of my mother in my mind awakens me into being with her song that whispers in the endless vibrant wind which blows in dancing trees with eager hope since I realize I am some separate thing when I see my face in the shining pool. The inward voice no one can hear but me explains the reasons why I play my role performing actions that seem long foretold except I choose to swerve from off the way through fierce assertion of my own free will so I wander lost in the roadless world. I am the seer who perceives the whole world when I realize I am also the seen so I jump up and down on the lake shore and shout at indifferent clouds in the sky till I lie exhausted in field of flowers and wonder if I really am alive. Birds spring their wings and glide across the sky while I walk step by step on signless roads bound to the solid sorrow of the world by grave attention to hungry desire that motivates my journey to the stars till I rest in shelter of the fruit tree. While staring at strange shimmer of the sky I wonder who I am beyond my name and why I am alive with hungry hope, and how this vast world blossomed into being from swirling shimmer of atomic light that weaves neurons into my thinking brain. The ever-changing beauty of the world my eyes perceive as natural growth and death stores vibe of quietude inside my heart as I explore valley of singing trees, rootless on my journey to comprehend unchanging ideas that shape my soul.
Statues Of Old Gods
Statues Of Old Gods © Surazeus 2022 12 23 Statues of old gods long lost in the sea walk streets of every city on the Earth. In the average faces of normal people who walk around me in churches and stores I see faces of gods in human form, filled with ancestral spirit of their dreams. If you drag from the sea in fishing net marble statue of my ancestral god, clean muck of time off surface of its soul and stand it once again in temple hall so I can feel its soul vibrate through me with blank eyes that stare beyond veil of death. Though trapped inside the egg shell of its form ancestral god of my soul wills to break free from conceptual image of lost myths so I can become my seminal self. This face that masks my original soul traps my spirit in some preordained role. With contemplative quietness of hope I stand in hushed museum hall to feel original soul of my cosmic mind vibrating in statue with my first face. The story of my mortal life began with gene coils at the bottom of the sea. Harsh aching tension wound inside my flesh seethes with passion of paramount desire to transcend fragile system of frail bones contained by state of surging chemicals that motivate my progress to evolve from fish to wingless angel of the Earth. Though marble statue carved by caring hands replicates ideal form of human being to imitate special nature of me I keep evolving beyond who I was. I stare at statue of me in the hall and almost think I hear soft echo call. Looking back at mirror on the time wall I see ten million copies of my face recede back along my ancestral soul so I see every person I have been on my million-year journey to be me, hungry as I sing by indifferent sea. The sea keeps singing melodies of love long before I rise from the lake of dreams, and keeps on singing with each surging flow long after I vanish from pool of genes. I stand on sea shore to see Mother Night emanate from statues as divine light.
Busy City Maze
Busy City Maze © Surazeus 2022 12 23 Tired of walking in busy city maze with nowhere to go and no one to meet, I lie down on the soft meridian grass that shimmers in the middle of the street between streams of cars speeding toward success so I can feel the heartbeat of the Earth. I float in contemplation of the sky that mirrors weird variable of my soul, yet feel thrumming vibration of machines from cars, factories, churches, and cafes swirl around me through waves of energy that carry me across the noisy sea. My ancestors for many generations operated castles as power points controlling markets where people sell goods they create in craft shops, ranches, and farms, but I want to play no part in their game generating wealth for the divine king. I sit all day on soft meridian grass, strumming guitar and singing ancient hymns that one one can hear from their rumbling cars, then I walk down to shore of the wild sea and listen to mindless song of the waves that mocks ambitions of humanity. Though I do not want to play mindless role in the global food-production machine, operated by class struggle for power between owners and workers over wealth conjured by credits in our bank accounts, I have no vision for some better way. My heart is burdened by anxiety as I wander listless in money maze where glamorous beauty of the cyberstar outshines plain passion of reality so I hide my real face with shining mask that beams charisma from computer screens. Not brave as Icarus soaring on fake wings, nor clever as Orpheus in dream cave, I stumble blindly toward my destiny caring not whether I succeed for fail, till I find myself stuck in paradise where God is awake in the human brain. As I meditate on meridian grass, ignoring fierce turmoil of politics between factions of humans blind with fear, I rise again and walk past busy stores to find treasure of truth in maze of myths, forever lost in busy city maze.
Thursday, December 22, 2022
Our Terror Of Death
Our Terror Of Death © Surazeus 2022 12 22 If I walk in the room where you are not I might hear strange vibration of your mind that radiates dreams across the universe to weave zillions of planets in one ring that shimmers bright with divine mind of God which we invent to soothe terror of death. Yet you tell me with words you never speak that you want to take me to empty room halfway along the broken bridge of dreams and show me painting of the beautiful which helps our eyes perceive the unseen truth designed to dispel our terror of death. Though you walk invisible by my side along the signless road that goes nowhere we find ourselves in Heaven we create so we program our bodies to perform daily routine that sustains dream of love which shelters our hearts from terror of death. Whether you ever appear in my life or disappear from spinning wheel of fate I feel disembodied soul of your brain haunt my heart with presence of your not-being so I write love letters you never read in tales I shore against terror of death.
