How To Grow Dream Wings © Surazeus 2026 06 17 When he hears his child in her clean bedroom cry with voice that cracks the evening moon, Joseph lifts her up from the wood-barred crib and holds her in his arms with gentle care, humming wordless song to comfort her heart while he contemplates how to make her smile. Our hearts are permanent as twinkling stars that gleam in swirls of smoke from a warm hearth, so cling to me with comfort-seeking arms and I will teach you how to grow dream wings so you may fly beyond bounds of this world and find its secret treasures in your heart. Hearing her husband sing soft lullaby to their daughter when she wakes from nightmare, Kate gathers raindrops from cup of the rose and sprinkles eyes of angels on her cheeks, then as she cuddles with husband and child she snaps photos with eye-phone of her heart. Posting photos of their cute family on social media sites with glowing heart, Kate drinks juice by the frosted window pane then plays haunting tunes on the old piano, on which her grandmother used to play hymns, beaming that she preserves her legacy. Gazing in eyes of his daughter with pride, Joseph tells her with reassuring voice that he can see reflected in her eyes timeless light of the moon that preserves memories of her childhood in tender songs that hide in heart of the crow in the oak. Because we are all dying every day, Kate sings with maternal lullaby voice, we give each other love with caring faith for we are transient shadows of the wraith who gives our hearts wings of courageous hope so we can transform sorrows into joy. As you grow up and learn to walk and speak, Joseph explains as he kisses her cheek, we will show you beauty of this world for, though all creatures breathing air of hope will die and vanish into nothingness, while we still live we give each other love. How glad am I, Joseph hears Kate exclaim, that we are safe in great America where everyone is free to live and play, instead of in those lands across the sea where gangsters in harsh halls of government bomb homes of families who are just like us.
Wednesday, June 17, 2026
How To Grow Dream Wings
Never About The Trees
Never About The Trees © Surazeus 2026 06 17 Because it was never about the trees, except how telephone poles steal her voice and twist emotional tones into jokes, Nerthus decides to build home furniture, molding raw wood into tables and chairs which brings people together with calm love. Through hypothetical thoughts of desire with unshared solitude of calm regret, Nerthus measures vastness of her weird heart that wears mask on deserted stage of faith in tune with social discourse of the hour when she traverses time without her heart. Since she can never understand our words, despite embracing feelings she finds cold, Nerthus translates strange shadow of her mind to clarity of colors angels brew from blood of children killed in civil wars whose faces glow from flash of friendly bombs. Based on unknown proverb of naked truth, that doubles phantoms of our hungry souls through endless mirrors on pages of books, Nerthus calculates equivalent thoughts to match alien truths devised to untwist beauty born from concept of nothingness. Since words of wisdom bleed from her torn tongue, against inverted pattern striped with eyes, Nerthus maps contemptuous canticles smeared across ghost-bare hills of tangled roots to prove her speech expresses how she feels with honest bitterness of unearned love. When she decides that yellow asters match veils of silent rapture drenched in mute rain, Nerthus conducts shy ceremonial game to hide unhealed wounds of maturity with solemn chorus only lake winds scream, too beautiful for chords that hurt our hearts. Her tales may seem vaguely mysterious since her beliefs are hidden in plain code, so Nerthus cracks oblivion with prayers unanswered after weirdly portent words reveal blank space between our pulsing hearts that no amount of trust can bridge till death. Since consequence of her belief in God means nothing to cold waves that wreck hard cliffs with gentle kisses of indifferent love, Nerthus gives her daughter small apple seed without explaining how to build new home from planks of wood that rot in hungry rain.
