People Kill No More © Surazeus 2023 12 31 At the end of the world I take a walk past all the famous museums and churches where angels listen to the devil talk about the mountain where the dragon perches to watch our world transform through revolution based on global justice-based constitution. Each time tyrannical fascists and kings attempt to enforce laws of thought-control their power is shattered when Moon Girl sings with strange voice of beauty that stirs the soul so we rise up against their state of terror to imitate the demon in the mirror. The Earth keeps spinning around the bright sun, indifferent to survival of us humans who fight each other with the laughing gun based on false interpretations of omens painted with our blood on cathedral walls after midnight when the bright angel falls. Since fractured nations of our spinning world fight over whose founding father is god, they will be surprised when the cosmic herald appears from Heaven to reveal the fraud who preaches fascist doctrines as the truth till we oppose them with Tellurian Faith. Awake with passion to measure the Why, I mold ideal forms of existing thoughts from visions of things that bloom in my eye which I encode in riddles for robots to dream beauty of Earth humans record in library books where lost souls are stored. Since we are stuck in vast labyrinth of myths, we gather on the river shore at dusk to dance in star-bright ring of monoliths around young girl who wears gold Ishtar mask, which channels psychic energy of nations three steps to Heaven on global foundations. Because the butterfly who laughs with me leads me on signless road past global war, I wait in garden of the sacred tree in vain hope that people kill no more, but secrets I keep hidden in my heart bleed into riddles of the weird star chart. Through wild unspinning of the fateful wheel, refracting cosmic wisdom of the Earth, I investigate strange tales that are real in vain attempt to calculate their worth, for I am nothing more than flame of light that glows in vastness of eternal night.
Sunday, December 31, 2023
People Kill No More
Saturday, December 30, 2023
Refugees From Civil Wars
Refugees From Civil Wars © Surazeus 2023 12 30 They trudge across bleak desert of despair, thousands of refugees from civil wars, who flee away from mountain jungle towns where gangs of thieves demand they pay or die, to crowd before walls to the Promised Land where the blind prophet speaks words of the snake. Alone on mountain of the singing skull their leader stands before the burning bush and asks for guidance to the Promised Land, but no god answers from the writhing flames so he returns without tablets of law, eager to storm high walls of paradise. Horn of the locomotive cries with hope across the waste land of the doorless house to guide lost refugees from civil wars across the nowhere land of singing sands to wait before locked gates of paradise for golden tickets to the Promised Land. Unspeakable light of the desert sands calls to me with voice of the faceless ghost, so I stand mute in door of my safe home to watch wind flutter leaves in ancient oaks while millions of people around the world wander signless roads to the Promised Land. Though naked inner soul of my sad heart refuses to pray to deaf god of justice to grant salvation to lost refugees who flee civil wars between gangs of thieves, I welcome them to fertile Promised Land where my ancestors came for Liberty. When dead words rattle in the smoking guns in hands of frightened men who fight to live, their children wake from nightmare of the bombs to play in rubble of the Promised Land destroyed by tanks with angels of the Lord who dance on graves that no one knows about. Gathered before locked gates of paradise, where angels with flaming swords of contempt deny them entry to the Promised Land, thousands of refugees from civil wars sing holy hymns to celebrate the birth of our messiah sleuth beneath the star. When I hitchhike across America to play guitar and sing as cosmic herald, I see wild spirit of Liberty glow in eyes of refugees from civil wars who crash golden gates to the Promised Land where angels plan to exploit them for wealth.
Friday, December 29, 2023
Garden Of Singing Skulls
Garden Of Singing Skulls © Surazeus 2023 12 29 Because there are so many ways to go outward from still point of the universe, I stand without moving in vain attempt to stop relentless flow of changing time, but I feel energy of ancient stars pulse through taut beating of my hungry heart. The world around me that always seems still begins to move in tiny increments expressed in subtle motions I perceive with sharp attention of cautious respect which accumulate the longer I watch, till I can see changes grow by degrees. I see saplings sprout into sprawling trees, springs swell rivers into vast ocean swirls, cracked eggs release birds that soar among clouds, small quadrupeds bulge into huge adults, and fish evolve into lithe wingless angels who mistakenly believe they are gods. Tempted to engage in dramatic scenes where opposing groups battle for control over who gets to eat fruit of the tree, I restrain intense passion of my heart to wait with patience of the mountain moon till they destroy themselves in civil war. With the sneering serpent in Tree of Life I quietly observe how human souls interact through aggressive games of chance in never-ending war to rule the world so I can navigate currents of change, still alive in garden of singing skulls. When primal monster of my serpent brain, released by agony of suffering pain, possesses me with fierce demonic force, I realign flash of atomic course to fight the tyrant who enslaves our souls so every person can play their own roles. Each step I assert on long signless road to project my will at the virtual world radiates consequences of effect from visionary cause of my intent to reframe narrative of human life so moral of our tale features true love. Because I choose one single way to go on bold romantic quest to evade death, I progress forward on strict path of right with focus on goal to generate life through attention of love that correlates mutual connection of our fertile hearts.
Perfect Messiness Of Love
Perfect Messiness Of Love © Surazeus 2023 12 29 Terrible beauty of the morning light designs the world my eyes disdain to see till timeless glow of atoms in the void reveal eternal nothingness of truth, so I gaze deep in mirror of my mind, surprised at perfect messiness I find. Kneeling with reverent awe in dew-wet grass before red-brick wall of my crooked house, I caress intricate shape of the tree leaf to study mystery of the universe so I can understand how beams of light compose structures of perfect messiness. The butterfly, with wings orange as the sun and round as tree leaves curving into points, flutters ruthless motion of gentle hope to search for nectar of flowers and fruit, then lands on red rind of the watermelon to feast on perfect messiness of faith. Across broad misty meadow by the lake, shadowed by clouds veiling the red dawn sun, I see three horses graze behind barbed fence, and long to run with them on rolling hills to explore the strange world beyond the sky reflected in our perfect messiness. Millions of cars glide along asphalt roads as people drive from homes of forlorn faith to perform their role in our social game that operates the food-production machine which we designed the past ten thousand years to manage perfect messiness of hunger. People assemble in company groups, lead by wise seer with vision of their goal, to help each other fight against despair with noble purpose guiding how they act as each attempts to dominate the rest, urged on by perfect messiness of fear. When nations fight world wars for thought control to prove god of their religion is right, I walk into bleak waste land of nowhere to find essential nature of my soul embodied by the wolf with moon-bright eyes who respects perfect messiness of death. Homesick for company of my soulmate, I journey far across the barren hills through gloomy forests of obsessive trees, till I arrive at front door of my home where she prepares food I bring from the hunt, safe in the perfect messiness of love.
Thursday, December 28, 2023
Fragile Flame Of Hope
Fragile Flame Of Hope © Surazeus 2023 12 28 Celestial music of harmonious flow calls me through shadows of old tangled woods, so I float down steep hill of anguished breath to hunker down safe on the river shore where apparition of the water god blinds my eyes with beautiful rays of light. Seven angelic swans spread white wings wide and leap from writhing passion of the stream to glide far from dark terror of the woods, so I spread my arms and pretend to fly so I can escape dark shadow of death, but my heavy heart binds me to the ground. With sudden flutter of eccentric wind that weaves my heart in whorl of silver clouds I see aggressive motion of intent in surge of force behind visible forms which animates performance of all souls so I perceive weird world behind the world. Dramatic stillness of the flowing stream reveals vast presence of the starless void beneath lithe surface of the watery eye who seems to watch me with one timeless thought till light wakes bright inside my buzzing brain so I become reflection of the moon. When one angelic swan with moon-white wings returns from formless realm beyond the sky, and lands on stillness of the river flow, I know she brings me treasure from faint stars in apple that falls in my open hand, so I eat the sun contained in its juice. At the darkest hour of relentless night I reach my hand down in cold river flow to grasp white diamond gleaming with moonlight so I can touch thought of eternity that pierces my heart with ache of desire to stay awake beyond my nothingness. But I float deep in gloom of dreamless sleep as nothing more than fragile flame of hope that gleams brief hour with passion of mute love between vast stretches of eternity when I am not, before and after life, so I forget the name I never bear. Awake from timeless death of river flow I sing in tune with melody of rain that teaches me how I must live each day, because I am alive, and not yet dead, though I sink blind in nothingness of sleep, so I float in the cool river and grin.
Freedom
Freedom © Surazeus 2023 12 28 Freedom is doing what you will, as long as you would cause no harm to other people. Freedom is not exercising your strength to exploit, abuse, and harm other people. Freedom is application of wise choices through love to create rather than destroy.
Wednesday, December 27, 2023
Child In The Rubble
Child In The Rubble © Surazeus 2023 12 27 At midnight on the dark clear winter night the light of glory from the eye of truth beams through rubble of the bomb-blasted town to luminate face of the new-born child who gazes at world of suffering and pain with heart that heals through attention of love. The young child born in the rubble of war will rise up high on Phoenix wings of hope to organize chaos of human fear through universal law of equal rights enforcing justice of earned liberty when she unites all religions in one. Though arrogant kings in towers of skulls preach superior strength of their nation-states the wise child born from rocket blast of rage will sustain United Nations of Earth to free all slaves from offices of greed so we live as we will if we harm none. Around our child in the rubble of war angels and demons on wings of lost faith protect her spirit from greed of mad kings who exhaust themselves in paranoid fear attempting in vain through harsh tyranny to control the minds of free human souls. Our child born in the rubble of despair wears countless masks of the Many-Faced God in thousands of children orphaned by hate who survive trauma of exploding words so they clear away all the broken bricks that fall when the wall crumbles to dust. When the light of glory shines on her face where she stands on the one-eye pyramid lost refugees from nations of the Earth gather with nothing but hope in their hearts around our child in the rubble of faith to share her vision of justice for all.
