Janus Guard Of Paradise © Surazeus 2026 05 06 When Janus is five years old he arrives at the great gold gates that guard paradise, and he is so entranced by graceful curls of liquid metal forged to mimic vines that he dwells sixty years before the gates, contemplating beauty of human souls. Seven days after Janus first arrives and stands in sun and rain both night and day, entranced by shimmer of the golden gates, Hebe leaves paradise with four-wheeled cart heaped with apples she harvested from trees, so she gives the boy six apples to eat. Three years after Janus begins to guard gates of paradise with curious eyes, Daedalus constructs small fane by the gates where Janus may seek shelter from harsh weather while writing name and purpose on clay slabs to record who comes and goes through gold gates. Twelve years of guarding gates of paradise with wand of wisdom Mercury gives him, Janus stands firm against invading thieves and fights aggressive hordes of screaming goons till he stands triumphant in howling wind so people inside paradise are safe. Twenty years after Janus first arrives, Juno appears with troupe of dancing girls who sing romantic hymns that Sappho wrote, then presents Juturna in saffron gown red as apples that bloom in fertile trees, with yellow veil held by crown of gold vines. Thirty-eight years after Janus starts quest to secure paradise with solemn care, he teaches daughter Cardea weird art of molding hinges for doors she creates, and trains brave son Junonius how to fight slavers and thieves with wand of Mercury. Forty-two years of guarding paradise with keen eyes that see into hearts of men, Janus presides over funeral of Zeus, then places crown of world authority on head of his most qualified son, Phoebus, whom everyone elects to become Zeus. Sixty years after Door Guard first arrives to secure paradise in peaceful age of prosperity with justice for all, Janus defends Garden of Apple Trees against Mars, angry he was not crowned king, who stabs him in the heart with sneer of rage.
Wednesday, May 6, 2026
Janus Guard Of Paradise
War-Shattered Eden
War-Shattered Eden © Surazeus 2026 05 06 If trees keeping telling me the wind loves flight that sparks my brain alert to dangerous hope, then I may have to walk across the clouds and scatter apple seeds on asphalt roads to break monopoly of hungry greed that writes the rules for how we live each day. While children squabble over who remembers dream code that opens doors to vaults of wealth, I dig my hands in soft soil of the world to extract stones of faith with urgent calm, then build great castle on high hill of fear where I protect my family from despair. Amazed at strange glow of the sky at dawn, I hold blue conch shell of concerned alarm to watch for shadows of demons in woods that lurk behind portraits of long-dead gods till I see someone floating on the stream, and know we cannot return from the dead. Stark sunlight of the casual day dispels weird magic glow of memories before dawn, so I map houses along city streets to understand process of civic growth that helps me plan state of the urban zone that buzzes voices through the telephone. Grand temple of feast on the ziggurat becomes gold palace of the emperor, becomes stone castle of the hungry king, becomes city hall of the elected mayor, so I walk away from hard haven walls that prison me in fear of social change. Though I keep searching for the Promised Land that shimmers only in dreams of my head, I ask Blue Sky to show me no more dreams so I can see the real world as it is, but hundred million years of fantasy, my ancestors dreamed, frame how I see life. While walking with shadow of the Third Person across the waste land of war-shattered Eden, I find colossal statue of some god who ruled vast empire sea to shining sea, but wind of time erased his glorious name and scrubbed away all features of his face. I carve my own face on idol of God, then plant seeds in soft soil of the world, and tend new garden sprouting tender shoots that flourishes in waste land of the past so giant cities of the ancient world all vanish into orchards of fruit trees.