Across The Strangest Sea
Across The Strangest Sea © Surazeus 2022 12 22 Dark bird that sings across the strangest sea may pierce my heart with ancient chill of hope so I choose how to live my life each day by building truth with matter-crafting hands for I have faith that we will meet again on timeless ocean sands of destiny. Church bells that ring across the strangest sea guide journey of my heart from tyranny to sail across the storm-wracked waves of fear till I land safe on shores of honesty where we build city shining on the hill firm on foundation of democracy. Frail ship that sails across the strangest sea bears all the sacred treasures of my heart in wakened minds of children borne from hope that we can build strong paradise of faith in hostile wilderness of hungry fear on fruited plains of self-made destiny. Our long journey across the strangest sea in quest for freedom to live as we will, where we create and try not to destroy, seems futile as we struggle every day to overcome harsh obstacles of death, but together we build democracy. Alone on wings across the strangest sea the feathered bird of our immortal hope guides us through storm to garden of fresh fruit where we hold hands and sing new hymns of faith that we can overcome suffering from fear, awake on chillest land of destiny. Though snow swirls wild across the strangest sea we gather safe in haven of our hopes where berries clothe the garden wall of faith so on the longest night of winter cold we share heart-warming light of glowing hearth while weaving dreams that form democracy. Our dreams flow bright across the strangest sea to focus clear cathexis of our hearts on Tree of Truth that grows from tombs of gods, investing energy of loving minds on bold idea that every human being is free to create their own destiny. I would fly home across the strange sea after four centuries of walking west to find our round Earth spins in starless void, but my ancient quest for truth is not done, so I sing vision beaming from my brain that generates our global democracy.
Sharp Wand Of Wisdom
Sharp Wand Of Wisdom © Surazeus 2022 12 22 Deep in fiery volcano of my heart I forge gold crown of innocent faith with hammer blows of suffering in despair to mold harsh anguish from terrible fear at horror of violent death that destroys our fragile bodies into rage for life. Remembering how hungry demon of hell emerged from cavern of horrible fear and tore body of my bride with sharp teeth, I strike long flame of searing iron light with hammer blows loud as her dying screams to forge sharp blade as magic wand of wisdom. Running forever through forest of ghosts tangled with terror of heart-wrenching death, I grip strong magic wand of my brave words, and shining diamond with sharp blade of truth, to face the snarling monster with sharp death in brutal battle of kill or be killed. Wearing bright gold crown that haloes my head with blinding rays reflected from the sun, I run howling at demon of despair that shrinks back startled by aggressive force of desperate hope I project when I thrust sharp wand of wisdom deep into its heart. Crowned with gold ring of invisible power, studded with jewels that reflect sunlight, I stand triumphant with victorious strength over writhing body of the dying demon whose shrill screams echo the terrible pain my bride felt when he devoured her pure soul. Lifting dead demon on spear of my wand, I ascend ziggurat through cheering crowd, and enter temple with pillars of gold where Goddess Ishtar sits on throne of power, then grill demon steaks on the altar stone and offer sacrifice to Queen of Love. Feasting with Ishtar at Table of Friends, while Kinnaru strums lyre and sings my tale, I eat heart of the demon I destroyed so ancient spirit of its divine power fills my heart with flame of volcano fire, so I drink wine and howl with joy for life. After Ishtar takes me to bed of love she bears incarnation of my soul seed, who gazes at me with her shining eyes, so I train him with martial arts of hope to defend sacred people of our land by forging fear into sharp wand of wisdom.
Wednesday, December 21, 2022
Longest Night Of The Year
Longest Night Of The Year © Surazeus 2022 12 21 If longest night of the year reveals why the sun god dies in cycle of rebirth we can find good reason within our hearts to gather close around the glowing hearth when bleak despair freezes our minds with fear till we sing heart-warming hymns of lost faith. Since longest night of the year conceals hope with endless darkness of the starless void we walk barefoot on mirror ground of truth down to the frozen river of desire to find the last ripe apple in the world still hanging from the barren tree of knowledge. Though longest night of the year allocates just enough bread from book of secret tales to soothe mind-numbing hunger for new faith we interrogate the indifferent moon for when the holy sun will rise again as our hands bleed grasping at lurid roots. While longest night of the year clangs the bell with desperate hope to understand true love we linger at locked door of empty church to beg for salvation from the blind king who laughs at antics of the jester-priest when he mocks our prayers with a whiny voice. Till longest night of the year obfuscates sacred myths about founding of our state we choose to believe the beautiful lie that we arrived on desolate shores of hope with purpose to build new kingdom on Earth based on equal justice for every soul. Yet longest night of the year relegates credit of wealth to fierce comedian brave enough to stand against oligarchs who write laws that empower companies to enslave the people with credit cards who pray every week for their global king. So longest night of the year ridicules our endless quest to maintain liberty as natural basis for democracy which nurtures skillful talent of the mind when marginalized people choose to live with creative passion for fertile faith. Still longest night of the year cradles close these fragile bodies of humanity which conjure consciousness of dreaming brains shocked at unfairness of mortality which motivates our free will to express visions of our hearts through weird poetry.