Book Of Dragon Dreams
Book Of Dragon Dreams © Surazeus 2023 12 27 Running forever in red freezing rain, as described in lost Book of Dragon Dreams, I chase the moon crow before she can wane to silver fish that swim high mountain streams now flushed with orange toxic chemical slime that poisons beauty of stark fractal time. Searching the South Boston Aquarium for demons marked in Book of Dragon Dreams, I find still wandering toward Elysium ghosts of soldiers drowned in meandering streams where the god Scamander laughs at their pride because in war there is no noble side. Singing in old white church on the town green, illustrated in Book of Dragon Dreams, I place ring on finger of Melusine to divide the world in factional teams who fight over whose religion is right before Earth is destroyed by nuclear light. Observing stone statue of Union Soldier, whose blood inks words in Book of Dragon Dreams, I battle Beelzebub with shepherd crozier in cahoots with brave social justice teams to block the dictator from taking power so I can save Rapunzel from the tower. Evolving from fish into motor car, in grades described in Book of Dragon Dreams, I drive too fast for fate to twist my star by dividing thought in ideal morphemes which clowns assemble in puzzle of truth to prophesy our world messiah sleuth. Defining chaos of existing forms through formulas in Book of Dragon Dreams, I measure spiral flux of lightning storms based on numbers as conceptual morphemes on which we build global democracy to standardize justice through liberty. Parking my starship on the Rainbow Bridge between worlds mapped in Book of Dragon Dreams, I search for secret garden of the witch, whose face mirrors weird beauty of moonbeams, where she paints accurate map of the world so I perform my role as cosmic herald. Waiting for old world order to dissolve, as predicted in Book of Dragon Dreams, I calculate how Mankind will evolve to wingless angel whose honor redeems millions of slaves from prison of the mind where statue of Nobody stands enshrined.
Tuesday, December 26, 2023
Apple Of Her Heart
Apple Of Her Heart © Surazeus 2023 12 26 When Snow White wakes in forest of my hope and offers me sweet apple of her heart, I focus attention of my desire on generating life before we die through natural blossoming of eager love when children sprout from vision of our words. I feel essential passion of my mind vibrate in harmony with waves of light that beam from dreamless core of the huge sun to weave my body with the Supersoul that ripples pool of psychic energy in spiral matrix of our spinning Earth. So I am tiny speck of conscious life that glows as fragile flame of aching hope in vast abyss of blank eternity, though for one brief epiphany of pride I fancy I am separate from it all as independent soul of self-made strength. Through self-reliant urge to transcend death I push against harsh elements of Nature with rogue attention of spontaneous will to assert autonomous state of faith that I can devise bold program of fate through which I forge new destiny of luck. Beyond blind whims of random providence, when I employ strict vagaries of faith, I engineer key plight against demise through capricious wiles of preordained rules within core machinations fate reveals based on vicissitude of my free will. I know I am part of one multiverse that weaves unrealized possibilities in this real world of chemical content which here exists in bounds of time and space, yet I assert free will of random choice to swerve from programmed path of obvious acts. Too tangled in vast web of lassitude, defined by choices other creatures make, I writhe in vain against taut cosmic fate, yet still I seek to choose how I will live in loose context of our global hive mind so I can create rather than destroy. When Snow White gives me apple of her heart, I choose to eat forbidden fruit of love from Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil because deceptive serpent of desire convinces her that we will become wise as gods whose bones we find inside our souls.
Wicked World Right
Wicked World Right © Surazeus 2023 12 26 When gray clouds shroud our world in gloom, and wet brown leaves on towering oaks hang listless far below eternity, small flock of deer gather in my backyard, glaring at me lit gold in large bay window, to play tense drama of their social scene. The young buck with four-pointed horns adjourns three young does behind the rotting fence to browse on tender leaves of apple trees, but charges the younger buck who escapes, stares at me as I photograph their game, then herds them across the leaf-plastered street. Trotting with tense caution among tall oaks, Cernunnos guides his does across house lawns who lurch and trot around reindeer and sled, carved from wood, when another car glides by, startled into bold defiance by beams of headlights which terrify the gloom. Dim light of heaven glowing through tall oaks fades into stark silver of timeless fear that waits for some faceless monster to strike, but silence wins by lingering in dim shadows without perilous despair of street lamps that refract divine light through sprinkling mist. Invisible in silver evening glow beyond tangled web of leafless oak limbs, the mellow moon hides her delicate face behind cold veil of mist that wets my face with aching sorrow of the signless road where nameless travelers drive somewhere else. I see no ghosts of refugees from wars, who follow Moses on cold desert roads to escape jungles where gangs of thieves reign, invade this neighborhood with hungry hope, so I look up at ancient towering oaks to see if they have found home with the crows. Though only flocks of deer, squirrels, and crows dwell in winter-wet dusk of Spiderwood, weird moonlight that makes this wicked world right illuminates large sprawling red-brick homes that dot wild rugged hills of ancient oaks where people hide from shadow of the dusk. Face lit by lightbulb of the secret moon, I gaze from glowing comfort of my home at faceless ghosts who wander spooky woods of ancient oaks with secrets they conceal, and feel timeless beauty of paradise pulse from core of this dream world I create.
Monday, December 25, 2023
Join The Global Choir
Join The Global Choir © Surazeus 2023 12 25 With clockless paradigm of tangled streets that havoc motion of demanding time we walk through flashing prism of weird rain though flowers leak from books no god designs, so we hide memories in weird fairy tales about paradise in forgotten vales. With savage bombs contained in music notes that swirl from steel piano on sand dunes we predicate new words from dragon eggs still trapped in fragile television screens, so we measure distance we travel now as grim illusion of the moon-white cow. With cruel lessons learned from bitter clones that twist our minds with new confusing facts we grow no wiser than thunderless clouds that cast green shadows on deserted plains, so we stare blankly at the fluttering leaves since we cannot see the mother who grieves. With solid honesty of wind-tossed hats that have no magic to animate ghosts we wait for devils to return our dreams long trapped in books that no one ever reads, so we return to kitchen of the queen who reveals secrets only gods have seen. With laughing pear trees of arrogant owls that divide the stars with spells in reverse we navigate the wilderness of skulls to find ethereal life that love can bring, so we push open glass door to the bank to find Jesus when the Titanic sank. With lonely horses on the river shore that teaches us glory of life is brief we disappear in mirror of our souls in gamble to become the mask of death, so we follow the North Star back to Hell where Idunna gives us drink from her well. With cosmic energies of psychic games that charge our bodies with constructive lust we vanish in the stories children tell to pass the longest dark night of the year, so we remember how to light the fire when we decide to join the global choir. With sense of time erupting from my eyes that ravages hard castle walls of kings we fall to Earth in weird delirium to garden instead of rule the empire, so we gather in the glass church to sing while Solarius forges the dream ring.
Back To Jerusalem At Last
Back To Jerusalem At Last © Surazeus 2023 12 25 Strange stories we tell on cold winter nights about blind ghosts among red flowers weeping reveal harsh ancient truths we would forget as we drink hot wine to lament life fleeting with wild tempestuous storms that blow away and leave us in sunlight as fruit trees sway. Sweet scent of dinner roasting in the hearth brings us back home inside fragile walls dreaming too long with numb complacency of peace till planes of tyranny shatter with bombing this prison paradise where angels show death approaches with gentle fall of snow. Since none are left to record our despair long after wind disperses cold ash smoking, we gather in hard rubble of our hopes to sing hymns of our savior never coming, as we walk backward on the signless road with nothing but heavy hearts for our load. Alone within the murderous winter blast, I find wind-worn statue of Odin bleeding tears of anger from his demonic heart to measure meteors from starless skies streaming that twist our principles with hungry angst in search for dark vale where we dwell ensconced. Through revolution of the hardy mind, eager to transform with the times unchanging, we fight harsh tyranny of castle kings who relinquish power of wealth unwilling, when engine of fate realigns our stars through quick replacement of horses with cars. Perched on cathedral wall of world empire, with arrogant wings of pride overreaching, I lunge from Heaven with demonic urge to challenge the general with tanks skull-crushing, till my world vanishes in flames of war when the hidden dragon begins to roar. When birthtown of their ancient tribal god is bombed to rubble by the mad king screaming, the new world savior is randomly born from humble frightened mother past redeeming, so crippled dragon born from nuclear blast shambles back to Jerusalem at last. Yet far away in Appalachian hills the half-blind prophet bard in anguish mumbling erases clear epiphany from truth which conceals grand plan of the wizard scheming to spread democracy to the whole world as holy mission of the cosmic herald.