Tuesday, May 5, 2026
Blue Bird Of Bitterness
Blue Bird Of Bitterness © Surazeus 2026 05 05 Plodding along in vast maze of my life with passionate boredom of contrived faith, I sing with the blue bird of bitterness whose melodies calculate happiness which raises our ancestors from dark graves so we can live the good life we deserve. I hear mad prophets on the radio excoriate the humble king of faith who sings with the blue bird of bitterness about search for truth in the wilderness that we undertake on quest of the fool to redesign the long-accepted rule. With caustic interference of regret the church lady tries to sell Book of Faith, yet sings with the blue bird of bitterness despite her brave mission of kindliness that mocks her straight-laced dignity of pride which fractures when she learns her preacher lied. Now heavy as Saturn in my old age, I leap with spirit of youth in my heart to sing with the blue bird of bitterness about eternity of nothingness that we will experience after we die, so before then I want to learn to fly. While meditating in warm summer eve, I wonder at pure whiteness of the lily guarded by the blue bird of bitterness according to dream code of cleverness by which I program ritual of my life to exercise self-control during strife. Though I am absent from you this fine spring and with your shadow play in carefree joy, my heart feels the blue bird of bitterness lead me across Bridge of Forgetfulness to find the glorious white horse of your heart frolicking freely round my apple cart. I may cavort with shadow of your soul for vermilion pleasure of our kiss, recorded by blue bird of bitterness in valley-haunting song of gracefulness, but I am devoted with ardent faith in helping you develop adroit skills. Though I was born in maze of Babylon in body of clay dazzled by starshine, developed by blue bird of bitterness from quiet wisdom of sweet loneliness, I will rebuild Garden of Avalon in machine-mangled woods of Oregon.
Gold Sibylline Cage
Gold Sibylline Cage © Surazeus 2026 05 05 I will fight no more wars of holy hope against aggressive growing of hill grass that always seems to know where I am at in faltered progress to the Promised Land where I am sure to find fortune and fame that traps me in the gold sibylline cage. When rain drenches Earth in casual tears, I hold umbrella with careful concern over head of the person I love most, who gazes at me with astonishment as if they never thought I could be kind, then we walk awkwardly in the dark streets. I keep thinking about her all the time no matter where I am in maze of doors because I hope she is happy and safe alone of all the people in the world, though I hope they are safe in general terms while we all wait for the apocalypse. What revelation should we all expect, I wonder with obsessive nonchalance, except the fact that humans always form systems of social rights and privileges based on strict hierarchies of wealth and race, all living under the God with no face. She laughs when I explain with tangled words my convoluted theory of state power based on control of psychic energy contained in conceptual symbols of hope that we are not tangles of hungry genes which replicate themselves to dominate. Eating fried beef sandwiches by the lake, that teems with strange demonic energy, we chat about costumes of the elite who decorate themselves outrageously with classy style of the suave urbane clown when they strut before cameras of fame. I ask if I could be more serious with refined sense of cultivated style, but she assures me with amorous smirk that she loves the bold jester of my heart who follows Isaiah and Juvenal to compose scathing satires of respect. Resigned to fateful role of satirist, whose brave mimetic gestures of defiance highlight complex nature of being human, I go on pilgrimage to Aquinum where I strum lyre of Mercury and sing in Temple of Hercules Liberator.
Monday, May 4, 2026
Holy Water Of The Earth
Holy Water Of The Earth © Surazeus 2026 05 04 If the sky speaks to me with tongues of snow to explain why awestruck trees imitate swan-winged Seraphim with ten thousand eyes, I will assert through subatomic thought compassion for every organic soul that strives to transcend terror of pure light. Essential quality of being alive spurs calm obsession of my hungry heart to seek salvation from fountain of light that sparkles holy water of the Earth which fills my body of delicate flesh with rapture of cool wisdom time reveals. My face in time-ensilvered mask of fate reveals expressive lust to procreate immortal soul of genes in mortal form that replicates conceptual personhood who likes to bake apple cinnamon muffins which fill my heart with beauty of the world. So when I need to understand the world I ask the Oracle of Delphi why I am conscious of my one self alone of every conscious creature who has lived on every planet in the universe, but she just gives me root beer shake to drink. Thus at sunset before the seventh day I enter tabernacle tent of faith to roast lamb on altar of sacrifice, then feed world-wanderers with humble hearts who gather mushrooms in the morning mist to write their secret names in time-blown sand. Dipping my hand in gold-silt water stream, I savor sensuous flow of casual time with eagerness to measure how change occurs when seeds expand from confines of mute words to stretch angelic wings of flashing leaves then drop sweet fruit of faith in open hands. Fabulous beauty of light rays on water shocks my heart with illiterate respect, expensive thoughts confined by sentences ghosts buy from mermaids with transparent eyes, so I become vast emptiness of all when I drink holy water of the Earth. All things in Nature grow without intent, transforming from potential seed of thought to full-shaped body blooming rich with hope of hungry passion to compose the mind that conjures image of essential being, so I free Sibyl from her cage of fear.