New Century Of Kwan Yin
New Century Of Kwan Yin © Surazeus 2022 12 21 Since process of life never finishes we write about things that happen so fast that clouds forget to analyze their facts even as frost of passion vanishes with high-voltage wire of the singing skull that floats like faceless moon in the ice pool. Yet terrifying innocence of truth drenches my face with savage artlessness ornate with lies based on fake earnestness which believers choose to mask shocking faith too pure with anguish of impunity for me to transcend harsh naivety. Which helps me make imagined tale of woe lurid with paralysis of desire when figures in photographs might inquire as to true nature of the star-bright snow through misalliance of the winter light heightened by threadbare art of all dream flight. So I choose to say what happened for real though none can verify my testament except pompous poet of parliament who pretends to care for how we all feel while recording our memories for sale that lurk in ruins of time on the trail. The new sports stadium where blind angels dance boasts spectacular games of circus style where kings and prophets accept without guile contempt of their savior pierced by the lance wielded by the tyrant with heart of gold who only believes in what can be sold. My dolphin lost in Gulf of Mexico returns to maze of iron arrogance, intending to present new evidence which proves beyond all doubt that Cicero collaborates with our Muse of Otherness to reclaim lost castle of Inverness. We prove that what we see cannot be true except when measured by star formulas, so we seek help from hungry Tantalus to study consequence of the state coup when children change the rules by which we live through religion of the fool in the cave. Precipitous beauty of the mad god, who lost his face in forest of the raven, lures our broken hearts to believe in Heaven, so we enforce laws of the justice squad as we enter new century of Kwan Yin who prophesies from rebuilt Parthenon.
Strangeness Of Our Souls
Strangeness Of Our Souls © Surazeus 2022 12 21 Soft snow highlights the beauty of her eyes which emanate passion for this weird life so my heart becomes vast castle of light when she smiles as she sips hot chocolate, and all the flashing lights on Christmas trees illuminate the strangeness of our souls. Many years after she left her hometown to work in Shining City at the bank she strolls narrow stone streets by the canal where she played while her ma ran the food store, and tears stream down her eyes with ache of joy as she watches her ghost play without care. Pushing open old wood doors carved with demons, she lights incense, bows, and kneels on the pillow to palm hands before statue of Kwan Yin meditating on the lotus with a peach, whose merciful eyes gaze into her heart with compassion for strangeness of our souls. Lifting eye-phone up sideways with both hands, she films the young woman with long black hair, decked in light-green Tang hanfu fairy gown, who plays haunting melody of mute sorrow while plucking strings on the polished guzheng which casts magic spell on our entranced hearts. Climbing stone steps up to South Heaven Gate, we enter Temple of the Blue Dawn Clouds that shines near rugged top of Mount Taishan, and pray for fertile fortune of true love to Bixia Yuanjun, Goddess of Dawn Light, who bestows fortune on children of truth. Gliding on silver water of Li River in swirling mist of the Pearl River Basin among tall sky-piercing peaks of Guilin, we cuddle on wood sampan river boat with silent awe at eerie ambiance that accentuates strangeness of our souls. This vast soul-nurturing land of lush vales, where her ancestors thrived thousands of years, welcomes her home with ache of wordless joy, and gives her hot bowl with garlic beef noodles so she consumes sweet spirit of her land that wakens ancient memories of her heart. Riding plane high over Strait of Anian that gleams between Siberia and Alaska, we share photos and stories of our trip, then she sighs she is glad to return home after showing me rich land of her birth which stimulates new strangeness of our souls.