Tuesday, June 16, 2026
Rising Sun Of Truth
Rising Sun Of Truth © Surazeus 2026 06 16 Though blinded by the rising sun of truth, that deconstructs weird religious world view preprogrammed in my brain as I grew up, I gaze with awe at beauty of the world that blazes brightly outside frame of words with glow that dissolves ideologies. Awakened by the rising sun of truth, that cracks mirror of my childhood beliefs, I gather fragments of social events to assemble new world ontology depicting progress of the human race as monkeys boasting they have angel wings. Heart entranced by the rising sun of truth, that luminates grove of shadowy ghosts, I enter cave beside the roaring sea where Polyphemus kept his herd of sheep to hear his skull explain in riddle-code how to take power in the Twilight Zone. Empowered by the rising sun of truth, that channels souls of ancient demigods through flashing neurons of my spongy brain, I strum the broken lyre of Mercury and howl conceptual hymns of ardency before locked gates of Heaven in hard rain. Soul transformed by the rising sun of truth, that rearranges puzzle of my mind, I organize my random memories in coherent narrative of my life where I journey on quest of the wise fool to comprehend the true nature of things. Still amazed by the rising sun of truth, that weaves my soul from flashing molecules, I climb high rugged trail of eager hope to grand castle on steep Harshena peak to find Thoosa bathing in her pool who hopes I will give her Apple of Eris. Not amused by the rising sun of truth, that melts thick wax of my Icarian wings, I visit Catullus in his humble home where zephyrs rustle leaves of apple trees as Aphrodite dances in silk gown while airplanes bomb cathedral of the clown. Analyzed by the rising sun of truth, that conjugates emotions of my heart through unauthorized ciphers of charades, I dismantle components of my brain designed to calculate customized worth, then document dynamic game of thrones.
Stranger With Four Eyes
Stranger With Four Eyes © Surazeus 2026 06 16 Strange laughter echoes in deserted streets where ghosts of children killed in civil wars play hide and seek with angels of the moon, which startles me awake from reverie concerning how to rebuild fantasy that we require to live our daily lives. Shocked by harsh candor of our unchurched bells that ring with frantic ecstasy of fear, my doppelganger hides his secret face with mask he steals from cracked statue of God which proves new zeitgeist messes with our minds by rearranging moral signs of fate. We need to hear sad whistle of the train that blows across broad prairie of mad wind as if the tame wolf of our legal hearts aches to escape cold walls of paradise and run with ravens along railroad tracks which always leads our hearts to Wonderland. Too fake our private stories of success for fools to understand straight messages, encoded with proud riddles of the banks that charge us hidden fees of fortitude, so we decide to flee the Promised Land by wearing white cloaks in the swirling snow. To mark our journey in dark pathless woods, I leave old photos of our family times along the way we wind in withered waste, but oldest woman in the world retrieves discarded memories with attentive hands and pastes them in her album of lost tales. When I find Sibyl with gold spider eyes lounging casually by the willow tree, I ask if I can have my memories back, but she laughs softly as the butterfly, then plays heart-wrenching tunes on violin that shatters our moon in fragments of faith. I wander blind deserted streets of hope and map each spot where I hear ghostly cry to mark where someone felt their heart crack wide from shock at crumbling of our old world view so I can analyze with careful code spatial adjustment of our social play. Thus when I meet the Stranger with four eyes at signless crossroads by the empty pool, I ask why every conscious creature dies, so she gives me ripe apple of her heart that writhes with golden serpent of desire, and then I understand so much I laugh.
Monday, June 15, 2026
Kaaba Of Her Destiny
Kaaba Of Her Destiny © Surazeus 2026 06 15 Walking toward the sea to find her lost words that rise in blazing glory of red dawn, Sepideh sings with strange enchanting voice about innocent birds that lose their wings so they find refuge in the cypress tree and nest in tangled tresses of her hair. Untangling tresses of her long black hair, Sepideh frees the wingless hearts of men who long to remain in trap of her heart, but she finds it sweeter to wander free across deserted Biyaban of hope, and make her bed on burning sand of faith. Far from the crowded cities of locked doors, where men with iron hands grasp at her heart, Sepideh finds in dark deserted cave Apron of Kaveh tattered in the dust, so she cleans Flag of Freedom with her tears, then bears it as she walks the signless road. Kneeling by bright pond in Biyaban, where gold sun frames her heart with wordless grace, Sepideh gazes in mirror of love past mask of her face in the Ayeneh where she perceives divine Light of Zurvan that luminates pure nature of mankind. While she follows flow of the Haraz River, that winds through oak woods to Mount Damavand, Sepideh smiles when morning Saba breeze brings scent of cloves to soothe her aching heart, bearing secret message of yearning love from faceless lover she may never meet. She finds no roses in the Biyaban, where no Majnun, possessed with bitter grief, flees from oppressive rules of social pride, nor hears forlorn song of the nightingale, yet boundless regions of the houseless waste expands scope of true love in her vast heart. Seeking star-eyed beauty of the Simurgh, which emanates from her love-wounded heart, Sepideh walks the roadless wilderness on treacherous journey of her aching soul, disoriented by shattering of her mask, so she dances wildly with Saba wind. Awake in Golestan, garden of fruit, reborn from horror of the Biyaban, Sepideh sings with mercurial voice while caressing rose petals of respect, then laughs as she drinks wine of starlit truth, safe in the Kaaba of her destiny.