White Stone Of The Sun
White Stone Of The Sun © Surazeus 2026 05 04 When I wash the dirt of ten thousand roads off my wounded feet with unholy water, my grandmother holds the knife of weird truth to carve fresh steaks from cave-demon flesh so my father can roast it on the altar with fire from the lightning strike he calls down. My mother gives me white stone of the sun and shows me how to walk where devils dance, so I invent new words from languages I hear birds use when they eat sheafs of wheat which hide me from men with soul-wounded spears because my face shines with celestial rage. Holding broken stick that fell from the sky, I draw oval shape in sand of the beach so everyone knows I indicate eggs, then they follow me to large cave of shadows where thousands of birds with white wings erupt in squawking rage as we take eggs to eat. While I squat on edge of steep sea-side cliff, explaining to stiff grass how bright wind knows weird secret of life concealed in soft sand, I stare at small rock for ten million years till it wobbles and falls into the sea where it transforms into leviathan. When I hold out my hand and spread my fingers to measure distance from high mountain peak to the silver moon that gleams behind clouds, I invent science of geometry, but then forget when I find strawberry vines so I fill large basket with blood-red fruit. My brother steals one strawberry and runs leaping and laughing along fallen log where honey bees swarm so he screams in pain as he transforms into galloping pig that offers itself as great sacrifice willing to die so we may eat and live. My sister draws marks in sand by the tree at breath-long intervals of feral fate which calibrates increments of small change, then explains to me strange concept of time which she invents with delicate concern, then shows me how to peel orange of her heart. On undulating waves of humming names I float through ocean of fortune to claim divine right to name all things that exist with template label that defines each form, then walk back to our small ziggurat home where I clack the turtle shell and chant spells.
Sunday, May 3, 2026
Isolated From Strange Dream
Isolated From Strange Dream © Surazeus 2026 05 03 Isolated from strange dream of the world, I assemble puzzle of random facts to design exhaustive ontology that frames complex events of history in grand narrative that explains it all which fixes my place as hero of truth. Isolated from strange dream of the sea, I build boat from steam-heated planks of wood and sail the seven seas of strange new lands to explore nature of our spinning globe where people dance on pyramids of power to control fields of wheat and hills of gold. Isolated from strange dream of the sun, I capture rays of light from long-dead stars with solar panels of assertive will which transform light to electricity that powers global empire of machines weaving computers into one God Mind. Isolated from strange dream of the land, I map confusing landscape of the heart to organize conflicting nation-states in peaceful United Nations of Earth though cruel gangsters disguised as presidents fight each other over who rules the world. Isolated from strange dream of the moon, I run with Artemis in misty woods with joyful laughter of wild carefree friends till Midas forces her to be his queen so we revolt against his tyranny and fight to establish democracy. Isolated from strange dream of the mind, I argue with Pythagoras all night that stars do not generate human souls which animate our bodies with desire, and prove that brains generate consciousness which dissipates to nothing when we die. Isolated from strange dream of the truth, I stand millions of years under Fruit Tree and wait for my soulmate to keep our tryst to nourish our home based on mutual trust because our children inherit the Earth when we build Heaven from waste land of Hell. Isolated from strange dream of the heart, I wear mask of my personality which I compose through every choice I make as I navigate landscape of despair on mission to create, and not destroy, as we connect and bind our souls with love.
Weird Voice Of Light
Weird Voice Of Light © Surazeus 2026 05 03 How may I balance happiness and sorrow to power progress of spiritual growth through dynamic system of inspiration which I derive from deposit of passion I channel through document of expression based on enterprise of mental encryption. Sparked by evanescence my heart may borrow from bright atomic flame of chemicals, I sublimate mindless force of aggression by weaving corporal concept of perception through tangled sentences of fractured words that mold matter into bodies of faith. Snagged on fractal structure of vibrant limbs during assertive flight beyond dark scope of wisdom that traps my soul in my brain, I dangle helplessly above abyss that yawns teeth-bristling jaws of painful death by grasping rope of truth with stubborn hope. Dark nothingness of death would like to swallow fragile flame of energy that ignites glow of consciousness nurturing my brain, so I become aware I am alive, awake in shock of arrogant dismay that my body conjures my consciousness. So many people tell me with false confidence that my spirit was forged by the God Mind to animate my temporary body with immortal soul of divinity, and I am fooled to believe this is real till I feel my spirit beam from my brain. Though molecules that animate my flesh first flashed from soul furnace of Father Sun, then evolved into this body of flesh by passionate desire of Mother Earth, my sense of conscious self inside my brain is my own unique personality. Through all the spiral of galactic light the past fourteen billion years of existence these atoms that compose shell of my soul have flared into this planet that designs organic forms to nurture divine mind so I think I am God as mortal human. We humans are leaves on the Tree of Life, grapes on the Vine of Faith, and tender flowers that sprout for brief seasons from Ground of Being, so I will sing loud with weird voice of light to channel vision of creative love till our children sing after we all die.
