Facile Force Of Fate © Surazeus 2026 02 08 If we ignore how our tears drown the world with cheerful anecdotes of weird success we might find ancient mask of innocence in gloomy evening of the silent house by counting raindrops streaming down cracked glass which seem to represent people we love. If we must think about empowerment by running across shifting sands of change we should assess treasures from cabarets that we inherit without ache of need so we may fashion better way to live beyond confusion of hypocrisy. If we escape cage of bewilderment with shining faces of gods we could steal we may dispel deception of the state that preys on us with facile force of fate by choosing who plays prophet of our creed though trapped in shadow of the global church. If we sell bread of hope to lonely souls who wander in the signless neighborhood we might learn how to fish for compliments that we can roast on flames of poverty while we adore the new celebrity who gives us cans of food we cannot eat. If we think we are not responsible for safety of our stolen relatives we cannot sell torn tickets to the game because we lost the key to global fame so we extinguish smoldering fears of death to sell our luggage in the marketplace. If we presume to be more innocent without insurance to back up our claim we should suspect the holy priest of fraud who sells us tickets to the afterlife that we leave scattered on the desert sand as we keep searching for the Promised Land. If we try to improve our attitude by waiving all our inalienable rights we may have to fight for rotten respect because we are the lost cause of the world detained by secret police without eyes who accuse us all of being foreign spies. If we divine state of our bankruptcy through gleam of trophies on the sagging shelf we could buy forty acres by the sea where proud grandfather clock of broken time records each penalty we cannot pay by burning family albums just at dawn.
Sunday, February 8, 2026
Facile Force Of Fate
Civil War In Cyberspace
Civil War In Cyberspace © Surazeus 2026 02 08 Staring out the kitchen window at dawn, Martin wonders if his life has been real, or if his memories are fragments of shows he saw on television in childhood, which his mind composed from various tropes to present himself as hero of fate. Driving car on crowded highway of hope, Martin considers possibility that he is not first son of Bob and Kate, that he is some manufactured android programmed with memories his maker designed from home movies about his son who drowned. Gasping for breath in wild waves of the sea, Martin swims away from the sinking ship, smashed by the white whale of the dark abyss, till he lies exhausted on beach of sand, then wanders in dark forest of blind ghosts to drink fresh water from small bubbling spring. Typing bold words on bright computer screen, Martin transcribes company documents to digital format for the Space Age, yet dares not daydream he pilots starship on five-year mission to explore deep space and go where no android has gone before. Drinking beer with college classmates at night, Martin declares with confidential smirk that his real name, as Android Eight Mark Four, is Nitram, mirror image of his soul, then staggers home in darkness of the world to sleep all night on the library porch. Transforming from human to demi-god, Martin extends one hundred thousand arms, and blinks awake with eighty million eyes inside the minds of all his relatives who walk around the Earth in mute surprise, when he ascends as Nitrama to Heaven. Transcending physical limits of being, Nitrama floats above the turning world on flowing fibers of angelic wings while watching humans live their futile lives as they fight civil war in cyberspace over true nature of America. Sitting on the couch with his girlfriend Grace, Martin watches the World Superbowl Game and cheers when his favorite team wins the trophy, then stands at the fractured window of time and feels his god-spirit Nitrama float too big to contain the world in his head.
Saturday, February 7, 2026
Opposing States Of Mind
Opposing States Of Mind © Surazeus 2026 02 07 Every soul on Earth can see the same moon vibrant with carnelian glow of brain quartz as we dance with faith in strawberry fields to comfort lost souls on the windy plain, so I cannot feel lonely in my home when I can see your faces in its mask. My restless eyes shift up toward mirror skies to see electric energy of minds employ brave perseverance to perceive star-focused landscape of questioning hearts which sparks aspirant curiosity encoded in bold mission to the stars. Through cosmic contradiction of our faith we comprehend opposing states of mind as mirror images reflecting clear both aspects of each complex circumstance conditioned by global state of affairs so we build castle from hard blocks of ice. With furtive glance of cautious interest I shout into vast void of innocence while standing on Mount Carmel before noon to eat the poisoned fruit of haughty hope which cures depression of anxiety so I know why the caged bird is dead. Though fallen from bright Heaven of respect on tattered wings of comfortable despair I walk beside dark sea of nonchalance to clear my heart of soul-wounding fatigue by cultivating calm aesthetic mood which fuels my brave ascension beyond fear. Fertile landscape of our generous world is filled with people wounded by their pride, trapped by ambition of time-spiraled hearts to play ecstatic receiver of love, palpable with angst of harrowing hope no more inevitable than sunrise. Far down dark passage I will never take toward door I never open till I die I follow echo ringing beyond time to twirl on still point of the multiverse since I follow deception of the crow who teaches me to sing with dignity. Though I cannot say where I always am I weave weakness of my body with pain so I gain courage to endure long hours when I expand scope of my consciousness to dream the future present in the past till I may reconcile with nothingness.