Sunday, December 24, 2023
Book Of The Golden Rule
Book Of The Golden Rule © Surazeus 2023 12 24 While drinking acrid wine on Christmas Eve to celebrate birth of some long-dead king, I feel my brain vibrate with the cosmic weave of atoms binding our world in vast ring where wild demonic suns of throbbing light sparkle in blood cells of my inner sight. To open gift-wrapped box of secret truth while sitting around tall pine by star pool I must rely on scripture-programmed faith for how I read Book of the Golden Rule by which I fight to defend fertile land with bloody sword of honor in my hand. They came to kill me and kidnap my bride, I explain to the old priest in the chapel, so I had to kill them to prove my pride, then sit by warm hearth and eat my last apple while I watch over my wife and young child who sleep at midnight, so peaceful and mild. While dreaming in art museum at midnight, among portraits of Madonna and Christ, I see epiphany through blaze of light that all those kings who reigned and sacrificed their lives to serve the Holy Grail with love are sons of Jesus in gold clouds above. Though Jesus himself is long dead by now, his descendants live in children of blood, mothers and sons who ride the holy cow as each new-born boy plays king blessed by God to reign over nations of Supermen who march to war with intention to win. Through bloodline of the Holy Grail Christ reigns with each generation of new-born sons who expand empire from castles of planes by sending soldiers to conquer with guns till every nation of the spinning Earth celebrates the night of his humble birth. Though I listen close on the midnight clear, I cannot hear that glorious song of old ring out across the land shrouded by fear, when angels on the Earth strum harps of gold to hail when the hidden dragon will rise to reign as global king beneath blue skies. I am no prophet bard with pen of blood but I can foretell birth of new world order that will rise from world war of storming flood where every last nation-confining border will be replaced by universal rights, enforced by fair laws the blind wizard writes.
Blue Ridge Mountains
Blue Ridge Mountains © Surazeus 2023 12 24 When Blue Ridge Mountains call my secret name I go walking where proud demons are lame after their great fall from high walls of Heaven so I can chat with the diamond-eyed raven who always seems to know just what to say which helps me find the less confusing way. If Blue Ridge Mountains erase signless roads so I get lost in forest of red toads I meditate on mushroom of the wraith who teaches me that the secret of faith lies in how I would navigate the world on my quest to become the cosmic herald. Since Blue Ridge Mountains send huge thunderheads to shake complacent people from soft beds we walk the misty trails of everywhere to find mother of mankind in the bear who interrogates the river of light to discover the secret of soul flight. Though Blue Ridge Mountains speculate why humans know how to talk, but not to fly, I walk in dark places with ghosts of gods who were all exposed as garrulous frauds always demanding we obey their laws or they would throw us into monstrous jaws. Yet Blue Ridge Mountains forget people die as if we are eternal as the sky that scatters rays of blue light at the Earth to wake lonely hearts with holiday mirth when we assemble on the river shore to praise transcendent truth of the soul core. How Blue Ridge Mountains crumble in the rain reveals the small cabin I built from pain with hives for honey bees that swarm the glade where headless Saint Winifreda once prayed for liberty to live on her own terms since even our souls are consumed by worms. Toward Blue Ridge Mountains refugees from war seek ancient Promised Land of Nevermore but find themselves lost in dark trackless woods where fallen demons build new neighborhoods to live free from old tyrant on the hill who claims everything his by divine will. So Blue Ridge Mountains laugh at vanity when humans fight for private property where they alone eat apples of the soil, till they all shuffle off this mortal coil and nothing but cracked skulls are left behind to clutter this planet their God designed.
Saturday, December 23, 2023
Phoenix Of Freedom
Phoenix Of Freedom © Surazeus 2023 12 23 If I could solve the long sorite of life that leads me past endless puzzles of truth, then I would claim the redness of sunrise through timeless energy of secret words as power that inspires my heart to love, born from Phoenix of Freedom I respect. With brutal beauty of the morning light, which radiates from eerie dreams that can kill, I calculate strange fate of innocence, immune to complaint of primitive powers that reassign my pain with signs of wisdom so I walk barefoot over fertile ground. The bright sunrays that penetrate rose windows fail to disperse gloom of cathedral halls though I grope through hazy vision of faith to find paradise hidden in foul graveyards where my ancestors wait for judgment day that never resurrects them from mute dust. Pretending I am not the fugitive who almost drowned in the river of tears, I photograph serene landscapes to capture odd slant of light against stark hill of trees where children search for bones among the flowers while singing hymns about the fallen angel. Yet thin harmonious tear of my childhood springs from dark bosom of the dreamless Earth as sparkling fountain from the fractured rock where wingless horses and white ravens flock with gang of boys who swim in the cold pool to replay journey of Odysseus. Grim face of the old nameless warrior, that stares down from the granite cliff of fame, watches thousands of empires rise and fall as rebels fight the tyrant and his clown who assassinates the lonely half-blind king so his daughter flees to live with kind farmers. With ancient energy pulsing my heart I stay till twilight on the roadless hill to feel vibration of the rainbow glow one million years through sparkle of my bones, yet never morphs into wings I can use to fly above vast maze of living myths. If we allow that tyrant to ascend one-eyed pyramid of the new world order, then we are doomed to fall from civil war in flames of greed that will destroy our world from which the Phoenix of Freedom will rise to teach us once again how to live free.
Wild Wings Of Hope
Wild Wings Of Hope © Surazeus 2023 12 23 I try to give you passion of my heart but it flies away on wild wings of hope beyond formulas of our social chart to wander listless on steep mountain slope where moonlight guides my way back home to you through signal of the most obvious clue. Since you are humble and secure in faith as you perform your strict daily routine with productive passion on your safe path, unaware your deep beauty can be seen, you cannot know in your sweet honesty that you are always my celebrity. Your face appears in television glow, though you are hidden in your private world, as most important star in my love show, relaxed by the fire with your kitten curled around hollow vastness of your pure soul, because no one but you can play your role. In all my precious fantasies of us I see us dressed with elegance and class dancing slowly without romantic fuss beyond mirrored walls to the dew-wet grass where fairies and nymphs bless our sacred love with songs of angels in gold clouds above. So when you come home from hard day of work I bring you spiced mocha and apple pie so you can relax where the kittens lurk who pounce on you and purr with loving eye, then together we sing heart-aching tunes while midnight snowflakes transform into runes. The most romantic thing we do each week is drive with traffic to the grocery store where we gather ancient treasures we seek to illustrate the weird domestic core which energizes essence of our home composed of rites sparked by the metronome. Efficient routines of our daily show, that we design from years of trial and error, constrain wild chaos of chemical flow to nurture spirit of our psychic mirror so we can maximize intense desire that maintains life in song of the world choir. When I offer you passion of my heart you free my spirit on wild wings of hope so I return to home of your dream chart as we unite forces so we can cope with endless dangers when we navigate traps of death to construct our home on fate.
Friday, December 22, 2023
Walk Among The Trees
Walk Among The Trees © Surazeus 2023 12 22 Alone in shadow of the silent grove where spirits of my children could run free, I ponder concept of the flickering flame that casts orange eerie glow in nothingness to light eternity with thoughtless truth, so we hold hands and walk among the trees. The river melting in warm morning glow considers how the butterflies explain surprising beauty of blossoms that know why my broken heart has healed from its loss slow enough to wake the arrogant wind, since we hold hands and walk among the trees. With blue reflections of the fractured sky I laugh with clouds that christen me with rain as if my tingling skin contains sharp soul pulsing with eagerness to sprout swan wings because I want to fly above this world, yet we hold hands and walk among the trees. I arrange stones in circle by the lake, spark flame that spreads from leaves to twigs to logs, crush wheat with stone to flour of regret, mix dough from milk and eggs with angry hands, then bake my heart in oven of lost dreams, if we hold hands and walk among the trees. I own no land for ninety million years for land is nothing more than solid faith on which I walk to chase the swirling clouds, till strangers threaten me with painful death if I leave not the land they claim is theirs, so we hold hands and walk among the trees. My bones pulse fierce with anguish of desire to seek vast quiet consciousness of love, so I kneel down among wind-rustling reeds to see my face in mirror of the world, then name myself The Ghost Who Sees Her Face, since we hold hands and walk among the trees. I am the loneliness of falling snow for I would penetrate dark gloom of woods with sparkling light of stars in crystal flakes which replicates my soul in child of words because they will live long after I die, while we hold hands and walk among the trees. I never hear bells ring across the land to celebrate birth of the man who knows exquisite details of star filaments that spiral into galaxies of worlds where I wake from dream in zillions of brains when we hold hands and walk among the trees.
Dreaming In The Earth
Dreaming In The Earth © Surazeus 2023 12 22 Radical words blossom from roots of trees to organize chaos of chemicals in organic creatures with conscious minds who try to lift up the Earth without wings till tongues bind rage within tense curse of prayers so we can see the mystery with blind eyes. The river swirling from the mountain snow embraces me in stillness of her flow to teach me how with promise of respect to rein tight maelstrom of intense desire with elegant dance of flirtatious hope so stories of our mothers teach us love. Through endless circles of my cautious feet I explore strange landscape of this world by navigating memories of tall trees that shine with apples of the singing rain so I can float on surface of the stream where ghosts of dead people startle my dream. Entranced by petrichor of pungent faith, I dance with patter of raindrops on grass to call my mother dreaming in the Earth who rises up from surging waves of fear to laugh at thunder growling in the sky which teaches us to savor joy of death. Through silver greenness of the snowy woods I float toward whisper of serene despair, and imagine we are still holding hands toward shocking beauty of the silent peak that glimmers scarlet from old sunset fire which pierces my heart with wordless insight. If my vagabond heart leads me to you, long hidden in veil of faint memories, I bring you wood for fire in ring of stones that dispels bleak darkness of timeless gloom, for we are alone in vastness of death that shrouds our souls with nothingness of love. When snowflakes sparkle on our glowing cheeks, lonely as stars that glitter with moonlight, we suck honeysuckle from fragile vines till morning sunrays christen us with hope that we may live to see another day, so we hold hands and walk among the trees. With fleeting glance of supernatural grace that writhes from hollow of my anguished heart I reach out both arms from dark heart of Earth to embrace eternal light of your eyes that weaves our souls in bodies we create, millions of descendants born from our genes.