Feel My Aching Body
Feel My Aching Body © Surazeus 2026 05 03 Secret words weave clear thread of mystery from elemental passion of the heart to overcome weakness and win the race by leaping on quick wings of urgent breath in courageous bid to transcend taut bounds of physical endurance to survive. Though terror preserves my animal mind that animates assertion of my rights through structured layers of civilized rules, I confirm my soul with strict self-control by managing consequences of my acts to channel passion with logical verse. By gazing off into bright sunset flames when I slip fragile body into roots of hungry bushes on the steep hillside, I find I can deny reality shortened by sparkle of the rivulet that asks me how I feel with gauge of rain. I feel my aching body dissipate with each cold gust of alabaster wind so I become less solid that the stream that flows from fountain of my bleeding heart to flood deep valley of excited gods who cry for salvation to mocking clouds. Graceful girl I imagine I should be dances free with beautiful leap of faith as writhing shadow only in my head, so I ask the old woman who lies dead if her tangled hair weaves truth in rough hills because her skeleton now forms the land. Covered in mud and roots of the wild world, I walk into vast room of marble floors to hide from weird ghost in the mirror glass who gives her face to angels without wings with plan to garland horns of happy bulls since I know the world will not die when I die. No autocrat imprisoned in my heart will silence fountains of astonishment when lonely people of the world escape from dream-tangled roots of arrogant trees which replicate my spirit in dark seeds that plagiarize apples we ate last year. If I am seagull gliding through cold clouds till I become dark shadow of the moon, I may transform my eyes to twinkling stars so you can see the road of truth I blazed before I fall to Earth on wings of fire where I pretend I am flower of fame.
Apple Hills Of Scythia
Apple Hills Of Scythia © Surazeus 2026 05 03 Though apples fill my dreams with golden light, sweet scent of pungent juice sticky on skin, I have lost touch with blooming apple trees in this current life of wandering the land, so I want to plant them in my back yard to make cider and applesauce each summer. Since we discovered apples long ago, in high Tian Shan Mountains of Kazakhstan, land we named Scythia when we lived there then, we traveled far across the windy steppes in four-wheeled wagons Helios designed, planting seeds by streams all the way to Scotland. Awake under apple tree on the hill, I see red fruit gleaming in dawn sunlight that glitters in raindrops after wild rain, so I reach out my hand to grasp the sun, but shrink back when serpent among dark limbs hisses and bares sharp teeth of poisoned knowledge. My father Skyolder gives me magic wand I use to swat the serpent on its head, then knock apples that fall into my hands which I store in wolf-fur bags on my back, then dump them in baskets in backs of wagons that we pull to large kitchen by the river. My mother Scythia wearing long white gown teaches me to brew apples in sweet cider, cutting them into slices with slender blades, stirring them in cauldrons of boiling water with thick honey, berries, spices, and herbs, then storing cider in clay jars for winter. I long to return to Garden of Saka that flourished in apple hills of Scythia where Almaty City now thrives with life, for I hear in dreams of my aching heart voice of my mother calling me in woods where apples gleam bright on millions of trees. We ate apples from sacred Tree of Knowledge, we befriended horses with fruit of love, and we built wagons with wheels of the sun, then traveled far across Garden of Life more than five thousand years of eager hope to explore this world sea to shining sea. Now we know this huge world on which we dwell is round as the apple in Tree of Life, so I will plant apple trees everywhere, by every road in every town on Earth, so everyone may eat the Fruit of Knowledge that blooms from fertile spirit of the Earth.