Impact Of Modal Verse
Impact Of Modal Verse © Surazeus 2026 02 07 Articulation of conceptual thought through modalities of image and sound motivates heart of Luke with weird insight to navigate complex landscape of truth by crafting virtual vision of our world that connects passive viewer to the seer. Impactful statement of the portrait sears assertive code of emotional truth to bridge linguistic gap of writhing words between the artist and their audience by sparking private connection of hope within broad cultural framework of desire. Intellectual impact of modal verse echoes proverbial jokes of social change based on transcendent principles of love that lights our journey beyond simple myths through complex maze of ambiguous facts in large-scale exhibition of strange tales. Process of engaging multiple layers, that support opposing concepts of truth, through non-linear installations of scenes, guides Luke across political landscape as character in national tapestry woven from our human experience. Depictions designed by mad fools present natural, rural, and urban environments through digital landscape of photographs where Luke explores modalities of truth with image of divine authority preserved in gesture of dream-tangled text. Abstract creeds of grand ideologies form critical structure from fractured states based on accessible puzzles of fate through sensory experience of pleasure so Luke interprets song of ocean waves which translates nodes of psychic energy. Diverse methods of expression enhance impactful progress of remembering when Luke conspires with personalities he finds lost deep in mordent maze of myths to finetune resonance of social tropes that help us navigate emotional states. Physical context of critical thought extracts raw concepts from cave of illusions so Luke converts soul-wounding angst to love through alchemical transference of fear to mold verbal container for dream wraiths who writhe rooted in semiotic trance.
Helpless Fantasy Of Wealth
Helpless Fantasy Of Wealth © Surazeus 2026 02 07 Irrational residue of vibrant matter contracts through sentences of phony words which resonate with blackness of the night based on virtual reality of thoughts we sell each other in dark alleyways while leaning on the chain-link fence of faith. Each morning we wake up stronger than hope by sealing midnight pain with almost love despite expressive stones of ardency contained in familiar story untold about how society breaks in bands who dwell unpeacefully in dead-end towns. Heroic figures straddle tallest clouds to scatter coins of water on our heads while we watch prophet of the fallen god wrestle vainly in fields of rotten wheat where characters from stories never read wither with helpless fantasy of wealth. Awake on our wedding night, I explain how sorrow burns beautiful hearts to glass, deeper than inability to talk about violence half-seen in dim woods where noble warriors get caught in traps yet yell at houses with exploding doors. Clever belief system of structured facts intrigues hungry gangs of wandering clowns who insist they are hunters of the heart though biographies they scribble with blood are thrown on junkheap of religious faith beneath great mountain carved with face of God. Alert to sudden truth of angry kings, she spreads her arms out to the fractured sky that disappears in tone of screaming trees with courage to oppose the police state that imitates how Heaven controls minds based on progress of economic games. Through unilateral breath of holy law our car mechanic memorizes jokes encoding principles of moral tricks which illustrate our failure and success despite dissatisfaction shared by all concerning state of illusion we flee. Gorgeous fortune never favors the bold for superfluous gears programming time since we must accept emotional traps which we present as the true way we live supported by traditions mothers mend through symbiosis of our pageless book.