Tuesday, December 20, 2022
Behind The Robot Mask
Behind The Robot Mask © Surazeus 2022 12 20 The self that hides behind the robot mask wonders why its head is full of white crows who type news stories about the blind ghost to rule the world from the most secret house where river of dreams flows through open door because I know who I have always been. The door of the empty house calculates how long it takes for me to see the voice which answers silence of the nameless ghost with solemn hymn to praise the unseen self who wants to fly above this changing world with changeless passion for the absolute. The backward process advocating change intrudes as stranger in the doorless room to organize shadows of fractured words which mirror concepts frogs describe all night to welcome emptiness of the wrong moon still reluctant to imitate streetlamps. Awake in spider web of timeless light, I carry shadow of eternal truth which swirls recharged inside transparent stone of weeping mountains far beyond the word spoken by oldest woman in the world who waits for me inside the doorless house. As absent-minded tourist without faith I map whole history of our universe with language trapping concepts in frail words as human-made artifacts of weird truths in living dimension of mindless space contingent on existence of the brain. So I kneel down in garden by the sea to summon Everyman from cave of dreams who hides his ornery self in photographs that hang on walls in dark halls of hotels which amplifies grave ticking of fake clocks because I disappear in mirror eyes. I find my self in whisper of my words when I evade stark absolute of death just long enough to record valiant deed that lonely people think they must perform to win accolades of the fickle crowd who muddle through just long enough to choose. To invent perfection for every soul I wrestle pen that bleeds tears of false hopes so when I stand for nothing in the rain unbending beauty of rose-fingered dawn will translate passion of the mindless wind to fruitful story forged from paradox.
I Can Die With Joy
I Can Die With Joy © Surazeus 2022 12 20 If I want to walk to the mountain top I will dive to the bottom of the sea and there find the blind demon of my heart still lurking in the shadows of despair, then I will grow angel wings of desire and fly up to the palace in the clouds. Yet I walk from the front door of my house and wait at the bus stop in morning fog to ride the bus through maze of crowded streets then sit all day in the small cubicle where I organize facts into reports so I can earn money to pay my bills. I work all day for stranger in the tower to earn enough money in my account so I can eat and sleep safe in my bed instead of starving in the alleyway because my hands are gears that operate complex global food-production machine. My ancestors have, for two million years, hunted wild animals and gathered herbs then herded tame animals and farmed crops through endless cycles of eating and sleeping while they generate clones of deathless genes so I feel them all alive in my brain. Though I have, for four hundred million years, been evolving ever more complex forms, fish to lizard to mouse to cat to chimp to wingless angel, who can talk and think, composing world view from facts I perceive, I wonder why I strive to become God. The supernatural deity of God is designed as concept of ideal Man by wild imagination of my brain that projects image of the human being at mindless mirror of the universe so I conceive God I strive to become. Instead of getting on the bus today I walk down signless road of destiny to strum guitar that Mercury designed and sing weird anguish of my aching heart while striving toward the distant mountain top till I get lost in endless maze of myths. Though I never grow those wings of desire to fly beyond bounds of our spinning Earth I walk with two legs sea to shining sea and sing weird story of my search for truth in epic poem about philosophers so I can die with joy since I have lived.
Moonlight In Her Suitcase
Moonlight In Her Suitcase © Surazeus 2022 12 20 After the bank confiscates her farm house, Ellen puts the moonlight in her suitcase and walks down the signless road to nowhere. Roses sprout from sorrow of her footsteps. Gazing beyond cracked mirror of the sky, she wonders where to go next in this world. Because she could go anywhere today she stops and sits under the old oak tree where yellow ribbons flutter in the breeze. She wonders if the soldiers are all dead. The world war battles are too far away for her to hear screaming of the lost boys. Small airplane glides across the silver sky on wings that flash with power of the angels so she keeps on walking toward paradise. The chickadee explains why people die. Lampposts that light dark streets of cityscapes keep watch over people who never sleep. Before she eats tater stew in the church Ellen listens to opera in her head where Tristan and Isolde try not to love. The strangeness of the blue sky understands. The Irish child who walks the forlorn trail gathers blue-eyed grass wet from autumn rain. Goats graze on hills above the sparkling sea where steam ships from China and Vietnam glide into San Francisco Bay at dawn. Ducks glide through mist over gold rugged hills. Ellen wonders if she will find a job cooking meals for the pastor and his wife. Turning her face back in cool morning wind that blows hair around her sapphire-blue eyes, Ellen gazes with longing at the past. Pine trees in Idaho whisper her name. Weaving flowers in her long curly hair, Ellen wanders gold streets of San Francisco. Standing on street corner by the fish market, Ellen sings ballads, psalms, and Christian hymns while shoppers toss pennies at her bare feet. White-winged gulls with angel eyes glide on wind. Eating hamburger on steps of the church, Ellen watches children play in the park. Posing as the statue carved by Bernini, Daphne chased by Apollo in Elysium, Ellen knocks at door where the pastor lives. Every clock on Earth chimes the weird hour. Ellen smiles when her aunt opens the door so they embrace with joy and go inside.