Saturday, May 2, 2026
Crippled Hands Of Hope
Crippled Hands Of Hope © Surazeus 2026 05 02 I try to figure out the secret way to have the world, that vanishes in mist at flash of sunset over distant hills, preserved in frame of fragile words I chew to chronicle strange journey of my soul since hour I first begin to hear birds speak. Head tilted so I see beyond dark sky, I listen to sunlight explain dream flight through thought-vibration spiraling from fear that makes my brain itch, stark with eagerness to seek dark mountain cave where rain is born with thirst to drink honey before I die. Harsh pulse of love still urges I expand tone of my heart enough to conceal gloom through frequent repetition wind contrives when I tear roots of sorrow from my heart against sweet wretchedness of innocence designed to trap my brain in cage of truth. Yet deep in eastern sky of bleeding stars I hear the faceless men of everywhere jingle keys of duty when they explore permission to endure another day, though wealth they grasp with crippled hands of hope still tumbles worthless in trash bins of fate. Soon sizzling shadow sharing depth of light winds threads of anguish, born from molecules by shocking sounds of long-forgotten art, around my fragile body by the sea that shivers from excessive strike of wind when I predict the future no one wins. So much to wish for without memory leaks from cracked skull of my atrophied clone against triumphant applause police sell to prove our weightless brains assert free will which never counts commercial gain of fate, yet translates desperation back to wealth. Sorrow stuck in consular envelopes requires admission of my primal birth on secret island where no god is born, who strains to bend electric bow of power, though fanged with ambition to rule the world, forever wandering in waste land of truth. I am no arrow suspended in flight toward secret destination no one maps, yet I transform from happy naive fool to weathered wizard wise in ways of weird when I design Puzzle Technology to resurrect my father through my son.
Power Of Snow Mother
Power Of Snow Mother © Surazeus 2026 05 02 Helpless to understand why ravens cry, Cailleach forms mountains of jagged truth by strewing rocks and peat along the plain from wicker basket of hope on her back, then strikes the ground with her hammer-head staff that causes the ground to freeze hard as glass. Mounting the fleet-foot deer with seven horns, Cailleach races along rocky shore, long gold hair flowing in snow-sparkling wind, to find secret lair in jagged cave by the sea where she hides gold egg of the Raven God so men cannot find treasure of her heart. Clutching skull of Hamlet where serpent writhes, Cailleach floats on wind over broad hill, where jagged stones of fairy rings pierce Earth, to drink ice-cold water from lake of eyes where her herd of deer gather in moonlight, then asks dead prophet if he understands. While sitting on moss-covered hag-chair stone, Cailleach feeds worms and seeds to raven flock that flap broad wings to defend their snow witch when Angus and his wife, Queen Bride, appear on white horses with eyes of sunset flames, and offer gifts of apples as they kneel. Glaring at her daughter with frosty eyes, Cailleach grumbles when they beg with tears for her to release Earth from freezing winds so wheat may sprout and fruit trees blossom fruit, or hungry people of the misty isle may rebel against her long hiemal rule. Petting raven on her shoulder with care, Cailleach in white gown and long gold hair dances barefoot on meadow of pink flowers where primrose flutter in soft morning breeze, to kitchen hall where Bride brews apple cider for everyone to drink on Beltane night. Smirking with passionate joy of her heart, Cailleach strides toward crowded blacksmith hall where Sucellus hammers swords into plows so warriors returning from plundering towns may till wet fields to plant barley and wheat, eager to brew whiskey for winter nights. Hopeful to understand why ravens cry, Cailleach breasts-feeds Belenus, her son, who sprouts black wings he swipes from Icarus and soars above high mountain peaks of faith to blast invading army with sharp swords with power of Snow Mother in his heart.