Certified Clown Of Faith
Certified Clown Of Faith © Surazeus 2026 02 07 Seven million years after my first birth I ask the shadow tree of flashing clocks how to find the Whirlpool of the God Eye so I can jump worlds through the multiverse in quest for garden where you are the one I would choose to weave my destiny with. I am only one of billions on Earth reluctant to close my heart with faith locks in case my spirit swells huge as the sky though commissioned to play my part as nurse healing innocence wounded by the gun contrived to celebrate my life as myth. Eager to gain legal acknowledgement for calculating chemistry of hope, I craft component for each curious scene in which I play certified clown of faith, designed to integrate mineral brains based on mutation of logical code. Weird assumption of social argument, sealed with triode rate in my envelope, presents elective destiny to mean extraction proves my birthright as the wraith assigned to maintain engines of mind planes we fly with fuel of visions from the toad. Embedded lectures are not guaranteed to nourish formal principles of fate, so we buy life insurance from the spy who always seems to know what integer we need to maximize our profit gain required by soul mechanics of desire. Modified concept of my puzzling creed converts opposite patterns from blind hate through mechanics of medicinal why to published prototype of Lucifer I wear as mask in effort to be vain with reference to harmony of the choir. Mystery programmed in our life narrative presents migration of relevant tribes regarding ransom notes for refugees who seek salvation through false privacy managed well by our solemn treasurer who requires that I update my world view. Religious beliefs far less cognitive deliver customized faith with proud vibes based on dynamics of sad adoptees who choose to live with brave efficiency through deviant loyalty to Jupiter who chooses Venus for our rendezvous.
Friday, February 6, 2026
Fractured Globe Of Ghosts
Fractured Globe Of Ghosts © Surazeus 2026 02 06 Winter brightness blinks from core of my soul with closed alacrity of searing glints that wrench my freckled happiness with fear since hour I first reach out my helpless hands for mother of mankind to lift me high though I revise my memory with hope. Before I fall from complicated choice to measure future success with tree limbs, I drag withered bag of my punctured pride across heat-withered yard of honesty that leaves chunks of my memories behind which I collect and stew in pot of dreams. Adjusting tone of fierce anxiety with evening darkness of sequestered thought, I name each faceless ghost I meet with number to honor stars that blaze across the sky and smash our world view into smithereens so we remember why we are not born. Frost on the window glass of memory refracts clear light of wisdom bent to faith by severed sighs of wordless desperation which I would package with symbols of fate to understand how ice erases death each time I wake with arrogant surprise. So this is how I deconstruct your truth from mocking laughter of the greedy priest with rooted pleasure to expose your hate for everybody on this world but you, which leaves us stunned on threshold of world change beneath new arch of triumph stained with blood. Blurred flicker-flash of my immortal soul appears on both sides of the door at once with leaping fracture twisted by contempt when I cross field of alabaster skulls to visit every variant of our world till I find paradise unlost on Earth. Half sunk in ardent lake of hungry hope, I beam electric sparkles through my bones because this world should be more beautiful though countless creatures have died miserably over four hundred million years of lust to dominate this fractured globe of ghosts. I teach my children secret of this world, that we are driven by desire to breed new children who incarnate soul of genes, yet worship people who succeed as gods, dream guides who show us how to kill to live because we eat sweet sorrows of our hearts.
Healed By Cassandra
Healed By Cassandra © Surazeus 2026 02 06 Heart twisted by sweet laughter of the sea, who gives her wrecked ships full of long-lost hopes, Hilda brings mass of violets from the marsh, tufted with pungent soil in tangled roots, to haunt men cluttered in their wave-tossed ships, breaking their taut hearts with lies of their thoughts. She plans to make disciples of all nations, so they can lounge on decks of sinking ships, while eating hamburgers and chocolate bars, and listen to calm sons of Frankenstein play violins and trumpets with pizzazz while rich people from bankrupt estates drown. Opening her bloody mouth of shark teeth, Hilda explains with confident discourse that the gold crown with pointed spikes kings wear represents the crown of thorns Jesus wore while hanging crucified on the phone pole as he sings, "Look on the bright side of life." Wielding eye-phone as sword Excalibur, Hilda photographs leagues of wind-blown sand because she loves how little ridges curve as great waves of time break over our plans and wipe out our empires with calm respect, then posts them on her social media site. Breaking out beyond the crowded town gate, to escape precinct of the temple hall where marble statue of Artemis cracks, Hilda wanders up cold path of the stream on unclaimed stretches of bleak mountain slopes to secret altar in the alder grove. Leaving Phoebus to his sheltering porch of white marble, luminous with his logic applied to system of the market game, Hilda tries not to think about his eyes blue as the restless sea after fierce storm that drives her in the cave of lonely toads. Far from strident business of shipping ports, in jeweled cave among towering pines, Hilda breathes mountain air of wild desire, and sings enchanting hymn to Artemis against rhythms of sycophantic priests who try to trap her in garden of walls. Ship-wrecked on rough shores of Arcadia, Hilda hides from angelic helicopters to run with wolves among luminous trees far from hard temples of powerful wealth, to nurse her bitter heart with fruit of faith, healed by Cassandra with voice of the wraith.