Thursday, December 21, 2023
Weird Secret Of Forever
Weird Secret Of Forever © Surazeus 2023 12 21 Unbearable beauty of the blank sky hides in the dream that I may never enter, so I conceal flame that falls from the sun with special loneliness of wordless prayer based on our love that becomes something else, for sadness of my aimless heart is tender. Unknowable beauty of the strange sea directs the wind to shadow where I linger in shattered passion of the apple tree, even though eager death can wait no longer for me to come down from the mountain cave, driven forth by calculation of hunger. Unshakeable beauty of the star stone that glitters with our eyes in the cold river, trapped inside its flow by truth of the moon, teaches me the weird secret of forever, so I record our story with the rune, though nobody but me thinks it is clever. Unchangeable beauty of our true love rearranges puzzle of the high tower which I construct from visions of the cave to imitate sacred space of the bower where we exchange sacred pleasures of bliss to savor psychic energy of power. Unstoppable beauty of her ice heart reflects my small face in the cosmic mirror with each apple I sell from two-wheeled cart while children gasp at my story of terror confounding monarchs cursed by the star chart who cannot overcome religious error. Unfindable beauty of the cracked skull is found in the swamp by the blind Lightbearer though nobody can play his special role in tragic romance where the mute wayfarer falls in love with bold slayer of the bull, then gives birth to the first global explorer. Unwriteable beauty of the well queen hides in the deepest dark place of the world spark of light which fuels the time machine when I wear costume of the cosmic herald to play in the temple no one has seen except the girl with angel wings unfurled. Unspeakable beauty of the tree bride, who gazes in my soul with eyes of sorrow, curls roots of love in planet I designed that multiplies my descendants from zero to colonize forgotten Promised Land with cottage by pure river of the sparrow.
Wednesday, December 20, 2023
Pageantry Of Life
Pageantry Of Life © Surazeus 2023 12 20 I strum star-vibrating lyre of my heart so I can recreate the conscious glow of supernatural passion which expands my skull-bound sense of self to enclose Earth with all its messy currents in one whole that rings through harmony of life and death. Instead of reaching toward the distant stars through irritable hope to grasp at the truth, I lie on grass beneath the apple tree to feel eternal spirit of the sky strum the sorrow-twanging lyre of my heart that luminates spirits on stage of life. Weird mystery, that conceals in psychic code how all material of our universe sprang into being from nothingness of hope that flares forth from first flash of the big bang, animates my brain with my conscious self so I incarnate divine mind of God. Thus each organic brain that beams with light on every planet in the universe incarnates soul of God in mortal form so zillions of souls on zillions of worlds dream together across vast galaxies to sing the harmony of flowing change. Born from my mother in the swirling sea, egg of truth sparked to life by seed of hope, I learn to walk in seething ocean waves, then stride along the winding river shore to climb the highest mountain in the world where I reach out to touch the silent stars. Yet when I fall back in my wingless mind, feeling alone on this vast spinning globe, I find you standing firmly by my side, so I hold your hand, and I kiss your mouth, then we walk back down to the river shore where we eat apples and sing as we dance. Your eyes wake me from slumber of lost time so we embrace and dance around the tree while Hermes plays heart-aching tune of hope on the lyre he designed from turtle shell, sweet melodies of timeless truth that stay relentless tide of death for just this hour. We play our roles in pageantry of life to generate new life before we die, then lie down on the ancient Earth of faith and sink into dark stream of nevermore, so children who spring from love of our hearts may play their roles in pageantry of life.
We Have No Wings
We Have No Wings © Surazeus 2023 12 20 With orange-red laughter of the mindless sky I ponder reason for the thoughtful why that drives my progress in the rugged hills to search for apple trees by sparkling rills beyond heart-aching hunger of the mind that passion of my ancestors designed. You stand beside me in bright pouring rain to share compassion of our glowing pain as we transform from stones to human beings reluctant to accept we have no wings, so we must walk the Earth with breath of hope from careful balance on the mountain slope. Strange primal memories of the long ago, programmed by wisdom learned from wordless woe, frame how my present brain perceives this world through holy mission of the cosmic herald which I proclaim with flowing of the stream that mirrors weird patience of the sunbeam. I walk around truth of the mountain peak ten thousand times before I learn to speak with voice of wind that rumbles from my breast as I attempt to map fate of my quest which lures me to invent houses with doors containing concepts bound in language spores. So long before I build cities and roads my truth is forest ponds with singing toads who teach me wisdom of the faceless tree from which my words derive the arcane key which opens rotten door to castle tower where I first learn how to exercise power. Too far above the bustling market street, where I observe organic fertile beat of human hearts trapped in romantic plays still taking place in ever-shifting maze, I long for hero on the shining horse to liberate the world with gentle force. Yet no messiah flies down from the clouds to hover beaming over cheering crowds, so I manipulate lost souls with faith by conjuring shadow-whispers of the wraith till I reign over spider web of spies who bring me puzzle pieces of small lies. As dungeon master of the kingdom game, who reigns without cruel terror of the name, I watch the empire I created burn to ashes preserved in the silent urn depicting me as woman without crown who falls with Icarus in the sea to drown.
Tuesday, December 19, 2023
Pyramid Of The Mad King
Pyramid Of The Mad King © Surazeus 2023 12 19 The sun casts visions on page of my book depicting stream of scenes where I must look with anguished eyes at the suffering and pain humans stuck in history endure in vain to build vast empires through fascist control that thrive when everyone plays their strict role. As helmets of warriors marching in file flash with fires of burning homes every mile, they follow Ares on tall prancing horse who searches in vain for the divine source of global power that slips from frail hand of every mad king clutching at dry land. The scythe-wheeled chariot of desire rolls on crowded highway of lost nameless souls past blood-stained pyramid of the mad king who struts about with tattered angel wing he stole from Michael to become the beast whose heart is sacrificed for the grand feast. Yet Pallas steals the sword that Dido used when she ran in the naked streets, confused at why great hero with eyes blind from fate abandoned her outside the Pearly Gate to find his destiny across the sea in land of the brave and home of the free. So Child of Aphrodite on the beach searches for the lame prophet who can teach secret code of the alphabet which seals psychic energy through wood wagon wheels in order to weave tapestry of truth presenting life of world messiah sleuth. Though we ride cows on journey to the west through repetition of our ancient quest, we never find the fertile Promised Land where angels on flat pyramids may stand to guard lush paradise from immigrants though they are paragons of innocence. The serpent coiled in cypress tree of faith reveals origin story of the wraith who was young princess in gold palace hall painting hieroglyphs on vast history wall to show how Helius drove chariot of light in war against cruel demons of the night. For sweet Juturna is the bride I choose, that humble gardener who can read my clues as church bells ring across the Sabbath hour till she awakes in high room of the tower where she searches for my face in her dreams hidden behind time-changing mask of seems. Though Father Time stands on a mountain peak and waits for the terrified seer to speak, I know that time unravels webs of brains so conscious souls that vanish in hard rains may sing with poignant passion to enjoy opulent feasts we used to hold in Troy. I follow trail where my ancestors strode the opposite way to name every road that leads me back home to land of the strange hidden deep in Tian Shan Mountain Range where I first ate ripe apple of the sun and joined with horses on their wind-swift run. Grand cities of stone, shining on high hills, that I construct with bleeding swords and quills, organize lost refugees from world wars into priests and merchants who manage stores, but tyrants ruin everything we build, and promises of peace go unfulfilled. I find no secrets in old epic tales for every human experiment fails, yet we work to sustain democracies, against fascist greed of strong monarchies, that rule justice and liberty for all, so I cleanse my soul in the waterfall.
Walls That Humans Build
Walls That Humans Build © Surazeus 2023 12 19 You choose to misunderstand what I say because you want to refract secret truth to bend reality straight through your heart so you can feel the center of it all expand from static ideal state of hope that distorts how our minds perceive the world. When I accept the peach of untouched hope, which you offer me from dark of your home, I fear you will expect payment in kind, but I turn from trap of comfort you offer to walk rough road of freedom to my grave that waits for me somewhere in paradise. Yet here I pause on bright desolate coast, between the ice-sharp mountain range of faith and the shifting-sand beach of primal hope, to paint landscape of the world I perceive that maps wild rugged terrain of my heart with smears of color on the slab of wood. I cannot cartograph this world of dreams without depicting walls that humans build to parcel landscape into nation-states that trap teeming tribes of aggressive hope within surrounding walls of paradise that tangle frontiers inside border lines. I draw national borders on the map with red blood of warriors and guardians whose winless battles on those fields of rage reveal where they last clashed to gain control, but left their comrades rotting in the mud where wheat and flowers bloom now from their skulls. The shining Heaven on the hill of power, where we protect our families safe from harm to eat and play with freedom of our will, is haven we enclose with walls of stone that transforms into prison of blind fear when guardian kings become tyrants of greed. I hang my painting on museum wall so strangers seeking ancient truths in art could decipher my weird symbolic code through esoteric scriptures of lost tales when they see how my brain perceives the world as atoms swerving blindly in the void. Through art I generalize our complex truths to simple statements of conceptual riddles that twist false answers into diatribes which demagogues employ to hypnotize people fighting wars over fertile lands till all walls are destroyed by timeless truth.