Monday, December 19, 2022
Analysis Of Hungry Hearts
Analysis Of Hungry Hearts © Surazeus 2022 12 19 When the drowned man returns from the Dead Sea and enters cathedral of singing skulls the children with straw baskets full of eggs hold hands and dance around him as they sing ring around the roses till serpents hatch and slither into shadows of the land. Madame Sosostris refuses to read the latest world economic reports based on analysis of hungry hearts conducted at the Institute of Fate so I go fishing on the river shore to dredge up bodies of prophets and kings. I wander in the meadow of white crows till I find grave of the hyacinth girl so I tell her about my life last year when I almost died from the broken heart I won when I played poker with Despair who drives away in the red cadillac. Because when I am lost in maze of myths to find manic pixie dream girl I love Pegasus appears in red door of light so I climb on her back with common sense so we can fly to Jupiter and back on holy mission to deceive the world. Yet every little town where I have lived almost sixty years sea to shining sea is but one suburb of the Unreal City where crowds of the grateful dead in gray suits flow over Bridge of Hope in swirling fog but I turn around and walk back to Hell. At home in streets of Pandemonium, where my ancestors many generations have worked as scribes in Museum of Lies, I stroll with fuzzy feelings in my heart for organized chaos of human life far from celestial realm of temple ways. Weary of my job bearing torch of light through maze of ziggurats where old gods dwell, I purchase boat of Charon from his widow to sail the River Styx past paradise so I can find secret stairway to Heaven, but end up lost in cold Chesapeake Bay. Arriving home in lush Elysium, after many years exploring the Earth, I cry when Melusine jumps in my arms, then seats me at the table of our love and feeds me fettucine with beef steaks, then we drink eiswein and kiss by the hearth.
Pink Rose Of Doom
Pink Rose Of Doom © Surazeus 2022 12 19 The mad ballerina and the shy clown fall in love on island of the white wolf so they hold hands and walk the quaint town that shines at night on shore of the calm gulf, then kiss by the pine tree on Christmas Eve before he must get on the plane to leave. The mad ballerina dances on stage before the audience of wealthy vampires who applaud homage to the golden age when they ruled over global corporate empires then she retreats to haven of her cave where she composes songs of the sea wave. The shy clown flies to ancient Zathamar, the weird capital city of Gothinia, where he hunts spies in the diamond-fueled car, nestled in mountains near Bohemia, then swipes the sacred Book of Astronauts from marble Museum of Secret Thoughts. The mad ballerina in frilly dress strolls Angel Avenue in midnight rain to advocate for freedom of the press before the bloody ax of Charlemagne who chops down sacred Tree of Irminsul in tale never told to children in school. Running forever in the maze of myths, to escape messiah with flaming sword, the shy clown clutches Book of Secret Truths bound with spells by the umbilical cord to Deathless Mother of the spinning Earth who still calculates what our souls are worth. Surrounded by drunk bankers at the bar, who demand she give them what they desire, she runs swift in woods toward indifferent star safe to Camelot where she joins the choir, though the mad ballerina aches for truth known only by the real messiah sleuth. Opening steel door to the Mirror Room, the shy clown sees the sad beautiful girl who playfully toys with pink rose of doom while her finger plays with her golden curl, so he gives her wings that Icarus wove as beautiful symbols of his pure love. Accepting delicate rose of his heart, the mad ballerina flies among clouds while the shy clown updates religious chart which maps each paradise of ancient gods who wander lonely without worshippers, reborn on Earth as divine carpenters.
Humble Guard Of Sibylla
Humble Guard Of Sibylla © Surazeus 2022 12 19 The color of the wind in this strange world pretends to understand the love I feel though I almost drown in pond of my thought attempting to see soul behind the mask that I wear as the face everyone sees because I like the pungent smell of red. We haunt each other in garden of light, forever circling trees just far apart to see each other among fluttering leaves as shadow of desire the mute sun casts because I want to ask you how you feel as we look past each other at the sky. The ladies in the market by the lake insist you are the oracle of Phoebus so people ask you what the unseen knows, but you tell them riddles that make me laugh so I think about softness of your lips, red as the cherry gleaming in the tree. Though you are distant as the shining moon you appear before me by pool of stars so I gaze lost in abyss of your eyes with wonder at strange beauty of your soul till my heart aches with passionate desire to hold you in my arms till we become. So when the haughty king from some far land, enraged by riddle you express in code, attempts to chain your hands with vulgar greed, I spring from shadow to arrest his hands and after fighting him with martial arts I swing wand of wisdom to whack his head. Somehow I find voice of love in my heart glowing bright enough to conjure my thoughts through eloquent sentence of my desire which conveys compassion of my selfless heart that motivates me to protect your life as humble guard of Sibylla the shy. Though all the haughty kings of our strange world kneel before your face in dark cave of dreams to receive wise words you channel from Phoebus, I see you as the shy delicate girl bathing in pond of truth with gentle grace who blushes when I give you fruit to eat. Removing mask that hides my fire-burned face, I tremble with fear you will run away, but you reach your hand to caress my scars, then hold me tight with joy as we make love so our souls swirl together in pure light with pleasure at creation of new life.