Thursday, February 5, 2026
Return To The Blank Room
Return To The Blank Room © Surazeus 2026 02 05 John wakes up when Fate knocks on his fake door with polite insistence of the wet towel so he argues with cracked cup at the sink while history drips on germ-infested floor with calm regret for leaving the burned book on the bench in the park where small frogs think. Eating eggs and sausage smeared with vain sauce at wobbly table set with common sense, John thinks about the girl with long red hair who never will wave from the train he missed, then awkwardly tangles his trench coat on, and wears bowler he forgot in the bar. Certain he will return to the blank room sooner or later with ashamed respect for trembling body that Death passes by, John thinks about the time he kissed her cheek beneath the streetlamp that judges his failure, concerned the moon clocks out before his time. If we will become briefly infinite, despite the way typewriters erase truth with holy racket of the gangster code, John chooses to believe with wounded heart that Tomorrow will forgive our worst sins, though Fate records our deeds with broken pencil. Since love says nothing about jokes he tells, which not even cruel laughter can erase, John decides that is the trick of brave faith, so he leaves unpolished shoes by the bed which walk away while he is fast asleep and visits the graveyard where no one lies. Arranging numbers in accounting books with professional focus of sharp puzzles, John misplaces his soul in the bookstore where he has never been before the fall, forever alone just outside the door where he cannot hear her voice in the glass. When John hums sad tune of Amazing Grace even Death leans in to listen with hope though he always gets the simple tune wrong, so he sells record of his latest hit to Death who breaks it on rock of salvation because lyric truth makes him want to cry. Because the moon measures passage of time in harmony with fast typewriter dance, John decides time is sequence of weird words that keep arriving with permissive shock at vastness from the silent pause of faith between each knock that Death raps on his door.
Door To The Dream World
Door To The Dream World © Surazeus 2026 02 05 Standing on round table of aging knights, Sarmentus shouts with serpent voice of pride that worthy men rise up from poverty through brave assertion of creative work to push through golden doors of elite clubs and claim their place at feast table of power. What more should humble men of farms endure when they perform before greed-bloated king to prove inalienable right to exist when Herod mocks their country bumpkin talk and forces kind Sarmentus with harsh sneer to crawl on hands and knees, and bark for food. After escaping from gold feasting hall, body and mind scarred by brutal abuse, Sarmentus stumbles to the River Styx where he cleanses sorrow from broken heart, then lies on his back beneath sparkling stars to remember his brave father Orion. Startled from reverie on the river shore, Sarmentus sees appear through grove of elms graceful Diana with yew bow and arrows glide on winged feet over rugged hill, long gold hair flowing in cool river breeze, while her favorite dog ambles by her side. Running along with the swift moon-eyed hunter, Sarmentus offers assistance to bear with strong arms in wagon of his calm heart game she dispatches with accurate aim, and though at first she seems annoyed with him lithe wood-leaper soon appreciates his help. Relaxed in small temple among oak trees, Diana rests while Egeria combs her hair, Virbius roasts deer steak on the cooking altar, and Sarmentus fletches arrows with care, binding points he sharpens with focused skill, as she peeks at his chest through half-closed eyes. Embracing separate bodies in moonlight, Diana and Sarmentus merge two souls in one romantic blend of gentle faith to writhe entangled with attentive trust till they transcend bounds of all time and space and she becomes pregnant with their love child. Suckling baby Janus in gentle arms, Diana sings soft lullaby of love while gazing in both pairs of curious eyes, then Sarmentus teaches his two-faced son how to navigate endless maze of myths where he stands guard at door to the dream world.