Monday, December 18, 2023
Lute Of The Troubadour
Lute Of The Troubadour © Surazeus 2023 12 18 Patrolling lands around the castle hall, young Sheriff Herrius on white prancing horse spots beautiful girl with long golden hair who strums new polished lute and sings sweet tune while couples dance among the apple trees where they make love, enchanted by her spell. Entranced by gleaming diamonds of her eyes, Herrius pushes her down by garden wall and fills her womb with spirit of his love while she stares surprised at the silver sky, then gives her soft kiss on her blushing cheek while he rides away with a cheerful wave. Enraged at violation of her right to choose the man whose child she wants to bear, Garsenda retreats to her secret cave where she eats mushrooms to abort the child, but she sees Phoebus descend from the sun and fill her body with transcendent glow. When morning sun gleams on the apple trees, Abbot Rolandus strolls on the lake shore where he finds her baby boy in a basket, so he gives him to the gardener Alis who breastfeeds him while yellow sparrows chirp, so Garsenda slips away as she weeps. The little boy, that Alis names Albric, tries to play the large lute left in his basket, but people throw cabbages at his head, so he finds the old troubadour Giraut, who teaches him how to improvise ballads while strumming sweet notes that enchant the heart. Knocking at the gold gate of paradise, he asks admittance to Garden of Love, so Isolde, princess surrounded girls, invites him in to play, but when he sings they mock his croaky voice and call him crow, so he runs back to the abbey to cry. Hiding among the rosemary and thyme, Albric plucks strings on the lute of his heart, till from anguish he composes sweet tune and sings about the girl with starry eyes when Beatriz, daughter of the gardener, brings him roast lamb and apple pie to eat. Kissing his mouth smeared with her apple pie, Beatriz pulls Albric deep into her heart, and they make love among white butterflies, then stroll in woods to find berries and eggs for Alis to cook for their wedding feast, and they dance all night by the silver moon. After giving birth to boy of their heart, Beatriz calls out for Albric to appear, but no one has seen him for several days, and she cries when Roger, the blacksmith, claims he was seen running away to the castle and told farmer Pier he was seeking fame. Three years after kind Albric disappeared, Beatriz marries Roger, and bears three sons, but she favors her eldest son, Perseval, who learns to play the lute from Auberon, so they play in the castle for the Duke when he entertains courtiers from the King. One day while foraging in the deep woods, Beatriz finds hidden under pile of oak limbs mangled skeleton of Albric, her love, skull crushed as if from sharp blow to his head, whose hand still clutches his time-weathered lute, so she weeps in shock from her broken heart. Cooking special mushroom stew just for Roger, Beatriz places large bowl with beaming smile, but, as he eats with relish of his pride, she shows him the old lute, still stained with blood, then smirks with knowledge of his evil deed while he chokes to death with fear in his eyes. Dressed in elegant gold-embroidered cloak, and leather hat with feathers of the swan, Perseval performs by the garden pool before beautiful Princess Eleanor, whose emerald eyes gleam with flirtatious glee when he compares her to the graceful hind. Holding hands with warm electric desire, Eleanor and Perseval, secret lovers, run romantically through beams of sunlight, cloaks fluttering in cool eager river breeze, eyes flashing with joy at forbidden passion as they smile at each other with sweet lust. While the Third Son of the King with his crew hunt for the gold hind and the silver wolf with arrows notched in yew bows taut with rage, Eleanor opens treasure of her heart for Perseval to pleasure her with love, and they grasp each other tight as they kiss. Filling her heart with spirit of his love, Perseval cries out with ecstatic joy, and Eleanor sees him become the god as Phoebus beams bright spirit of the sun that luminates her mind with holy vision that she will birth the Angel Gabriel. Collapsing on her breast with anguished cry, Perseval stares so deep into her eyes that she feels strange terror strike at her soul, then finds that an arrow has pierced his heart, and screams as Third Son of the King appears and kicks the dead troubadour in the stream. Stretching out her arms to touch his cold hand, Eleanor sobs at sight of his dead eyes, then screams and punches Third Son of the King as he rapes her with fierce possessive growl, declaring that the first child she will bear will blossom from seed of his noble power. After wedding with Third Son of the King, Eleanor sits numb, paralyzed with fear, between the old king and his half-blind queen, feeling nauseous as she stares at the beef, but drinks the grail of wine with grim ennui, and weeps when Tibors sings a sad love ballad. Naming the daughter she bears Gabriela, Eleanor treasures angel of her heart whose eyes gleam silver as eyes of the wolf who wooed her heart in garden of delight, and teaches her how to play the small lute in secret while her husband plays with whores. When she is thirteen, blooming as an angel, Gabriela dresses in long white gown with swan wings, and tiara with nine diamonds, then stands before the whole court in the castle to sing hymn she wrote that celebrates Easter, about how Christ has risen from the dead. Realizing with shock of bitter rage that beautiful and elegant Gabriela is daughter of the troubadour he killed, the Third Son of the King runs to their chamber where Eleanor laughs at him with despair as he chokes her to death on the silk bed. Shocked to see her father killing her mother, Gabriela races to tell the King who sends soldiers to arrest him for murder, but he runs spiral steps to tower room where he leaps in attempt to fly to Heaven, but tumbles wingless on sharp rocks below. Wandering on the signless road town to town, Gabriela strums lute and sings sweet tune while couples dance, enchanted by her spell, then spies handsome Sherrif on prancing horse who offers her shelter in castle hall where they kiss after eating lamb and wine.
Sunday, December 17, 2023
Indifferent Silence Of Nature
Indifferent Silence Of Nature © Surazeus 2023 12 17 Haunted by indifferent silence of Nature, who smiles at me from dark gloom of the yard beyond frail shelter of window and door, I sing heart-breaking elegy of love with aching passion of atomic beams that weave my brain from memories of the sea. Eternal nothingness of everywhere shines in each atom that composes Earth which forms my soul at hydrothermal vents so I incarnate conscious hope of light as I rise dripping at gold flash of dawn from sea of dreams to touch the apple sky. After I pluck fruit from the tree of life and sit on hilltop of the dancing wind to eat the red sun glowing in my hand, I feel eternal conscious ache of love inspire my beating heart to spread my arms and race with birds that fly beyond the clouds. Ten million years after I was first born, I spring again from cave of flickering light to run along gold sand to swirling waves where dragons with sharp teeth call out my name as I thrust spear into their open mouths and roast them on my flat-top pyramid. Placing skull of the dragon on my head, I reign as god on pyramid of skulls while people dance around wild roaring flames then cheer when I slay the dragon of fear and roast it well for everyone to eat for mothers bear new children of our souls. Startled from dream by loud exploding blast, I peer over edge of the muddy trench at metal tanks rumbling over barbed wire while planes roaring across the sky drop bombs that blast churches and factories to ruins where Jesus stands blind amid blood-stained rubble. Lying in tall grass by the sparkling stream, I hold the ripe juicy apple up high so, when the wild horse ventures close to smell, I caress her nose and murmur soft words, then stroll beside her among meadow flowers to rest together in the apple grove. I think about her as I drive my car to buy ripe apples at the grocery store, the horse I met by the tall apple tree six thousand years ago in hills of Scythia, whose spirit gleaming in her moon-bright eyes haunts me with indifferent silence of Nature.
Her Ghostly Face
Her Ghostly Face © Surazeus 2023 12 17 To hang cracked mirror of her ghostly face above the mantle of the cold fireplace I stretch my arms beyond cave of my heart, calculating gear-fate of the star chart that measures length of hope to judgment day which comes not, no matter how hard I pray. The cherry tree bends in cold winter rain that gleams from loving candlelight in vain though I cut cabbage all night as I wait for my love to come home, since he is late returning from wars between castle kings, till I wake at flutter of raven wings. The black horse on horizon of my hope brings hungry death swiftly down the wet slope on hoofs that shake my heart with numb despair, eyes blinded by the early morning glare that cracks sharp as the ax against red wood of holy icons to expose falsehood. Appearing from dark woods as glowing wraith, Marzanna, dressed in long white gown of faith, head wreathed with flowers blooming in brown snow, parades slowly through the festival show to portray concept of soul purity, which townsfolk burn and drown in effigy. The timeless energy of folk witchcraft, which fearful Christians have long mocked as daft, still surges in fierce hearts of teenage girls who feel transcendent passion of star swirls empower their quest for the Holy Grail which glows in cavern of their secret vale. While riding in sleek car on Christmas Eve, past mist-shrouded meadow where angels grieve, Marianne sees black horse beneath the star that bears her heart to some strange land afar where she bakes apple pies in fire-lit room as children sing and dance in snowy gloom. Sitting on soft couch by the crackling hearth, with her large family in holiday mirth, Marianne sees on cluttered Christmas tree, gleaming with eerie light, the magic key which opens all doors in the multiverse, so she decides to become the soul nurse. Gazing from mantle of the bright fireplace, the old star-eyed witch with the ghostly face animates young girl with ambitious plan to create world savior from the caveman who perceives the real her behind her mask when he brings her juice in the fragile flask.