New Lamp Of Diogenes
New Lamp Of Diogenes © Surazeus 2026 06 15 Though the world grows dark from cruel tyranny through oppression of greedy oligarchs who have seized power in grand halls of state, I shall walk forth on signless road of fate bearing the new Lamp of Diogenes so we can unite to fight against hate. With pompous heart of King Lear on the heath, commiserating with wretches of fate pelted by pitiless storm of despair, I raise my wounded soul up from the ground to bear the new Lamp of Diogenes and prove the Heavens are just to the wronged. Concerned about weird state of world affairs, corrupted by gangs of exploitive thieves, I take clear measure of humanity to analyze chess games of global power, then bear the new Lamp of Diogenes to find the honest leader we can trust. Through knowledge of suffering people endure I transform pity to attentive grace by looking in my heart of eager faith so I may know what vision to invent, beamed by the new Lamp of Diogenes, that luminates our way to paradise. When sunlight coils saturation of loss by folding feathered swirls of timeless truth, my heart shall annotate redacted code that could obliterate our spectacle tuned by the new Lamp of Diogenes so we surf endless waves of social change. Though I do not know name of every soul who lives in every land of spinning Earth, I know we share same dreams of love with hope for we are neighbors in opposing states, tricked by the new Lamp of Diogenes to believe we all can achieve world peace. Around bright campfire of our global faith we gather with lost refugees of fate when tyrants bomb our homes to steal our land, then feast and sing with faith in loyal trust forged by the new Lamp of Diogenes as light that guides our quest to nurture love. With lion heart of courage we shall walk with Sharbat Gula on long road of fear, enduring cruel vicissitudes of fate, for her green eyes of wisdom glow with faith, sparked by the new Lamp of Diogenes to dispel darkness of cruel tyranny.
Sunday, June 14, 2026
Ghost Of My Fractured Soul
Ghost Of My Fractured Soul © Surazeus 2026 06 14 Bright ghosts of all the lives I could have lived swarm all around me in the maze of myths, so I assign each alternative self weird variant on the name Odysseus, for though they set out on their quest for home they each live and die in some foreign town. I hear their songs in silence of the day, so I record memories they throw away because they have all disappeared from time which leaves me now alone of all my selves erased from possibilities of fate while still alive in shadow of my home. Strange cry of sorrow tainted by pure joy rings out through endless forest of dead trees, so I climb every mountain in the world to find source of this cry of bitter hope, till I realize with laughter of soft rain that it comes out of my own aching heart. The scarlet raven on my shoulder sings with pure voice mimicking the nightingale to prove the dire wolf glowing in my heart keeps me alive on journey to the west when I search cathedral ruins of dead gods for holy scripture that lives in my heart. Since I take the low road where the sun shines bright I hear birds of hope sing in grieving trees though I wander where the wildflowers spring for I hope to meet my true love by moonlight where we had parted in the shady glen as lovers on bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. Though every living thing on Earth will die and wither in the turning flow of time, we glow with mystery of the universe when we stand in the field where lilies bloom and let the timeless gleam of ancient stars penetrate our hearts with ache of true love. I wish to be as generous as Death who treats each living soul with gift of joy since we glow fragile as the lily bloom that sprouts in jagged rocks of the glen pool with kind attendance of the honey bees though thunderstorms crack illusion of faith. I may never see misty glens of Scotland in fleeting drama of my secret life yet spirit of your love blooms in my heart no matter where I roam in this wide world, so I send last ghost of my fractured soul to meet you on bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.