Wednesday, February 4, 2026
River Of Dream Keys
River Of Dream Keys © Surazeus 2026 02 04 Rather than eat the ocean stone of faith, while thinking about black milk of the Earth, I prefer to become the first apple seed that dares to crack the asphalt parking lot where holy angels park cars to attend church service in glass cathedral of lies. Jealous that I found secret jewel mine from which I extract wisdom of star gods, the faithful servants of the Lord attempt to chain my hands in dungeon of despair, but I am subtle whisper of the breeze that dances on the river of dream keys. After selling ice cream to Tantalus and soothing hand lotion to Sisyphus, Socrates attends the Rolling Stone show to dance with wild abandon of the fool because he is in love with Hecate who brews wine in cavern of innocence. Despite regret for beheading the seer who prophesied his fall from mental grace, King Herod sends goon squad with guns of hate to chase immigrants out of paradise, so Phoebus builds ark of the covenant to sail home on the river of dream keys. Forgetful how he came to rule the world, the Weeping Jester of Wohalia paints portrait of grand eagle on tall pine with noble bearing of angelic power, then calls Rapunzel in her prison tower who listens to him talk about the truth. Nobody knows why men kill other men, invading valley of the laughing skull with principle of faith to colonize Garden of Eden with new shopping malls where gangsters fight battles for thought control over who owns the river of dream keys. In our search for freedom in the woke world, programmed by urgent need to evade death, we give each other fake holiday gifts with preciously obscene anguish of love while staring at rose window in the church that slants conceptual truth with psychic heft. Though Jesus Christ will never come again because his mortal body is now dust, brave spirit of Good Leader he embodied appears each generation in the world to free the people from cruel tyranny so we fish on the river of dream keys.
Erase My Secret Name
Erase My Secret Name © Surazeus 2026 02 04 Stuck alone between the heart and the mind, floating in the river that swirls nowhere, I laugh at how often crows call my name as if they know how I feel about love, so I explain to them, nothing is real, but they insist on giving me mushrooms. My brain receives signals from singing trees that beam flashes of emotions in code, so I listen closely with attuned ears, but I cannot understand what they say though I fold my hands and attempt to pray as I reply with caws wild crows express. Clouds glow gold on horizon of my hope so I reach out my hand to touch their thoughts but I feel nothing since I am so small, no more than speck of dust in the vast world, no more than drop of water in the sea, though I feel the whole world inside of me. Electric buzz of frantic arrogance jolts suddenly through fail frame of my being, so I scream loud to crack the crystal sky till my voice vanishes through everywhere, which leaves me stranded on the roadless globe, laughing at how significant I feel. I write my thoughts in letters on the scroll that form words linked in writhing sentences to bundle flashing concepts in tight pack containing huge vision in fractured jars yet strange emotions leak out through its cracks so I feel confused what I really feel. When I sing weird emotions of my heart in structured patterns of conceptual thoughts defining rapture that expands clear scope involved in conscious vision of my mind, I feel confident my insight is clear, yet people stare at me, then mock my song. I wonder with surprise of muted shock what alien language outside their purview I must be using to express my thoughts that no one seems to understand my truth, mocking me with vicious sneers of contempt, though I sing with beautiful voice of faith. Perhaps I should erase my secret name, Elijah, from book of the bleeding crow, but when cruel people throw stones at my head I bat them away with my magic wand, then stand before tower of the mad king and expose his crimes with dire prophecy.