Sunday, December 18, 2022
Gold Chickadees Sing
Gold Chickadees Sing © Surazeus 2022 12 18 All the houses where my ancestors lived over the past one hundred thousand years are now occupied by strangers to me, but their voices are tangled in my hair so I eat strawberries by the cold lake and listen the gold chickadees sing. Snow falls at midnight on Seattle streets. Every house I pass in suburban maze glows gold with life of the people inside. Lights of many colors on Christmas trees flash bright with eerie honesty of death. I want to hear the gold chickadees sing. Every door I pass in the city maze is locked against intrusion of despair to hide truth in metaphors ghosts design. The apple pie on round table of peace invites wolves and sheep from Arcadia to party while the gold chickadees sing. To play chess in war to control Neverland I wear mask of Jupiter carved from oak Pinocchio gave me before he died. As firstborn son of Lucifer the Wise, I learn to play guitar with nimble thoughts to mimic how the gold chickadees sing. When sons of men write poetry their thoughts get tangled in telephone lines woven into matrix of the world brain. The book I never wrote will fly away. The girl I want to marry holds my hand so we kiss as the gold chickadees sing. The house where I live now in Onatah was never occupied before my birth. The television in the cabinet, carved from the tallest pine tree in the world, reveals the secret lives of janitors who record sad tales gold chickadees sing.
Beauty Of The Paper Crane
Beauty Of The Paper Crane © Surazeus 2022 12 18 He ponders why the door conceals the soul with fragile beauty of the paper crane that glides above bright mirror of the marsh. They share food with each other in the house which always walks across the field of wheat to prove the formula for love works well. The pencil lonely on the table cloth wants to draw clear the most beautiful face that will never exist in the real world. She tells the painting on the bedroom wall that she gave her soul to the singing tree but children always ask why she is sad. He aims rifle at the idol of God that hangs in ruins of the empty church and bleeds with tears of people killed in wars. Pinocchio dances on theater stage and sings about the Sphinx in cave of dreams who gives him the eyeless frog for his heart. Ten thousand children in dark city streets search for their mothers in windows of stores who are mannequins wearing pretty dresses. She writes love letter to the noble hero who rides the white horse in the state parade but leaves it unread on the broken dresser. The brick farmhouse near Rock of Dunamase gleams bright with holy vision of the maid who whispers with black serpent of the pool. Rain shimmers over hills of County Laois where wild-eyed Lagisia in black lace dress dances in ruins of the castle tower. She drives silver sedan on winding road back home to misty hills of Avalon while folk music plays on the radio. The beautiful witch wearing wolf-fur cape teaches girls how to gather herbs in woods then brew healing potions in copper cauldrons. The rotting apple on the windowsill chats with the sparrow with red spider eyes about the most famous fool in the world. The mother whose child died on the full moon bakes apple pies for children in the streets who search for plastic eggs on Christmas Eve. The book of ancient stories spreads white wings and flies over rugged mountains of hope to the empty house on the mountain peak. The bear with razor claws opens the book to ponder philosophy of the self based on weird beauty of the paper crane.
Driven From Our Land
Driven From Our Land © Surazeus 2022 12 18 Where shall we go now, driven from our land by lords in palaces with powdered wigs who transform our family farms into gardens with statues in mazes where shadow demons consume our souls in clanking factories while our children starve to death in the streets? I feel their fearful anguish in my bones hundreds of years after they fled the land where our ancestors lived thousands of years to escape the tyrant in the glass palace who confiscates their land with legal scams so they sail old boats to the Promised Land. For hundreds of years they migrated west to escape tyranny of kings in crowns but they invaded lands where people lived to build new paradise on bones of gods till they all died as their children grew up who forgot harsh traumas of yesteryear. Now all their ghosts are haunting me this hour, rich lords who drove my people from their homes, my people who sailed across sea of storms and traveled waste lands to find paradise, and the tribes whose lands my ancestors stole, all groaning for injustice of desire. I cannot change injustice of the past, nor atone for crimes my forebears committed, but I can dedicate my honest heart to treat every person I meet in life with generous respect for their equal rights as we struggle together to survive. Where shall they go now, driven from their land by hordes of soldiers with rifles in tanks sent by oligarch of their nation-state to acquire more lebensraum for their tribe by killing millions of innocent folk to build car factories on their stolen farms? Yet we humans are not trees that grow roots which anchor our bodies to fertile land for we can walk away on motor legs to journey far around this spinning globe, and then we die and our bodies dissolve to dust that forms foundation of the world. We journey nowhere, driven from our land by displaced refugees from distant wars, so every tribe that wanders on the Earth follows their prophet with vision of hope for whom they name the fertile land they steal till everyone forgets who lived her first.