Stories Mirrors Tell
Stories Mirrors Tell © Surazeus 2026 06 14 I have read all the stories mirrors tell, pursued by gold-tongued furies of concern, unreal as angels in our grocery stores, startled by scattered brilliance of false faith that severs my heart from kite of the sun with suddenness of unwanted world fame. Waves of green memory engulf my heart with tattered pages of electric books that recount fight for crown of global power, though I sail far on argosy of hope in vain attempt to find the Promised Land that always vanishes as we approach. Though rational light of social insight disperses shadows of religious faith, I cling to fractured rainbow of one fact, that we are temporary flames of light undone by ecstasy of secret dreams which I decode in stories no one reads. Green odor of strange darkness in the tree uncovers coldness folded inside leaves, moon rays that rustle softly into words which weave strange web of silver-shimmer light that binds support pillars of belief to bridge vast emptiness between our hearts. Strange seeds of proverbs, secretly discerned, flicker forth from arched bough of ecstasy to veil my grave with pages of old books at supple rocking of infernal light that teaches darkness how to flow till dawn so I taste perfect sorrow of desire. Night flowers into stories angels steal by giving fruit to wounded refugees who crowd streets of clean cities with despair, forbidden to own land or labor well, as if our hearts are leeches to be crushed, so we clutch handfuls of hydraulic dust. Roots twine about my pulsing heart with faith that all we build will crumble into sand through fertile season of electric birds, so I leap over garden walls of hope that harden brave around astringencies when I adjust somnolent grace at dawn. Though we still process summer balances with frantic gaiety of elephants, I package fractured memories of fate in polished casement of Plutonian pride, which I intend to hide in state archives that should preserve decrees of solitude.
Win The Apple Of Eris
Win The Apple Of Eris © Surazeus 2026 06 14 Assembled angels on the Pantheon watch horses race across the roadless plain to win the Apple of Eris with speed that honors wind ghost of the primal seed from which all creatures of spinning Earth spring at spark of love when Daughters of Time sing. When people thank God for their victories in sports competitions to win Gold Keys, I laugh because they still believe the creed which Al-Ghazali taught in fevered screed that God controls where every atom goes so what occurs is Law that God bestows. If every act of force that I perform was decreed by God before I was born, then I am but dumb puppet of his Will, so I commit no sin, though I may kill, and thus cannot be punished for some crime that God makes me do in flow of space-time. Yet supernatural conscious God of Fate, who forces us to play his game as bait, is not as real as priests want me to think, since atoms randomly swerve at the brink which causes them to swirl in globes of life where brain-urged creatures clash in hungry strife. If flashing atoms always beam too straight through boundless void of space due to their weight, they never would collide in coils of light that form matter of the universe right, so Epicurus taught that atoms swerve in random deviations of the curve. If we could predict where each atom moves our actions would be locked in legal grooves, predetermined by divine will of God which would make us puppets committing fraud, so random swerves of atoms in the void breaks chain of necessity we avoid. Thus we assert soft force of our free will when we ascend to fruit grove on the hill where we tame horses with sweet fruit of trust, subsuming mindless energy of lust, so we can bridle passion of their flight in race to achieve the heavenly height. How far across the spinning globe I fly on horse of wisdom to discover why our bodies spring from laughter of the sea as we investigate how to live free when we assert free will by conscious choice, then chronicle events with honest voice.
Incarnation Of Saint Michael
Incarnation Of Saint Michael © Surazeus 2026 06 14 The narrow dusty road across bleak plain, that takes me past wind-weathered hills of hope, seems to extend forever to the sky, but I know somewhere far beyond despair stands shining temple of wise Jupiter who hosts grand banquets for lost travelers. But by the time I arrive at his hall ten thousand years of reckless social change have transformed villages of hungry farmers to vast metropolitan maze of streets so piston-engine cars glide past glass towers where Jupiter reigns as bank president. The silver airplane Daedalus designed, which Icarus pilots with focused faith, zooms swiftly far in high celestial realm so wingless angels manage world affairs in global council of state ministers where Jupiter presides with wise insight. Peter chuckles at vision of the world that Michael proffers with clever grin where mythic spirits of conceptual gods provide vigor of ideal characters as psychic force of social energy which incarnate in normal mortal men. Consider how mythic tag of our name acts as key to initiate psychic force of social role performed in state of grace by that original person whose mind may exercise broad visionary scope through our contemporary mental form. That first Michael, human who bore my name, now sanctified as archangel whose soul exerted deeds of duty to assert central authority of Jupiter, whose name signifies Jehovah Pater, has become glamorous ideal of the hero. By assigning name of that great archangel, Michael who slays dragon of the cruel tyrant, whose devilish spirit possesses men each generation with ambition to rule with greed, exploiting human slaves for wealth, my mother hopes I will act with his spirit. Therefore, it is my duty in this life, as mortal incarnation of Saint Michael, to save America from tyranny, but how I shall perform this sacred role has yet to manifest, so I employ patience to act well when the time is right.