Tuesday, February 3, 2026
Invent Fractured Identities
Invent Fractured Identities © Surazeus 2026 02 03 I telephone absent friends who are dead because eyeless birds are answering machines whose eyes of wisdom set the world ablaze though I ardently desire to transform beyond definition of the sad clown who wants to make people laugh as they cry. My memories flock across the burning sky as ravens searching for the Promised Land which I design with perfidy of faith through penchant for supple tonalities I share with blood-stained angels who detest men who abuse people with selfish greed. Stymied by corruption of sterile greed, my quest to free the world from cage of hope persists against iniquities of bombs which I encode with riddles of respect in constitution of progressive pride through checks and balances of honesty. Determined to settle colonial scores through dispensation of the frightened clerk, I sharpen schizophrenic knife of truth between discourse of brave equality and double-talk of arbitrary power based on practice of plundering pure prayers. I constantly question the lyric I through careful ridicule of structured cost by undermining pride of calm concern based on writhing analysis of truth that shimmers with ethereal travesty since I invent fractured identities. Amused they crucify the robot clown, I host peace conference of global fate on holy island of the prison camp where bankers play chess with peasants and fools when they negotiate fraught settlement between opposing gangs of hungry thieves. King of the most reviled pariah state, I give nicknames to everyone I meet when I convince them unicorns are real as vibrant shadows of our bleeding hearts who steal light of our complex legacy by selling cynical doubts to believers. Reptilian tears of biographic myth reveal entitled right to eat ripe fruit that falls from twisted limbs of power poles from which hang voiceless lines for telephones because we dream of worthless paradise while climbing hills in seasons out of time.
Declare Myself Uncitizen
Declare Myself Uncitizen © Surazeus 2026 02 03 Straight over broken rocks of rugged hills toward azure infinity of the sea I walk across Thasos Island at noon to join Staphylus in his wicked dance for mocking small kings who think they are gods though they are hidden in towers of glass. My heart spurts blood on barbarian land to cleanse attentive angst of thought control while soaring wingless across the last sky which gains finality beyond exile by wrenching free from cubicles of gold before blind gods expel me from their myths. Since I lost interest in the shining world based on supreme fiction of global fame, I stand mute on stage bathed in dusty light, perched equidistant between East and West to map topography of broken minds crushed by bland forces of conformity. Thus I declare myself Uncitizen of every crowded country on the Earth, accomplished emblem of democracy since I transcend strict borders of the state as psychic chameleon with many names detached from national greatness of pride. I dwell in Middle Earth of shifting tones, devalued by elite crowd of the state as parrot nomad of the mapless mind till I return to my ancestral land disguised as savior of humanity, trapped by principles of the Underground. As the most dangerous public enemy who established network of terrorists I paint cute demons in the holy book with pretty faces of celebrities while imprisoned in legend of my fate where I watch angels hanged by the world state. Threatened by otherness of common folk, proud haughty butcher of the twisted tree builds walls of Aparthood as paradise enclosing special people inside fear who buy and sell identity with gold melted from skull of Ozymandias. Awake at edge of our pulsating world, we live in dark times of our poisoned pride as sparks streaking vaults of eternity to annotate our victories on church walls with Voice of the People they crucify till Staphylus gives me glass of sour wine.
Monday, February 2, 2026
Sword Heavy In My Hand
Sword Heavy In My Hand © Surazeus 2026 02 02 When my just sword grows heavy in my hand from brave defense of world democracy, I must find the place to end my crusade in our noble fight against tyranny, so I will face the tyrant with calm faith and cast him down from tower of his greed. Thus I will sacrifice health of my soul to save brave people of Earth from his greed by rolling stone of justice up the hill so power of the people may roll down and smash idol of gold with feet of clay that leaves his head lost in waste land of truth. Just as spirit of Jesus comes again each generation as prophet of freedom, spirit of Satan erupts from foul hearts with fierce aggression to exploit our souls, endless battle between darkness and light since Mazda and Iman fought for the crown. Nebuchadnezzar with his iron fist, Ozymandias with his jeweled crown, and Herod with his eagle on the pole, possess bodies of morally weak men who enforce dictatorship of their greed, tearing through institutions with mad rage. When weird angelic son of Tantalus, shifting deep in dragon egg of our hearts, struggles to be born from chrysalis of social justice in depths of the well, we unleash black dog of our revolution and beat our plowshares into swords of fate. Weak men who rage against machine of death with fierce intention to control the state expend intense amounts of energy to sustain fragile structure of fake power, till they fall exhausted in cave of Hell so creative work may blossom in peace. All mad kings grasping at rainbows of wealth collapse from rotten anguish of despair while clever smiths who design work machines wave aprons high as flag of liberty to design system of social exchange that benefits every soul who works well. When bloody sword grows heavy in my hand, I beat firm function of its sharpened state in plowshare I employ to furrow fields, and tend wheat as loaf-ward of the warehouse disbursing loaves of bread to every soul so we may feast while Phoebus plays the lyre.