Saturday, December 17, 2022
Ghost Of Every Soul
Ghost Of Every Soul © Surazeus 2022 12 17 Though I walk alone in the city maze I hear people sing of love in their dreams. Since I stand on bridge of forgetfulness I remember song of the mountain streams. Yet ghost of every soul who ever lives asks me to record their forgotten names. Though I wander nowhere on fenceless plains I find secret home where my family dwells. Since I hesitate in the open door I hear children shout by brimming wells. Yet ghost of every soul who long since died vanishes at sorrowful ring of bells. Though I climb the highest mountain of hope I can only see shadow of the Earth. Since I drink from the waterfall of faith I wonder at the secret of rebirth. Yet ghost of every soul who calls my name calculates how much loyal love is worth. Though I linger on shore of the strange sea I sigh with secret glowing of the moon. Since I forget why I am still alive I ache for love that proves I am immune. Yet ghost of every soul who steals the light returns to first home by the humming stone.
Cup Of Hot Chocolate
Cup Of Hot Chocolate © Surazeus 2022 12 17 In garden of monstrous melons she feels sweet consolation of unspoken words when she wakes up in middle of her life aching to sing lullaby to the dead who give each other gifts of arrogance while they smile and sip their hot chocolate. Still rootless after twenty thousand years, she walks along shore of another river where horror blossoms into her true face so she decides to care for the lost child who dies defending her against the wolf if the moon notices she is alive. As child of chaos in the silent hall, designed by architect with seven eyes, she calculates time to harvest the wheat but finds everybody dead in the dust since shadows hide secrets she wants to find though twilight wind explains excess of joy. Still awake in the middle of her life, she rides the wagon on the windswept plain beyond all sense of ever-changing time since laughter echoes between broken hills in pattern of the border that matures with pungent scent of flowers after rain. Decision to go one specific way out of ten thousand possibilities designs the fate she always would achieve, except for that one day by the sad sea when she goes everywhere she can at once, however clean the rain considers pride. Too old to not be happy anymore, she savors sweetness of the food she eats and gazes with amazement at strange hills lush with cedars that understand her pain though she never expresses it in words except to arrange stones in ring of truth. She tries to name each person in the world by knocking on doors of homes not yet built to talk about the man who always dies yet floats alive as glow cloud in the sky who watches us with eyes of ancient truth till we hide in faith of unspoken thoughts. Consuming monstrous melons before dawn, she lights small crackling fire in ring of stones with eerie flames that luminate the world which forms one giant circle of bleak hills around eternal still point of her heart when she gives me cup of hot chocolate.
Abandoned Farm Of Priapus
Abandoned Farm Of Priapus © Surazeus 2022 12 17 Still alive in lush garden by the sea for three thousand years of conceptual love, Priapus gazes in the shining pool and sees beyond shadow mask of his face the white bird fly across the silver sky that shimmers with skeleton of the cloud. In tangled wood of our perplexities for three thousand years of anxiety Priapus digs his hands in stinking soil to generate nutritious crops of food with every passing season of desire for we are trees who dance beneath the clouds. Imperfect beauty of our hungry bodies for three thousand years of regeneration Priapus admires with ferocious love that transcends all silent abuse of power so pool of wisdom is stirred by our breath when we seek answers in its murky depth. Amazed at transitory shapes of clouds for three thousand years of dynamic weather, Priapus grasps at fluid memories that eddy through billions of human brains from misty chasms of psychotic faith to weave our hopes in woof of one world view. Stumbling among clutter of sprawling cities for three thousand years they infest the Earth, Priapus searches for paradise lost under global networks of asphalt roads that link industrial maze of factories through stores selling beauty in packages. Death broods under the yellow winter moon for three thousand years of solemn despair as empires rise and fall in waves of war that soak farm fields along rivers with blood to fertilize new seasons of rich crops processed in packages of food we eat. Clutching faceless pumpkin with trembling hands for three thousand years of heartrending prayer, Priapus cries out to angels in Heaven, those wispy swirls of mist in mindless clouds, so they weep torrents of indignant rain that drench city streets with terror of death. Listening to hoot of the star-eyed owl for three thousand years of failed prophecies, Priapus calculates sullen despair that chains hearts of humanity with fear when tyrants send soldiers to holy wars in bloody battles over fields of wheat. Opening shattered door of ruined church for three thousand years of greedy crusades, Priapus returns to abandoned farm where Ceres raises wheat with bleeding hands to celebrate sad victory of world war at birth of his son on midwinter eve. Bearing platter with vegetables and fruits for three thousand years at the solstice feast, Priapus welcomes refugees of war to shelter haven of his generous heart, so they drink to building prosperous farms on ruins of cathedrals and factories.