Fairy Wings Of Faith
Fairy Wings Of Faith © Surazeus 2026 05 02 When Alice on the old yellow brick road spots the green honeycreeper in the birch, she considers her social friendliness with knights and holy friars in misty woods to be adscititious when she arrives at museum of artful anecdotes. While staring at strange painting on the wall that depicts young woman by mountain lake roasting the serpent on altar of gems, she removes adscititious influences not inherent to significant form to experience pure aesthetic emotion. Stripped of extraneous components of truth, Alice considers why the dodo bird represents regal imperial ambition as key aspect of fate which constitutes essential nature of the divine mind eager to concoct new insight in faith. Hitchhiking to the Alleghany woods with innocent ambition to attend annual rainbow gathering of the tribes, Alice ignores the Tin Man in the van who offers her free ride to paradise, but calls her whore and speeds on down the road. Emerging from great forest of sad ghosts, Boedvar Bjarki, wearing long bear-skin cape, offers young hippie girl in flower dress berries he collected by sparkling stream, then plays guitar and sings Swedish folk songs while rainbow children dance around the fire. Entranced by swirling scent of jasmine blooms, Alice dances with slow sensuous concern, floating in bliss on fairy wings of faith from strange intoxicating thoughts of love that swell her heart till swan wings of desire sprout from unseen wounds of her abused heart. When the Tin Man, in jeans and scruffy beard, tries to dance with too intimately with Alice, Dorothy urges the Cowardly Lion to protect her friend from the predator, but the Jester King smashes the dream clock, causing all illusions to dissipate. When Boedvar asks Alice to marry him, she conjures Tiresias with Rod of Aaron who officiates their wedding ceremony under the full moon by the mountain lake, with Dorothy, Lucy Pevensie, Wendy, Caroline, and Chihiro as bridesmaids.
Poisonous Snake Of Jealousy
Poisonous Snake Of Jealousy © Surazeus 2026 05 02 When frantic trees bloom out from radios in self-controlled chaos of eager fear, Mars roars motorcycle in city maze to buy fresh bread at the small bakery where Ceres sells seashells and sangria while Phoebus plays guitar on the front porch. Cerulean waves of the Pacific Ocean sparkle on expanding beach of gold sand where Tristan and Isolde stroll hand in hand, brave hearts tangled in forbidden emotion while her husband attends church with Lilith to sing hymns of Emily Dickinson. Deciding Isolde is the girl for him, Mars challenges Tristan to armed combat, but the clever university scholar tricks him to buy his cryptocurrency, investment in future technology, then swipes motorcycle keys from his pocket. Wind blowing their hair with electric joy, Tristan and Isolde drive his motorcycle on winding mountain trail of singing pines to hike broad Valley of Yosemite where sun glimmers gold on grandiose cliffs that inspires the ghost of Albert Bierstadt. Hunting them down with shotgun of hot rage, Mars learns to paint with glowing light of truth to interpret landscape of the wild west with subtle expression of Luminism that highlights sublime beauty of great mountains where Tristan learns from Phoebus how to sing. Startled by copperhead snake in her garden, Isolde holds basket of cherries with care till Tiresias, strange old bearded man who runs the corner grocery store, appears to snatch poisonous snake of jealousy and transform it back into magic wand. Pouring fresh orange juice for Tiresias, Isolde sits at the rough-oak kitchen table and asks him to explain astrology, so he teaches her how to calculate cardinal process of cause and effect that pivots spiral of atomic change. Pushing open door of marital fate, Ceres appears from storm over the sea, grabs ear of Mars with affectionate snarl, and drags him to the small white country church where Tiresias officiates wedding attended by everyone who knows why.
Friday, May 1, 2026
Ghosts Of Long-Past Myths
Ghosts Of Long-Past Myths © Surazeus 2026 05 01 Ghosts of long-past myths haunt our world today as mortal embodiments in frail flesh of immortal characters from book tales who represent eternal energies that migrate through human bodies of hope through endless recurrence of formal tropes. God is Idea wrapped in human flesh of every mortal who attained high state as enlightened leader over their tribe, congealed from characters in history whose special personalities reflect conceptual force of social authority. Each mortal who attained state of godhood, El, Zeus, Jove, Jupiter, Brahman, Shangdi, Buddha, Odin, and many other gods named as creator of the universe, persist as glamorous idols of power recorded in ancient religious myths. Immortal energy of social leader migrates through frail bodies of mortal men who transcend limited scope of their mind through apotheosis of clear insight flashed by epiphany of wise attention to rule progress of their society. Close analysis of communal code through careful deconstruction of state power, that preserves patriarchal institutions, exposes blind regard of selfish genes to exert influence through reproduction that cripples dynastic bloodlines with greed. Hercules represents arrogant bully who threatens violence with club of hate to establish bold empirical rule through aggressive exploitation of men by asserting authority through threats, now symbolized by haughty figure of Satan. Jesus represents compassionate doctor who heals wounded bodies with wand of love to nurture innate talents in strong skills through disciplined education of men by guiding hearts through moral parables, now symbolized by humble figure of Christ. Ghosts of every character in old myths possess living people with ancient souls of psychic energy they choose to play as we perform our temporary roles in drama of construction and destruction till children bury us and take their turn.