Vanish In Wordless Wind
Vanish In Wordless Wind © Surazeus 2026 02 02 If I stand on the edge of our lost world so I look forward and backward at once, I might perceive how process of the past guides where we go in the future through change with clear insight to analyze progress we achieve to build on what we conserve. Haunted by star-bright ghosts of famous souls who performed grand roles on stage of the world, I want to record tales of the nameless souls who wander nowhere in vast maze of myths while they live and die with no role to play till their names all vanish in wordless wind. Since Death can be adjusted without change through strict dynastic system of control I build citadels of conceptual truths that cannot be dissolved by silent fear so I waste not my life with frantic search by dancing on the river shore of fate. To hear strange voice of Earth in song of fire I exit maze of myths with crystal ball to stand frail on volcano cauldron rim and listen to churning rumble of rocks tumble over ocean of liquid metal that beams magnetic field from swirling streams. Material of the churning iron core, effusing through thin mantel of our globe, transforms from burning minerals of hope to plants that blossom fruit we humans eat while we sing hymns in choric harmony with seismic waves that pulse in joyful tunes. If giant ocean deep inside the Earth springs forth from fracture in mirror of time organic creatures who breathe oxygen may drown in seething waves of endless change yet fish will evolve again into humans who ache to fly with brave angelic wings. Awake from ancient dream of singing stones, I register with jovial delight I am indigenous to Avalon, that mist-veiled island floating in the sea where I lived for almost one million years, cultivating cherry trees on lake shores. With Helen I sail from Laconia to populate the world with Calibans who dance with drunken revelry of faith then program concept of the world wide web that weaves our brains in cosmic mind of god till meteors smash our globe to smithereens.
Sunday, February 1, 2026
Lost In Fog Of Delusions
Lost In Fog Of Delusions © Surazeus 2026 02 01 This republic of ours I vow to keep by joining with my fellow human beings to maintain fair justice for every soul, declares the oak on Seventh Avenue where people tie yellow ribbons of faith to celebrate this time of all last things. Snow covers round table in the back yard where ghosts of animals who never speak gather to discuss how democracy should encourage our loyal brotherhood in fighting to defend the sacred right of every breathing person to live free. Based on heroic wealth of hall and bower, my project to redeem this angry world leads me to search for sword and pen of truth in stagnant water of our crowded land so mighty souls of Milton and Wordsworth may teach us brave freedom of the small voice. Their souls still shine in firmament of faith that shelters scattered peoples of our land where we now dwell in teeming maze of myths with selfish wisdom of majestic pride to mission to expand scope of our laws enforcing equal rights for every soul. Greedy taskmasters in towers of glass oppress our freedom to express dark fears that haunt our daily exercise of speech because we stumble toward paradise lost in fog of delusions our hearts discharge in frantic quest to find the Promised Land. What noble purpose to build paradise once challenged our bestial hearts to aspire with courage to transcend our tribal past and dwell in peaceful commune on lush land with fellow humans from diverse estates as we strive to create Heaven on Earth. Unchecked power of cruel self-proclaimed kings who grasp state power with familial wealth was rendered obsolete by brutal wars they fought to maintain fascist grip of greed so we elect with liberty-bound vote wise man whose program benefits us all. Though gang of thieves disguised as oligarchs threatens to seize control of federal gears so they can exploit labor of our hands, we join Minerva in her noble quest to keep our brave republic free from greed so we live as we will, if we harm none.