Saturday, June 13, 2026
Waves Of Vanishing Desire
Waves Of Vanishing Desire © Surazeus 2026 06 13 When Phoebus follows river of his eyes that flow through broken window of his heart, he finds his body in the ocean house that floats on airplane wings of dragon eggs which nurture horse with honeysuckle wings who teaches him how to dig his own grave. Weary on waves of vanishing desire, Phoebus builds another bridge from sparrow bones that gives him strength of harpy butterflies to endure endless days of everywhere because the past returns in loops of laughter where river of his eyes flows to the sea. Heart bruised by shadows of the faceless dead, Phoebus lies on grass while the clock rewires how his sponge brain perceives eternal light that glows from skin of Columbine when she strips mask of her happiness to bare her soul studded with milk-white stars of unmarred faith. Concluding with sly grin of knowingness, Columbine asks the charlatan to prove she has no right to live in paradise, but he sells Bibles to the gullible who cheer when Harlequin erases words to steal the falling star of honesty. Amused at clashing cymbals of respect, Columbine rescues the blind hanging man who sells her memories of their love trysts to kind sorcerers from Bohemia who ask Phoebus to reign as their new king while he rocks his daughter in gentle arms. When Harlequin returns from Kingdom Come and asks bold Columbine to marry him, Phoebus interferes with their fake romance, intending to repair the garden path where Melancholy dances with Disdain as if they are new deities we love. Clotilde points to angels in the sky whose bodies fall as snowflakes on the Earth, so Phoebus makes small snowman on his lawn with twisted tree branches as devil horns while children gather coins from lake-shore mud stamped with cute scene of Bacchus and his pards. While she plays tambourine with broken heart beneath the weeping bells of Notre Dame, Phoebus gives Columbine peach juice to drink so she teaches Clotilde how to paint faces of ghosts who descend from the sky with metallic wings of terrified birds.
Moment Of Lost Time
Moment Of Lost Time © Surazeus 2026 06 13 Now that I am halfway through my life tale, I want to walk with you on the dirt path around the lake where summer breezes blow, and take photographs of your graceful soul to preserve this moment of our lost time so our image will remain though we die. Concerned about the price of tangerines that gleam with waterdrops on the store shelf, we weigh advantages of eating fruit in contrast to expending hours of hope researching variant types of meadow birds who seem to know our final resting place. Distraught by stories in the daily news about women and children who escape bombs that deconstruct their family homes, we turn the television off at sunset and stroll about the quiet neighborhood, waving to every person who drives by. My favorite mural in town of Pompeii, painted on thermopolium cafe, shows graceful Nereid with curly hair riding blue Hippocampus with fish tail while strumming golden lyre of Mercury, for you are incarnation of her soul. Agathodaemon slithering in my heart, with jeweled eyes that know the universe, flutters rainbow feathers along its spine as she protects sacred space of our home where we dwell safe from mobs of hungry souls who clamor for salvation from stone gods. To open crystal portal door of faith and slip back in time to when we first meet so we can avoid our too-tragic fate, we sit together on the river shore and talk about philosophy of being as if we are still Phoebus and Carmenta. Wearing masks of the Singer and the Sibyl, we perform play we wrote about their lives on the outdoor stage in the city park where people gather every Sabbath day to celebrate birth of Zarathia we build from ruins of America. Once romantic play of our lives is done, and all the ravens in the writhing oaks have flown beyond fake walls of paradise, we board small boat of skulls that Charon rows to glide across the oil-black River Styx and live forever in Elysium.