Friday, December 16, 2022
Lucifer Lifts Light Of Liberty
Lucifer Lifts Light Of Liberty © Surazeus 2022 12 16 The angle of the painting on the wall reflects distance of paradise from home for refugees of war escaping gangs to walk across the waste land of desire yet never find the frozen lake of Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. The convex mirror of the global mind distorts reality we think we know with vague kaleidoscope of fractured facts depicting dubious vision of the world which emanates from server farms of Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. Obscure prophets on the internet sing ambiguous riddles of suggestive truths about incoherent conspiracies where faceless tyrants in towers of glass manipulate zombies slaving in Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. More cryptic than market analysis proffered by pundits of profit with pride modernist haikus define state of mind woven by ever-flowing twitter feed composing matrix that imitates Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. Through speculation of the mirror mind that checks with proof of authenticity conceptual picture on cathedral walls we bind brains with perpetual arguments spun by Wheel of Fortune hidden in Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. Meaning of music on the radio frames systemic racism of desire to dominate fertile surface of Earth through temporal tantrum of toxic contempt when justice is outweighed by scales of Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. Imperative of subtlety requires arrogance long hidden by mask of God contained by memory of traumatic hope that intrudes in dreamless model of laws extracting tyranny from court of Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. So zombies congregate in church of lies to bow with prayers for privilege of wealth before gold idol of their vampire king to maintain empire ruled by the grim clown who sits on throne of swords in church of Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty.
Play Chase With Sorrow
Play Chase With Sorrow © Surazeus 2022 12 16 I love how small green blades of tender grass twitch in the warm winter breeze of bright noon as if to sing with heart-enchanting joy about strange beauty of our spinning Earth. Little yellow leaves of the maple tree play chase with Sorrow in the happy grass. With brass astrolabe Ijliyyah designed I plot winding journey of my new quest to find the secret treasure of the mind hidden in carefree beauty of the grass. Children in the schoolyard during lunch break play chase with Sorrow in red winter light. The rambling stream slithers in apple groves to nourish flowers sprouting from our graves so I watch wind play in frail grass all day in deepening silence of winter eve. Wang An-Shih and I watch quick nervous birds play chase with Sorrow on the mountain slope. Between heaven of unreachable peaks the ever-flowing river of my heart sings over diamond sand of ancient times when I make flutes from frail dinosaur bones. The old blind fisherman asks me why I play chase with Sorrow around the whole world. My small wood river boat with empty baskets knocks restlessly against the rotten dock, but I hesitate to sail down the stream, leaving behind strangers I came to love. Holding hands, the grinning woman and I play chase with Sorrow in streets of her town. Though setting sun gleams on the icy lake, illuminating islands of lost souls, I keep on sailing past small villages as I follow the egret hunting fish. I invent names for things so my true thoughts play chase with Sorrow across misty lakes. Stopping on bridge over the deep abyss, I watch the winter moon sail among clouds till her face appears in mirror of light, so I hurry on signless roads toward home. Wind dances in prairie grass as wild horses play chase with Sorrow across the waste land. Weird revelation of blood-tinted clouds surprise my heart with love for nameless souls who wait under the willow tree for Death so I give them apples I stole from Heaven. Ravens in cemetery by the sea play chase with Sorrow in the Promised Land.
Demons Of The Netherworld
Demons Of The Netherworld © Surazeus 2022 12 16 The laughing fridge that preserves his true name shocks him with light of wisdom at midnight when he cracks celestial door of insight to eat leftovers from the football game so demons of the Netherworld swarm out to spiral letters through atomic route. At midnight in the trailer park of hope he stares into the cosmic Face of God reflected in mirror of fertile sod so he becomes aware he is alive when demons of the Netherworld reveal immortal soul of genes our minds conceal. Leaping through Light Door of Eternity, while clutching football of the Holy Grail, he runs across grid field in coat of mail to fight sacred crusade for Liberty as demons of the Netherworld offend conservative values he must pretend. Stumbling across green grid of timeless faith, beset by hordes of social justice warriors, he struggles against all respectful barriers, determined to believe unrevealed truth, but demons of the Netherworld expose Fibonacci sequence of the Mind Rose. From swirling mist of psychic energy young woman with star-flashing eyes appears holding star in her hand composed of gears that measures structure of the galaxy so demons of the Netherworld sing praise for wise woman who leads us through the maze. Divine light of wisdom beams from her eyes when Ijliyyah reveals the Astrolabe that helps man measure the cosmic landscape when we gaze from Earth to the starry skies while demons of the Netherworld align with divine hierarchy Atoms design. From atoms swerving in the boundless void galaxies form stars that nurture soul globes where fish evolve to angels wearing robes who dream how light beams from the God Ovoid where demons of the Netherworld are born to animate our bodies every morn. Kneeling on mountain by the Burning Bush, he gazes at Ijliyyah with deep love for her wisdom that shines from God above, then closes the fridge door with gentle push since demons of the Netherworld inspire another lost soul to join our global choir.
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