Material Otherness of Nature
Material Otherness of Nature © Surazeus 2026 02 01 Though grim shadow of mortality haunts harsh hills of prelapsarian Arcady full of lovesick shepherds and prancing sheep, I search for vision of transcendent truth through experience of Nature I record, suspicious of mystical sentiment. If shimmer of pure sentimental love for Nature distorts perception of life, I shall assert my clear identity, reflected in Narcissan pool of fate, and conduct solemn quest with open heart to comprehend essential soul of Earth. Alone on hilltop by the windswept tree, where I enclose the whole Earth in broad scope of my world view projected from its base, I seek God in clear absence of its power through which my consciousness expands to glow in tune with numinous phantom of love. Since humble shepherd with the raven quill advises I look at the land with love and not confuse my own flesh for its field, I feel its blank indifference to fate almost seem to mock effort of my will, but I laugh knowing Nature has no mind. Material Otherness of Nature glows with personality my mind projects so I see in vitality of fruitful trees compassion for fragile being of my soul which is not there in radiance of its growth, pathetic fallacy of fearful hope. When scolding moralist with magic wand cautions me to avoid idolatry that worships mindless Nature as its God, I cast aside delusions of false pride that local spirit of this land loves me, and treasure spinning Earth is glob of dirt. That vision of God on huge mossy rock, who seems to gaze at me with loving eyes, I realize through epiphany of faith embodies soul of my ancestral fathers whose guidance showed each new child how to live, mortals providing ideal form for God. Nature bristles with bright ancestral souls of all my fathers and mothers who lived millions of years in vales by sparkling streams with negative magnitude of mind power so God embodies spirits of their love awake in conscious dreaming of my brain.
We Hear The Weeper
We Hear The Weeper © Surazeus 2026 02 01 If every dream deferred were to explode with fear from sweet syrup of rotten meat, then Red Maria with hands of hawk wings will lead the hungry refugees of war across the Jordan River of despair and to crumbling church where devils sing. When Red Maria passes by my home to tell us how the new day has begun, we turn away from where war always burns to hide in silver mist from factories that shroud the lake of fish in silent rage where singing stones inform us of the score. If we should all arrive in Lombardy where rumors of mutual acquaintances reveal secret code of conspiracies, I shall prowl restless archives of my mind to find the gentle Monster of our state who wants to sing instead of scaring us. Hydra-headed bird of America lurches with wounded wing of arrogance across the windy prairie of the heart to ask if Red Maria could restore score for our cheerful tune of nourishment despite how milk-cart horses wait for wealth. We hear the Weeper in the doorless home, whose voice is querulous with shrill regret, express blind silhouette of wordless grief explicit with strange idiom of the street preserved in dictionaries no one reads, since we are all reluctant witnesses. Packed on the bus that bears dead souls to Hell, we race through forest of the howling wolf in vain attempt to escape bombs of rage by seeking ticket to the Promised Land without pretense of pleasure in fine art, hearts tangled in strings of the violin. We face our fate with courage of the fool while all the world weeps at harsh tyranny established by cruel kindness of the king who would pardon both assassin and thief by stabbing them with smile of unfair law that traps us in these strange times of despair. Over the trading world in fractured ship Odysseus sails beyond all legal bounds to grasp lost treasure with his diamond hand by selling coal to peasants in glass shacks who vote for Sun Thief as World President while clutching at their useless dreams deferred.
Moral Parasites Of Faith
Moral Parasites Of Faith © Surazeus 2026 02 01 If we are moral parasites of faith then life is programmed to generate life when self-replicating genes of molecules design new bodies to maintain concept of lithe organic hope while God evolves from fish to wingless angel born of angst. Hygeia gives me grail of honey wine that wakes immortal soul of divine genes bright in my brain as timeless energy composed of memories my ancestors lived which programs how my mind perceives the world, inventing quest for my soul to fulfill. Transparent flame of conscious energy contrives to cause my brain to visualize stone wall enclosing garden of fruit trees so I play architect of paradise constructing haven to protect my clan in cathedral of bones where angels pray. We worship Wise Fool, who woke from weird dream with conscious vision of our spinning world, as God who teaches secret of rebirth through conjugal relations which conceive new bodies for immortal soul of genes so children carry on our legacy. Love urges me to find soul mate of hope so we transform our dreams of paradise to children running in lush yard of trees where they play hide and seek to learn the game of social power, trapped by hierarchy by judging who can eat and breed new souls. Erased by mirror of conceptual thoughts, I project bright silhouette of my soul as faceless shadow encoded in verse which reprograms how brains perceive the world so strangers recite spells dispelling curse that opens space for selfless love to grow. Awake through divine fever of desire, though trapped in mortal shell of aching flesh, I journey on quest for the Holy Grail that drove my ancestors for centuries to expand from castle on hill of faith and build world empire to enheaven Earth. Arresting progress of my world conquest, shocked at aggressive stance of blinding fear, I survey wreck of history in old myths, preserved in fractured nations of the world, and wonder how we plan redesign social system to equalize all souls.
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