Quest To Find Meaning
Quest To Find Meaning © Surazeus 2026 06 13 I have wandered river landscape of Earth two hundred million years of spinning time on endless quest to find meaning of life, and each moment I almost understand I generate new body with my mate so I continue journey to the stars. Just on the other side of the bright hill where nothingness of death looms over me, I find another world of wooded vales where tribes of people live on river shores so I keep climbing endless hills of hope till I discover that our world is round. I keep on walking to the end of time while singing to beam visions of my eyes which helps me organize my memories in coherent tales of cause and effect so I can map the endless road of faith where other people walk before I come. I follow the rising sun every dawn forever toward the endless sea of light, but then turn away toward the setting sun because I keep walking circles of fate, one hundred thousand years till I arrive at the edge of the world in Oregon. With you at my side on the ocean shore I listen to the endless song of waves which I cannot translate to human words, and explain to you the meaning of life which I discover in my vain attempt to evade death and live another day. If I can find the wings of Icarus and fly above this world of hills and lakes, I would ascend to world of swirling clouds to find grand crystal palace of the gods who live forever in dreams of our minds as our ancestors who watch over us. Stuck in this soft body of hungry flesh as temporary node of deathless genes, my spirit writhes with passion to transcend confining limits of this transient life to savor psychic glow of ecstasy that expands my mind through epiphany. There is no meaning to this sudden life, so we invent religions based on myths of people whose grand deeds of public life are framed with tragic consequence of fate because they try to assert thought control instead of flowing with the tides of change.
Fairyland States Of Zarathia
Fairyland States Of Zarathia © Surazeus 2026 06 13 As psychotic elite who rule the world from Fairyland States of Zarathia, we record spells of the heartless Mermaid from old riddles of her Three-Legged Crow to publish prophecies of faceless gods performed by Oberon on the Late Show. Working late in East Wing of the Black House in Fairyland States of Zarathia, Titania develops social programs designed to help mothers raise children well, but Midas bulldozes her office suite so he can build a Winter Palace Ballroom. Returning home on tattered wings of faith to Fairyland States of Zarathia, Icarus founds start-up tech company that ploys artificial intelligence to automate tedious business tasks which garners wealth for man in the glass mask. Nontoxic masculinity of faith through Fairyland States of Zarathia contrives mental recipes of fraught faith from bland conviction social rules require for sorting souls by color of their skin against creed of Heaven death nullifies. Campaigning to become next President of Fairyland States of Zarathia, Oberon journeys to the mountain cave where Saint Fillan convinces the wild wolf to plow fields of wheat in place of the ox because the farmer is the key to wealth. Marsh orchids blooming purple from lush hills in Fairyland States of Zarathia, give courage to lost refugees of war afflicted by gang of cruel oligarchs, so they smuggle ginger wine into Hell where they dance on corpse of the fallen tyrant. Driven from Hibernia by dream thieves to Fairyland States of Zarathia, we wander signless road of nowhere else because we never find the Promised Land, so we build amusement park Wonderland where wingless angels pretend they can fly. Unlocked gates of technological Heaven in Fairyland States of Zarathia expose collectible memories we share as mass delusion of national pride when we experience television shows to celebrate birthday of our lost empire.
Friday, June 12, 2026
Winding Road Of Change
Winding Road Of Change © Surazeus 2026 06 12 When I am ready for the leap of faith from crumbling tower of religious hope I spread wings I borrow from Icarus and wonder with amazement of mute awe why I am me and no one else alive, then lean against the balustrade and sigh. Solaria beams rays of holy light through web of branches in the Tree of Life to luminate deep cavern of my heart where wise demon of my genetic soul conducts analysis of social vibes so I navigate vast maze of myths well. Telluria molds genes of memories from tangled vines of innocent desire, transforming body of material flesh four hundred million years from fish to god that programs how my mind perceives the world so I generate life before I die. Venturia breathes whole ethereal soul through brave pneumatic gust of energy which animates my body of frail flesh with compassion of visionary hope that flashes conscious sense of secret self so I sense cosmic God wake in my brain. Thalassia swirls waves of timeless faith across courageous landscape of my heart which motivates ambitious quest for truth that drives my progress on the road of life to conserve stories of human exploits in chronicles of failure and success. Saturnus wakes my spirit from strange dream and guides my way on winding road of change to navigate confusing maze of ghosts so I find broken lyre of Mercurius that he designed six thousand years ago from turtle shell and strings of aching love. Apollon finds me tangled in despair so he frees my heart from lustful desire by teaching my voice to manipulate images of feeling with words of thought so I transcend greed with selfless concern when I articulate soul of mankind. As wingless angel born from womb of Earth, I crawl from sea along river of hope, climb generous Tree of Life to eat fruit, then follow river to Mountain of Truth where I map history of humanity as we strive to transcend despair with love.