New Empire Of The Free
New Empire Of The Free © Surazeus 2026 05 01 Now that I dwell on Fractured Rainbow Lane far from the center of commercial gain, I spend all day contemplating design for excavating concepts from deep mine that sprout soul-beaming mushrooms in my brain before Saturnus is forced to resign. Stuck in Quail Hollow with Alphabet Wolf, I dream of my childhood with Beowulf who taught me how to soften wood with steam to build ships for his dragon-hunting team, then we sail on vacation to Zar Gulf to search for hungry shark of self-esteem. Each time she calls me on the telephone, Minerva asks to use my Rolling Stone to smash false idol of the tyrant king who arrests anyone who dares to sing, but when she decides to hire my Soul Clone I hide through Invisibility Ring. Appalled by interrogation techniques, librarians employ to extract from freaks misattributed morals of strange tales, I map tangled webs of religious trails that always lead me up to sky-bright peaks which might explain why Cronus always fails. Entranced by uncanny tune of the skylark that echoes hypnotic tones in the ark, I develop with care time-honored ruse to protect integrity of my wise Muse who fries burgers for picnic in the park while Artemis presents the evening news. Inspired by noble stance that Remus takes allowing everyone to fish hill lakes, I follow him to oppose Romulus who chains and forces honest Sisyphus to build Temple of Jupiter with rakes who will only obey brave Tantalus. Spirit of Roma still shines in my heart ages after her empire fell apart, so I build temple home on river shore to shelter my family forever more, yet they sell apples from the four-wheeled cart while I play lyre and sing forgotten lore. Our noble way of life has disappeared just like my father Tiresias feared, so we journey west across the wild sea to establish new empire of the free, but our old world view keeps getting more weird so I hang out in sprawling Knowledge Tree.
Franchise Of Fake Happiness
Franchise Of Fake Happiness © Surazeus 2026 05 01 Awash in time-swirling sea of light rays, I dwell woke in astrological haze, conditioned to respond to obstacles by measuring abstractive molecules through project to assimilate my soul with undulating matrix of the whole. Attenuated scope of consciousness, enclosed by ceremonial finesse, shields pulsing core of vibrant clemency with comprehensive spell of ardency concealed by convertible copyright through deformation of conceptual light. Amplified tone of mental furnishings deflects harassment of holistic zings, impressive with articulated jokes indexed by pride-inflated billing hoax which discombobulates my budget game against bottomless bureau of world fame. Allowed to bloom from hungry artifice through psychosomatic analysis, which denies my heart romantic access, I purchase franchise of fake happiness constrained by framework of the gourmet cry that cracks graphic interface of the sky. Archived extremity of social rules, based on invention of brokerage tools, my dreams refuse command to calculate certified challenge of classified fate against commitment of the chromosome to watch movies in the Pantheon dome. Attentive ambience in deserted church risks assessment of my exotic search for wisdom-woven expression of truth which I sell from pyramid-market booth to people wanting insurance that death will translate their souls to hurricane breath. Authorized by Ungod in the Glow Cloud to duplicate face of the burial shroud, I carve dynamic formulas of hope on Emerald Tablet to record weird trope designed to mirror special character framed by magnetic mask of Lucifer. Authentic feelings of my wounded heart provide dream-forged key for my fresh new start editing grand tales for strange magazine centered around reign of Empress Melusine whose serpentine sons rule nations of Earth through capital gains of spiritual worth.