Saturday, December 16, 2023
Weird Spirit I Found
Weird Spirit I Found © Surazeus 2023 12 16 Whatever I found in the swirling mist while riding the car on the highway east from Seattle into the mountain range remains with me as the spirit more strange than what Apollo found on Helicon and left for me in woods of Avalon. Through eerie shadow of the mountain vale I retrieve lyre of Hermes from dark soil, and when I strum its strings my weird spells cast illusion of my Muse as faceless ghost who glows above Takoma Mountain peak so memories of my ancestors awake. They swirl around me on wild mountain wind to conjure visions of their lost dreamland around dark Lake Verkana where fierce wolves race with herds of horses and raven elves to golden ziggurat where Ishtar reigns as sorceress who records dreams with runes. Though I stroll streets of Seattle at night past bars and galleries toward candle light that gleams from bookstore maze of secret tomes, I remember every road my heart roams ten thousand years Scythia to Oregon on my way to redesign Babylon. I thought I would find in library halls epics of heroes who play noble roles preserving wisdom sages wrote in books, but stumble instead over river rocks on mountain trail where demons haunt my steps to evade the American cyclops. Hitchhiking east to find the Lake of Dreams where First Mother sings in honey sunbeams, I wander streets of Miami at noon flooded with rain of the albatross moon, then play lyre of Mercury by the beach to tame fierce passion of the Bandersnatch. Weird spirit I found in the mountain mist that shrouds Seattle to the ocean coast glows in my heart with cosmic energy, so I compose Astarian liturgy for lost tribes gathered in ruined steel halls to sing after civilization falls. All idols are illusions of dead gods who once were men walking old signless roads for fertile land where they can build their home and feast on apples by the flowing stream till invaders colonize it as theirs by divine right of never-changing stars.
Thursday, December 14, 2023
Resilience Of Our Love
Resilience Of Our Love © Surazeus 2023 12 14 When yellow spiders wrap my rotten corpse in starless cocoon of lost memories, then hang me from the highest ancient oak for me to dangle over the abyss, I feel torn fragments of my mirror mind disperse from blast of my exploding star. Under orange fog of the late autumn dawn I drive the winding road among tall oaks that shroud graves of my ancestors in leaves so when they rise from shadow of desire they crowd around my bed to chant low hymns with solemn timbre of cold ocean waves. For when I stand on shore of the wild lake, far from urban zones of commercial streets, and cry out to God of the Holy Book, nothing answers me but the antlered buck when Cernunnos emerges from dark waters and gazes in my soul with moon-black eyes. Since the mocking echo of my own voice is all that answers across mountain lakes I search the heart of darkness deep in me to conjure counter-love for every soul which I sing through original response to let lost souls know I can hear their prayers. From starless darkness of ancient oak woods my heart emerges from cocoon of death, reborn from fever of conceptual fear to play heart-aching melodies of faith on music pipe I carve from dragon bones that calls wild creatures to my moon-lit grove. Back eastward on road my ancestors blazed I pass through ruins of cities they built to find secret treasure of the first town where Tiresias presides in ring of stones over global empire of singing ghosts till they vanish when Ariel plays his flute. Wandering vast museum of empty rooms where fragments of ancient myths lurk in light, the marble statues from the Parthenon, the Grecian Urn, the Bust of Ozymandias, I search till I find the Skull of Orpheus who still sings prophecies no one can hear. When yellow spiders weave my newborn soul from dream-entangled threads of ancient myths, I wake refreshed from timeless sleep of death to sit with ghosts of people I adore, heart strengthened by resilience of our love that reassembles my mind from their eyes.
Wednesday, December 13, 2023
Camera Of My Heart
Camera Of My Heart © Surazeus 2023 12 13 I used to see our whole world upside-down, but when I started to take photographs with compassionate camera of my heart, I began to perceive the secret soul who hides behind the mask of every face through reverse image of our mortal minds. While waiting in the office of white walls for results that reveal mortality, I deconstruct strange vision of my soul through subjective gaze of their wordless eyes till I become the idol they adore who vanishes when the movie is done. The homeless vagabond in tattered dress, who walks every street in the city maze one thousand times from her birth till her death, stands before the gold locked cathedral door and sings with aching voice of raucous crows hymn of salvation to the deaf wood god. Though the old puppet-master lies in bed, gasping last breath of desire in this world, his puppets all dance around his glass tomb while all the films he made vanish from dream as fragile bubbles popping on the stream where his skull prophesies the end of time. The young girl and the lamb frolic with joy in the wheat field where crows talk about God beside crashed plane from the second world war that bombed the garden of the laughing goat, then she films farmers gathering bales of hay with sickles they stole from the hand of Death. The woman with the camera in her hand stands on the hill of skulls that sing our names, and films soldiers who storm the doorless school then shoot women and children in the head, for the flag of victory flaps in the wind while the crownless king on the donkey cheers. When the Phoenix with nuclear eyes of rage rises from ashes of the holocaust, Ezekiel drives the chariot of fire to crush brick houses of the nameless ghosts, then bombs the temple on the hill of skulls for thirteenth coming of messiah sleuth. After she finishes filming the scene, where people on the pyramid rejoice at reconstruction of the temple hall, the actors take off their masks and go home, then she walks on the left bank of the river to photograph the world still upside-down.
Tuesday, December 12, 2023
Grand Scheme Of Life
Grand Scheme Of Life © Surazeus 2023 12 12 Uncertain about the grand scheme of life that seems to glow behind this world of forms, I grope through darkness of its boundless dream to measure the shapes of things that exist within binding limits of time and space, constrained by how my brain tags things with words. Within swirling metaphor of the sea I find the hydrothermal vents of hope where carbon rings first formed conceptual brains that strive to transcend constraints of the self to become the universal ideal which guides our journey to the Promised Land. Though I find the entire system of things represented in every particle that spirals from first flash of the White Whole, I feel my special self alive this hour correspond to the Universal Self which I feel glowing in atoms of I. This Universal Self awake in me as vibrant consciousness of timeless hope, which I pretend for twenty thousand years permeates all existing creatures as God, is nothing more than spirit of my brain sparked awake by agentive chemicals. This metaphor of love my mind designs to help me better comprehend weird nature fails to fully appropriate all parts that would eradicate contrary truths when concepts oscillate between extremes through balanced order to cohere as me. When I construct well from contrary facts coherent structure in system of truth I feel flow from hermetically sealed thoughts aggressive contradictions that vibrate in complex flash between far separate parts which connects every tale in one great myth. Conflict between parts in the global whole highlights how separateness of many parts displays connection of conceptual need that binds conflicting tribes lead by fierce gods in United Nations of fractured peace where every river flows into one sea. The water of the world that shines with light is that dark womb of hope from which we rose so we are born from rain on mountain peaks and we flow with long cataract of life down to universal grave of the sea from which our children rise to live with hope. If the whole universe contains one mind that dreams it all from concept of its love then counter-currents swirling in one whole assert their will to dominate with tone of vibrant passion symphony of life so as opposing pairs we form one mind. Thus hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, through verdant Eden of our naked hearts, we take our solitary way on signless road till we build cities on each river shore where our children fight to control the truth that blossoms from heart of darkness with love.
Monday, December 11, 2023
Design Of Beautiful Death
Design Of Beautiful Death © Surazeus 2023 12 11 When I lie with cold comfort of the night, blanketed snug by darkness, my old friend, I ponder design of beautiful death that will erase me from this dreaming world, and compose other creatures with weird names from these particles that compose me now. With wretched angst on naked rocks of fear I crawl through lightless chaos of despair as world I thought I knew well dissipates in shattered fragments of unmirrored glass that gleam white as the dawn sun on black hills to blind me with well-ordered world of forms. The large white spider on white flower bloom, who holds dead satin-rigid moth of light, explains with aching hunger of desire complex design of this weird gleaming world where oaks and willows on the river shore stare down at me with indifferent respect. As if enormous monster of the sun will rise from ocean waves with faceless light and gleam with whiteness of eternity, I breathe contemptuous anger of the wind to face shocking nothingness of I am when I leap laughing on the jagged cliff. Awake with answers my ancestors shaped with mental visions forming wordless truth, I question how my brain knows what is real as I reverse design of all I see, light spirits encased in material themes that flash with aggressive will to transform. Appalled at beauty of consuming gloom when timeless sunlight casts bleak pall of hope on teeming waves of wind-blown trees on hills that shine with divine reflection of thought, I perceive real picture behind the scene where creatures move across white field of death. Uncertain whiteness of the ancient soul, that glows with fierce immortal song of love, gleams deep inside frail bones of my respect when I gaze deep in fractured quartz of truth to see who might dwell deep inside our world with pulsing passion of wild thunderstorms. Stark darkness beaming wide from the White Whole catalogs forms swerving atoms attain as they bloom entangled into our bodies and glow with conscious sense of this I am so I must jest of sorrow we endure through sweet heart-aching song of ocean waves.
Doubt Is The Only Road
Doubt Is The Only Road © Surazeus 2023 12 11 Since we are the line between good and evil, forming roughly zones of ovular swirls, that fluctuate with context of desire around poles of moral choice, stuck to land we claim as ours based on ancestral birth, our conscious souls oscillate into change. The White Whole at the center of all light, which generates existence from its dream, forms vast expanding oval of desire from God Eye of thought inside core of hope that spirals atoms into structured things through construction and destruction of change. Though future possibilities of hope, that would transpire from choice of eager love, to travel toward paradise we create, bloom from bright visions our brains generate, we cannot see consequences of actions hidden around bends in the undergrowth. I am no transparent eye-ball of truth for I am limited in time-spaced scope through capability to perceive how chaos of nature would metamorphose from tense compression of this present state, so I proceed with faith that time will tell. I can only travel one road of life so I progress on rough journey I choose, satisfied that destiny I create is natural expression of my soul state as I transcend past versions of myself to become new self my heart generates. Though I lament need of calm mental health to accept well that I am limited in subjective perception of this world, I resist fraught urge to plunge on ahead by lingering at this crossroads of my fear, knowing my analysis must be vague. So many signless roads spread out from where I stand forever on the edge of time, fragmenting my future selves into souls who will always be same as I am now, thus I decide with sly skeptical grin, wherever I roam my heart is my home. As I step forward on the road not taken, I proclaim loudly to ravens in oaks that Doubt is the only road to the Truth for there is no road that I never take, because this true road I blaze with my will becomes my own line between good and evil.