Who You Journey With
Who You Journey With © Surazeus 2026 06 12 Who you journey with on rough road of life is far more important than where you go, so I keep you within scope of my eyes with attentive care to our circumstance to ensure your precious spirit is safe while I gather fresh fruit for you to eat. When Juturna finds creek of clear cold water trickling in thick woods between rugged hills, she follows sparkle of light into gloom till she finds spring that fountains from dark earth, so she proclaims to Janus with sweet voice that she has now found their forever home. Calling out to her mother, Rumina, older woman with long hair and green eyes, Juturna guides her to the fountain grove where they rest in shade of the broad fig tree as Janus plucks sweet fruit for them to eat, then brings them water in new turtle shells. Janus builds temple beside broad fig tree with oak for foundation of the firm floor, four silver firs as columns for roof beams, and cypress for walls and two sturdy doors, around stone hearth that preserves flame of light where Juturna and Rumina cook meals. When Juturna exclaims two cows are gone, Janus and their son Quirinus grab wands and track the cows to large bone-littered cave where the grim giant Cacus snarls in rage, so while Janus distracts him with sharp spear Quirinus leaps on his back with thick vine. After strangling greedy Cacus to death, Quirinus explores dark cave with bright lamp where he finds large diamond that glitters clear as ice-white silver moon on winter nights, so they bear it back to their temple home where Janus sets it firm on altar stone. Gazing deep in crystal sphere of pure light, Juturna sings verse of oracle spells describing visions she sees with her mind how the first flash flares forth from the big bang so threads of sparkling light form spinning globe from which gods and humans spring into life. When pregnant Juturna goes into labor, Rumina attends process of childbirth, then washes the new-born girl clean with care, so while Juturna nurses her with love Janus bestows name Carmenta with pride and gazes in eyes of his reborn mother.
Thursday, June 11, 2026
Persistence Of Secret Love
Persistence Of Secret Love © Surazeus 2026 06 11 I call out to dark shadow on the shore, thinking they must be somebody I know, but they have never existed in time, mind designed with fear-automated gears that wind our mouths with beams of earnest light, reckless with persistence of secret love. If I should offer pessimistic codes without bitterness through security for industrial passion of eager hearts with expeditious game of narratives, I may voice constant struggles to transcend thematic alarm of personal faith. Larger forces in our shared catastrophe render masters of sloganeering tricks responsible for scouring observations designed to model how we weigh our worth when we inhabit avatars of faith against diminishment of miracles. Aghast at framing device angels use to change trajectory of mutant ploys, I gaze in gleam of well water with goal to measure firmament of splendid souls who precede cosmic fixture of old fruit in harmony with psychic consequence. Thus I invert heavens with casual stance in potent reversal of separateness through isolation of our frantic hearts to find divine spirit of clarion faith in subterranean space of pulsing brains where we shelter in place from foul disease. Set on evading fraught taxonomy through calm bewilderment of honesty, I tally inventory of my dreams to comprehend rich treasures I possess while trudging dusty road of jagged thoughts as mordant observer of ardent faith. I taste cathedral stone of elegy amid debris of crumbling tapestries that shroud hope-wrecked cars in junkyard of faith to weep for poisoned land of brutal truth that foils green memory of warm sun calibrated with moral questions of fate. Safe on mixed-grass prairie of humble pride, I build new kingdom of wind in the heart that converts veritable floating ark of nameless creatures writhing in my heart so I broadcast signal of wordless songs that roots my body as idol of faith.
Ruined Temple Of Diana
Ruined Temple Of Diana © Surazeus 2026 06 11 Today I am so happy being alive that I forget to shout at the Blue Sky about the problems humans cause each other till I remember nobody is up there, so I walk around streets of Rome to visit Basilica of Santa Prudentiana. Disgusted with the life I used to lead, tricking people with scams to steal their money, I rename myself after Novatus, then journey to Lake Nemi that gleams blue to sit by ruined Temple of Diana and weep for the loss of beautiful souls. When eerie voice of sorrowful desire rings through dark forest of the eyeless wolf, I walk toward mysterious grove that glows with solemn anguish of the fallen angel who sings with aching wisdom of the stars about the man who sacrificed his soul. Willing to die for the people he loves, Prudentiana sings in gold moonlight, the honest leader who came from the stars nurtures every person with tender care so we develop talents into skills instead of enslaving us for his gain. When I see three men with sharp spears and chains grab Prudentiana with hands of lust, and drag her toward their wagon cage of slaves, I pick up shark rocks from the river shore, whistle as I toss them high in the air that whack them with my wand of liberty. After cracking skulls of slavers with rocks, I unlock wagon cage and set slaves free who fall to their bruised knees with gratitude and proclaim me savior sent down by Zeus, then beg me to play shepherd of their clan, so we journey forth to the Promised Land. Rebuilding ruined Temple of Diana with stones we haul from hill of granite cliffs, we reinstate rituals of daily life, tending gardens of herbs and herds of sheep, with Prudentiana, our clever leader, performing role of Domina Silvarum. Gathered at round table heaped with good food, we celebrate success of our new venture, former slaves working rich communal farm, as Lucina brings light and pitcher of juice, so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing that spirit of God lives in every heart.