Accidental Angel Flight
Accidental Angel Flight © Surazeus 2026 05 01 If in old lost times we accelerate rapid analysis twisted by fate, our accidental angel flight through Hell may reveal location of the Dream Well teeming with ghosts of blind subconscious dead who want to become alive in my head. Traitors never honestly realize plowed fields exonerate word-bleeding skies with marble statues of bullies wearing crowns who subjugate theology of towns by building monuments of social power from psychic energy of the sad flower. Disintegration of stale social norms expands from rugged boulders of named forms to prove we never understand why stars spark piston engines of time-machine cars because I drive too fast on diamond roads to find sacred temples of divine toads. Beyond last private cove of romance plays my true soulmate waits in arrogant haze with secret book she stole from half-dead god that describes how to make Aaronic rod from writhing serpent energy of lust because marriage is based on mutual trust. Rapid expansion of our empire scope adjusts disbursement of religious hope only to those who belong to our tribe regardless of how they tune the world vibe by dancing wildly on the global stage based on rules Isaiah bleeds on the page. Startled by arrival of the blind king who rides the donkey while brave sirens sing, sweet Sibyl lectures on the pyramid as government office where truth is hid inside ripe apricot of mental code she gives to pilgrims bearing heavy load. Arrival on strange shores of nameless lands confuses angels who steal without hands because my mother hides secrets in tale about my father swallowed by the whale when he dared prophesy against the king who gave him invisibility ring. Humans learned to walk in the ocean tide by standing upright when the red moon cried so our hands are free to manipulate material objects bound by random fate because we choose by nature how to play joyful games of chase while blind devils pray.
Thursday, April 30, 2026
Evade Voice Of Death
Evade Voice Of Death © Surazeus 2026 04 30 No problematic gestures we express may untwist alphabets of moral rules in frantic harmony with waterfalls that scream our secret names into the void where mindless robots play old social roles in vain attempt to evade voice of death. No eloquent stutter of campaign speech should misalign psychic programs of faith contrived by preachers of the Holy Word to ride the gravy train of false respect in boldest scam since cryptocurrency fools millions to invest in fantasies. No haunting song of plum-tree nightingales sparks sublime visions of celestial grace to swell from pulsing cortex of my heart beyond mercurial strangeness of dire shores where ghosts of my ancestors mutely lurk in dim plutonian shadows of my mind. No ardent monolog of anxious hope teems from my brain in tangled curse of fate to ponder actions I could boldly take with arms against wild sea of troubled times and by opposing tyranny of greed establish liberty as way to live. No thoughtless crime of arrogant assault by frightened minions of the bogus king will stall my gradual progress to construct new global system of social support designed to ensure fair justice for all who share vision of Heaven we attend. No unsolved puzzles fragmenting our state could scatter children of the fallen God across unmeasured landscape of desire without nostalgic journey beyond home to colonize far distant lands of fear where skull of Hamlet prophesies our fall. No complex project shy Cassandra draws with Rod of Aaron in hot desert sand could unframe fraught ontology of truth since no one cares to understand her code describing consequence of war we fight in campaign to elect new president. No fabulous accounts blind bankers tell to analyze how fiscal systems fail convince our fragile bodies to rebel till Phoebus proves gold mask that Midas wears was forged from bones of hungry dinosaurs in failed attempt to evade voice of death.
First Mother Of Our Soul
First Mother Of Our Soul © Surazeus 2026 04 30 Why am I me and no one else alive, trapped in the fragile nutshell of my head, entangled in strange memories of my mind from striving to survive till I am dead? Every human alive on Planet Earth has been born from First Mother of our soul. All humans of the world alive with hope share universal frame of reference that underlies state of religious tales with common themes of heroic success. Though I sometimes feel alone in my head I feel connected to each soul on Earth. I feel prime soul of Ishtar in my heart when she gathered us all in temple hall to nurture our spirits with feast of faith then sang creation of the universe. Her vision of how our world operates still programs how I perceive our life on Earth. Bright goddess who created stars of truth stands before congregation of the lost and tells us how our world was born from fire, then gives advice on how to live life well. Our souls are fragments of her primal soul as shards of her one puzzle mirror mind. Since Death will dissolve me in the end and scatter atoms of my body far as bright unconscious sparkles of starlight, I sing the conscious vision of my mind. For I am me alone in all the world, one temporary flame of conscious faith. I wonder why, out of eight billion souls alive this hour on globe of rain and dirt, I am conscious only of my own self, immortal mind in mortal shell of flesh. When Ishtar wakes in visions of my heart I play my role in fortune of my fate. Since each new choice I make defines my fate, I hesitate at crossroads of each change to analyze effects of active cause because I want to create, not destroy. I compose scripture that maps my life goal to create conscious souls before I die. Since no traveler has ever returned from the undiscovered country of death, I have no dread of what comes after life for I will cease to exist for all time. With courage I throw burdens to the wind to work great enterprises till I die.
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