Sunday, December 10, 2023
Ashes Of World War
Ashes Of World War © Surazeus 2023 12 10 The empty silence of the windless plain that whistles in bleak hollow of my mind translates voices of my ancestral dead in strange stories that flash across my eye, so I can see our whole world in my dream that fades out when I wake without my name. The thriving city I see in my dreams, tall houses of brick with windows that gleam over gardens of people tending plants along tree-shaded avenues with lamps where families stroll to restaurants and parks, has vanished in the smoke of blasting bombs. The men in slick suits, the women in gowns, the children running in games of wild joy, the workers building things in crafting shops, the farmers selling produce in wood stalls, the businessmen contracting deals in banks, are now all ghosts with terror-haunted eyes. This paradise we built one thousand years, erecting churches, factories, and shops, while raising families in garden homes, has vanished from the world of changing forms when planes dropped bombs to blow it all away, and leaves me wandering in vast maze of Hell. Mad tyrant in gold castle on the hill, blinded with greed to control the whole world, built weapons of death with bullets and bombs, then organized millions of angry boys in fierce army driven by sense of pride to conquer fertile lands with stomping boots. Yet kings who reign over empires of ruins, and rule over corpses rotting in mud, will wander lost in Hell their hands design, proudly strutting in waste land of their fear, haunted by mute ghosts of people they killed, till they too shriek in despair at their death. I kneel on windless plain and drink black milk that bubbles from wound in heart of the Earth till my body is suffused with blind grief at senseless death of people I admire, and wanton destruction of paradise, then I scream swarm of crows into the sky. Since kiss of Pygmalion sparks me to life with flame of passion Prometheus stole, I will rise strong from ashes of world war to build new Pandemonium in Hell where I can reign as president for life, alone on stage in theater of skulls.
Saturday, December 9, 2023
When I Overcome Myself
When I Overcome Myself © Surazeus 2023 12 09 With photo of the girl I love in hand I walk the blistering plain of wordless snow in red boots from Berlin to Leningrad where I want to study conceptual flow of demons dancing on high hill of skulls, haunted by millions of bomb-blasted souls. With tattered wings I stole from Icarus I dance across the bridge of evolution that twangs above the bottomless abyss in my quest to transcend the Superman when I overcome myself to become god, hunted into Hell by the justice squad. With rifle of bold will to change my fate I storm the holy citadel of Heaven where I shoot each angel guarding the gate to find nothing on gold throne but Moon Raven who mocks me as I trudge the muddy road back to fatherland of the humming toad. With iron fist in the arrogant tower, first forged from rage by eldest son of Jesus, I build world empire on electric power which I rule from dream cave on Mount Parnassus as dragon rising from the Texas plain because I teleport through drops of rain. With mirror that reflects spiritual stations I lure Amaterasu from her cave to help Rapunzel build United Nations from psychic energy of the sea wave on which I surf back home to Avalon where Ishtar rules, exiled from Babylon. With vibrant radar lyre of Mercury I explore Hades with the submarine on quest to find lost books of sorcery I want to give as gifts to Melusine who waits for me to come home from the war while working in our family grocery store. With treasure map for maze of Samarkand I journey back east with the Monkey King on white horse from Berlin to Leningrad, but I stop to watch sweet Luthien sing till Stalin abducts her from field of flowers and crowns her empress of the factory towers. With Scroll of Isaiah on sea of glass I reveal status of the New World Order based on measurement of atomic mass, employed by contempt of the punk skateboarder who raps about code of the cosmic herald, though I wake up from my visions bedeviled.
Friday, December 8, 2023
Center Of Each Nation
Center Of Each Nation © Surazeus 2023 12 08 The people I meet on the city street do not appear to me as fields of wheat, except as they eat fresh-baked loaves of bread, then gather in church to pray for the dead who haunt their dreams in everything they see, for every river flows on to the sea. The airplanes come and go on silver wings designed by Daedalus to mimic rings that spiral from expressive beat of hope in prayerless ritual that helps lost souls cope when bombs destroy the simple homes they built, fired by the castle king who feels no guilt. The prophet who predicted each world war dies in winter, and will cry out no more with desperate hope to teach the haughty fool, who claims birth gives him divine right to rule, to steer the ship of state through storms of greed, while the humble farmer plants his fruit seed. The blind falconer in tower of hands knows where the center of each nation stands as poles between opposing states of truth, only reconciled by messiah sleuth who binds all religions in one world faith that venerates Soul Egg of the Star Wraith. The boy who falls from Heaven in the sea, while fighting tyranny so we live free, maps where delicate ships go every dawn, amused because they still sail calmly on, as if thousands of children killed by bombs warrant nothing more than forgotten tombs. The sad martyrdom of the innocent, lost in the long-forgotten incident, is nothing more than footnote never read in world chronicle of the nameless dead who ask me, with their faces half-blown off, whether I will render justice, or scoff. The waves of angry fear that circulate over lands of the Earth, darkened by fate, corrupt dishonest decade with despair that shadows deserted Scarborough Fair with golem of our psychopathic god who drives our culture mad with money fraud. The bright euphoric dream of global peace, long sustained by diplomatic caprice, conceals imperial ambitions of kings who trick each other with fake magic rings, so I gaze through vast mirror of my eye while rain continues falling from the sky.
Nonexistence Of Self
Nonexistence Of Self © Surazeus 2023 12 08 Though I can never more talk to the dead by stirring sonic field of mindless thought, I can listen to the dead speak to me through whisper of wind on waves of the lake or mutter of trees on the hills and plains, for they teach me nonexistence of self. With burning needles of the alphabet I can sew vast tapestry from lost tales depicting how we humans have survived since we crawled up rivers to mountain lakes and stood by fruit trees to sing with bird calls stories about nonexistence of self. While walking in the mist of mountain woods on silent vacancy of sunless land between cluttered village of memory and voiceless cave of expectation, I speak the world real to spring from void of hope as river from nonexistence of self. Across the slow flash of one million years I stand beside the river of my mind and listen to its timeless song of love accumulate bright memories of the dead as ceaseless flow of stories humans share that record whole nonexistence of self. Since every river flowing in the world has been named for translator of its song to twisted narrative of human dreams, I search the waste land outside every nation to hear the wordless silence of desire which generates nonexistence of self. Through never-ending cycle of the seasons Earth blooms and decays with song of the water that captures every word humans have spoken to flood lush farms with ideologies when dams of religions collapse from hope, which redesigns nonexistence of self. We gather in garden of paradise to hide from thieves behind walls of desire till Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil has been stripped bare of prayers the dead recite, and we scatter to seed the Earth with words that try to name nonexistence of self. Every day when I wake on Earth again I half-remember the words of the dead they spoke to me in the Realm of Ideas so I can build Heaven from changing forms in temple hall where only the dead speak to calculate nonexistence of self.
Thursday, December 7, 2023
Frail Leaf In The Wind
Frail Leaf In The Wind © Surazeus 2023 12 07 As nothing more than frail leaf in the wind, I float with busy crowd on Friday evening whose faces glow orange in cold sunset fire which writhes with agony at joy of being when I expand on mushrooms from my mind to become ghost in the telephone wire. Though human faces melt into the sea to flash as spirits through the spiral ring, which coils from first flash at the dawn of time, I will transcend this world on breathing wing through complex riddles of the psychic key encoding how my soul evolves from slime. As gleam of sunlight on the river stone vibrating half-awake with cosmic ting, I swim through currents of pneumatic thought with labyrinthine eye of curious unseeing that programs bardic skill in my blind clone who calculates truth through romantic plot. Since sad demonic angels rise from death on whispered words of hope from thermal spring, we transform bodies from mother to child when we evolve with love from benzene ring as cosmic consciousness of holy breath based on immortal soul of genes compiled. As I consider nature of this Earth to ponder what my senses know is real, I carve from diamond my eternal face that mirrors spiral typing of the wheel to measure geography of her girth which plots exclusive curve of time and space. Though I am character in lost scroll of dreams, preserved with integrity of its seal, I choose to walk the road of crowded stores with graceful balance of my psychic keel till I sail from mountain cave of bold streams to float as mute leaf past unopened doors. As I beguile attentive crowd of ghosts, who want to understand what humans feel, with ancient epic of philosophers, I channel energy of loyal zeal by building castles on storm-battered coasts where princesses live with cartographers. Though I am frail leaf on wild wind of change, forged into prophet by this weird ordeal, I keep wise insight into flow of life encoded in concept of the ideal to incarnate trope that presents whole range of treasures I win overcoming strife.