Wednesday, June 10, 2026
Ruthless Winners Like Me
Ruthless Winners Like Me © Surazeus 2026 06 10 Time has no frantic pace I can discern that leaves all mortals in cold graves of faith, so I race headlong toward high peak of fame in desperate contest to achieve success above all other losers on this globe whose skulls crumble to dust beside my own. Long tedious days crowd endless short years with daily contests to gather more wealth than competitors in shadowy woods who pray to faceless spirit in the clouds to grant them random luck of generous fate while I hoard food in cold castle of stone. Ignoring cries of homeless refugees, driven from rich lands by laws I decree that river-nourished woods are mine alone, granted divine right to gather and hunt for secret treasures of bountiful Earth, I lounge in tower with coffers of plunder. Though hungry hordes of rebellious fools clamor desperately at gates of my Heaven with revolutionary fervor of blind rage that I gain power through law over land to defeat them in chess game against death, I sip sweet wine and dine on roast beef steak. While they beat drums and pipe with Bacchic frenzy beneath electric horror of the moon, I strum gold strings of the elegant harp and chant harmonious hymns of reverence to praise Lord God whose frank benevolence has blessed me with wit to pilfer their wealth. Removed from teeming crowds of vagrant churls who cry for justice to the empty sky for infernal judgment against my power, I fund their passage on mercantile ships across stormy sea of indifference to slave on my farms in the colonies. Ruled by harsh law of the grim wilderness, that those who are stronger and wiser win in brutal battle of wits to control religious narrative of the whole state based on systemic privilege of wealth, this world honors ruthless winners like me. So though our nameless skulls sit side by side on lightless shelf in cathedral of faith, as if we are equals in realm of death, I stamped my name on grand buildings and laws in legal framework that enforces power of my descendants to exploit your own.
Simple Life Of Solitude
Simple Life Of Solitude © Surazeus 2026 06 10 I shall go out to field of tangled briars to build myself small hut from bones of birds, and there with brave attention of the wind begin grand process of devouring myself, so I may gaze with passion of the oak at image of my soul in Walden Pond. Lounging on front porch of the small wood cabin, which they erected beside Walden Pond, Henry Thoreau and his walking companion, William Channing, sip hot herbal tisanes that they brew from pine needles and mint, and chat about philosophy of life. Because the complex rituals of our lives are frittered away by involved details that lure our progress into labyrinths of trivial necessity through care, we must eradicate tangled obligations and simplify slate of our daily tasks. If one man who follows preordained paths, assigned by social duty of his state, cannot keep strict pace with his companions, perhaps he hears beat of another drummer, so let him step to music which he hears however boldly measured or far away. Thus I proceed with confidence of faith in clear direction of my secret dreams to live this simple life of solitude that I imagine while I ponder fate, for the great characteristic of wisdom is to abstain from doing desperate things. When I observe human society I see thousands hacking at branches of evil, while one who sees what he is looking for strikes at deep roots of selfish greed and hate that foments strife through jealousy and fear with action that obstructs destructive deeds. However mean and poor your life may seem, meet circumstance with passion of respect, and do not shun its most difficult events, for fault-finders find fear in paradise while thrill-seekers find elation in hell, for it is better to serve than to reign. When dawn gleams gold on sheen of Walden Pond, Henry and William eat sweet hasty-pudding of cornmeal, molasses, ginger, and milk, then set out down the signless road of hope on yet another vigorous walk-and-talk with goal to climb rugged Mount Monadnock.
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