Aware That I Am Real
Aware That I Am Real © Surazeus 2023 12 07 The voice at the other end of my life calls me to swim in memories of the time I first became aware that I am real while rising ever upward toward the light that shimmers through eccentric waves of thought till I burst through clear surface of the sea. The moving water is no metaphor that carries my mind across the vast void through repetition of elegant waves which return to the beginning of the end with each expression of sorrow-bound joy atoning for the words I never speak. With the ax Daedalus chops down the tree, then with the saw he cuts it into parts which he assembles in the cart with wheels that bears the statue of the formless god his mind invents from nothingness of hope while children strew it with flowers and fruit. His son refuses to wear the wood wings that he invents to escape from the tower which towers over labyrinth of halls he designed to trap monster of desire the young princess bore from seed of the bull who laughs at children learning how to fish. He cannot rest after working six days to build the palace with ten thousand doors so Hercules can find his way back home though he wanders lost in the Underworld after drinking potion of mushroom mead to search for Venus in dark swirling mist. If they decide to fight over the girl who hides in shadow of the apple tree, Daedalus and Hercules would destroy beautiful garden where wild Maenads dance ten thousand years as empires rise and fall to prove fertility could conquer death. Instead they reconcile knowledge with strength in shining wisdom of the singing nymph who climbs the wind-swept pyramid of skulls to reign over vast kingdom of the mad who fight each other for whose god is real while the Earth keeps on spinning in the void. The boulder that rolled off the mountaintop one million years before I wake from dream, and lodged against grassy bank of the stream, realigns ceaseless current of star light, so when I pluck apple from Tree of Life I will remember timeless glow of love.
Wednesday, December 6, 2023
Follow Chariot Of Phaethon
Follow Chariot Of Phaethon © Surazeus 2023 12 06 Holding the White Rose of the Holy Ghost, I walk within walls of Jerusalem to find sacred stone on the mountain top where light of the sun once became the man who teaches us how to make angel wings so when they kill us we forget to die. From vision of the prophet on the street, who walks into the sky on divine breath, I extract conceptual nature of truth so when I gaze through telescope of faith I can see Heaven shine among the stars where Jehovah sits on his diamond throne. But vision of paradise with fruit trees vanishes in smoke of exploding bombs that Jehovah fires from tower of skulls to drive lost tribes from the Promised Land who wander nowhere in the wilderness to found new empire of the red right hand. Yet I dance laughing in the summer breeze around cobwebbed ruins of dead-god tombs while sons of Apollo herd Texas bulls to honor Mithra and his red-cape brand through endless human search for happiness that springs from mountain cave near Samarkand. Far from the misty isle of Avalon where my ancestors lived ten thousand years I hitchhike signless highway from Seattle to cross east of the Mississippi River on quest to find where Melusine was born, but linger lost in Appalachian hills. Somewhere in snowy woods of Idaho the covered wagon my ancestors drove over high Rocky Mountains from Missouri among lush hills of the Oregon Trail now rots in tangled roots of the oak tree my great-great-grandmother planted with tears. Wading waters that flood Miami Beach, I raise old wood guitar over my head, but walk not on water like Jesus did, though I see Venus on the scallop shell, hair blown by breath of Zephyrus, my guide who teaches me the honest facts of death. From time-shattered walls of Jerusalem, through golden halls of Athens on the hill, beyond crowded streets of Byzantium, I follow chariot of Phaethon past Heaven on endless quest to find some secret vale where I can live free from old castle kings.
Tuesday, December 5, 2023
Build Our Secret Home
Build Our Secret Home © Surazeus 2023 12 05 Elusive sense of sorrow in the wind leads me back to the rocky river shore in the sun-suffused countryside of hills where I stand in silver shimmer of time and cast the fishing line into clear waves so I can find who breathes the world alive. The girl who rises from the river flow shows me the world mirror without a face, then leads me to the tree without its fruit and asks me how I can live without her, so I hold her hand and give her a name as we walk the signless road to the sky. Together in soft whisper of the wind, we feel bright consciousness of aching love curl around our bones with roots of trees that sparkle with snowflakes of endless hope which swirl around us on the houseless plain where we decide to build our secret home. Huddled on river stones in blue moonlight, bodies glowing with each crackle of ice that fractures the moon into dusty snow, we sing with Mercury howl of the wind that twists contorted branches of our bones with ceaseless orbit of the naked hill. Because magnetic vibrance of the moon bonds our two hearts in ache of desperate hope we feel our world unravel into fear, undone by visions of blind skeletons who dance around wild flames of solitude with tense compassion of the river stone. Till dawn dissolves white nothingness of death with sparkling rivulets of honest hope we seek dark flame of blind eternity deep in our hearts unfractured as the moon who kisses us with warmth of wretched fear, so we hug each other and walk again. Fur glowing gold with red flash of the dawn, the green-eyed fox emerging from grim woods pauses in meadow of moon-frosted snow and watches us with compassionate love, then vanishes into shadow of joy that guides our way across the roadless world. Picking apples from tall tree on the hill, we eat sweet juicy fruit of the kind Earth while roaming along river of white stones as if we have forgotten how to laugh when summer melts our sorrows into streams where our children play outside our strange dreams.
Demon Who Eats Words
Demon Who Eats Words © Surazeus 2023 12 05 Because I fight the demon who eats words with mocking laughter of sad elegies, my mind becomes crowded with singing birds who swarm around me bearing secret keys, so when I open cage door of my heart they soar on weird patterns of the star chart. Through spiral whirl of psychic energy fierce dream songs, sprouting from my fertile brain, blast into lies cruel ideology of racist hate that proves the proud are vain with bold tornado of satiric spells that crawl on claws from demon-haunted wells. Alarmed by fetid beliefs of their minds that some humans are superior to others, I smash false principles of race that binds frightened nations into fierce band of brothers who kill women and children with wild glee when they rampage on their bloodthirsty spree. Instead of fighting fascists wearing crowns who claim divine right to exploit the poor, they should be protecting the small-farm towns where Worried Mother keeps watch in the door for their men who grow food that feeds the world, but now we cry out for the cosmic herald. Though our world seems to spin out of control with fractured nation-states that worship gods based on ancestors who enforced their goal, eccentric characters form justice squads to fight for equal rights of every person, yet the situation just seems to worsen. When common people begin to awaken and rise against the wealthy clutching power, state institutions will collapse when shaken, so self-crowned tyrants retreat to the tower, then send soldiers to commit genocide against the foreigners who hurt their pride. Yet Cronus always rises from dream caves to lead their revolution against Heaven that leaves crippled angels fallen in waves at joyful lamentation of Moon Raven who emerges scathed from the history book to free Mute Princess from the fractured rook. Beware the demon who will eat your thoughts when you play chess game with Death on the beach, lest they replace us with servile robots who perform tasks only angels can teach through strange artificial intelligence programmed from proverbs of our common sense.
Monday, December 4, 2023
Dream One Million Years
Dream One Million Years © Surazeus 2023 12 04 The book that always falls off the glass shelf, which hides the true story of my weird birth, flies away on raven wings to the west to find out where the sun goes when it dies but never returns from white flame of death when I dream one million years in the pool. Cold bitter wind that blows up from the sea steals pages from the book I cannot find though I climb in the red oak on the hill and search for angels swimming in green waves as if they would bring apples to my hand while I dream one million years in the pool. The soft voice of eerie Mercury light, which calls me from the book inside the sun, reflects strange face in mirror of the moon who sings to me before I wake at dawn each time I call to mother of the sky though I dream one million years in the pool. The wild explosion of the lightning strike, that curls around taut whirling of my heart, reveals stark truth of horror I accept when cannons blast the castle walls to dust that covers skull of my mother who sings as I dream one million years in the pool. Alone in rubble of the castle hall, I watch ten thousand silver ravens fly straight up across harsh buzzing of the sky, so I paint charging bulls on the cave wall to calculate dire wisdom of the rule how I dream one million years in the pool. While my mind glows hot as the burning bush with visions of some strange future I fear, Jesus escapes from bloody crucifix to tend my wounds with gentle healing touch, then takes my hand and bids me rise from death, yet I dream one million years in the pool. While human empires rise and fall in waves that wash around the world in bloody wars I stand on pyramid of the One Eye and write the names of the dead in my book which grows into enormous vampire god if I dream one million years in the pool. Along misty Sligachan River shore, that flows from pages of the ancient book, I walk toward castle of the Fairy Queen where Scathach invites me to eat and drink, so I play harp and chant weird spells that ask why I dream one million years in the pool.
Sunday, December 3, 2023
Why People Have To Die
Why People Have To Die © Surazeus 2023 12 03 Through puzzling lucence of the pulsing Earth, swirled from combustion of gases and souls, nameless shadows of people I admire arrange themselves with meaning in my mind so I accept as facts we must discuss bewildering certainties of love and death. Long hours we wander barefoot by the sea we share confusing prayers for secret truth that only wordless waves would understand, contained in dreams of blind idealists who scatter cultural trash along the beach where optimism festers in tide pools. Hiding abstract rage in cool axioms that tangle human hearts with postulates, I try to fix the engine of the world that clacks with busted gears of principles no longer programmed to guide how we act with respect toward strangers in distant lands. My long unspoken hopes for global peace molder in fractured puddle by the road where children gather in blood-red sunset to place skulls of their parents on dry grass, then ask the trees why people have to die while kings in palaces eat apple pie. Because the mirror swallows my real face with each expression of justice I howl my tendency to prophesy the truth throws my body naked in the cold sea so I learn to swim on wings of desire as I sink deeper in abyss of doom. When I watch the dust mote balance on light with obvious metaphor of raven wings I feel my heart shoot arrow of contempt at careless fool whose actions cause me harm with ill intent to destroy all I build so they can claim my paradise as theirs. Since I repair the foundation of truth with complex principles that state old facts I fall in mute complacency of trust that all my actions cause good to occur to shore my heart against ruins of fear with each rocket that kills thousands of souls. When I portray our world without the fall to prove we ever rise from swirling seas I redesign ontology of faith that fuels my progress to the Promised Land as futile quest to build new paradise where every human lives with equal rights.
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