Still Married To My Muse © Surazeus 2026 04 23 Though forced to seek anew some fresher stamp presenting noble subject of my camp, I grant myself still married to my Muse who tempts me to adjudicate the news by daring to record destructive deeds through paintings that encode our psychic needs. My special nature, glorified by fate, traps me in curse to guard the jeweled gate against incursion proffered by lame thieves who limp from tomb where humble widow grieves from failed attempt to steal her loving eyes through vain expression hollow prayers devise. Since I alone in our vast universe am no one else but me, I purchase curse contrived to spoil alert equality against brave blessings from banality that we exchange by selling fantasies immured in confines of false dignities. Tongue-tied by praise of loyal characters, more precious to death than stale aquifers, I wield with bravery golden quill of truth to prove myself wise as unlettered sleuth when strangers clutching books of frantic tales ask me to solve problems cruel faith entails. In polished form of my soul-searing pen I measure tangled chaos love would win since urgent spirit animates my chord with solemn hymn no angel can afford, yet mortal pride of my too precious boast strands my broken heart on the storm-lashed coast. Full sail in ship of state my conscious steers, I will explore strange lands with my compeers who kneel astonished by clear mountain lake that their intelligence considers fake, enfeebled by familiar ghost of time who crowns as Emperor of Earth the mime. Clear charter of your worth excites my hope that Jupiter will teach me how to cope with undeserving richness of true love which flatters me with royal light above though I determine death erases all while we dance laughing in the waterfall. No better judgement could I render right than how we are acquainted with the night to prove we are as virtuous through faith as time-untwisting laughter of the wraith who recognizes power of my Muse whose weird spell may bomb of my heart defuse.
Thursday, April 23, 2026
Still Married To My Muse
Preserving Green Space
Preserving Green Space © Surazeus 2026 04 23 Though hope creates sustainability from important design problem of faith, Carla walks quickly along city street past store fronts selling illusions of truth, ignoring crescent moon in the blue sky, intent on getting back to work on time. Scalable system for nationwide growth inspires Carla with passionate respect to outline methods for analysis which monitors biodiversity based on ascension of rickety stairs through frantic doors of cracked anxiety. Complex projects for preserving green space between old factories and shopping malls align with current operational modes which Carla plots for future management, designed to maximize living expense based on calculations of hunger strikes. Arranging data collected from fields about technical challenges of use, Carla tabulates random facts of fear which might untangle communal concerns for psychic erosion of social trust managed by flexible platforms of faith. Global datasets of spatialized scope, supplied by government warehouse of truth, provides Carla with conceptual regrets to shore against ruins of mental zones, constrained by progress of urban decay, where gangs of lost children prefer to play. Developing bold strategies to arrest regressive destruction of classic frames, Carla sketches ideal patterns of change that depict uncontrollable time flips with attentive focus on channeling forces of passion through productive law. Staring out office window of her heart at people walking up and down the street, Carla longs for ancient systems of life on communal farms along river shores where people first formed brave communities to help each other survive against death. Clutching bag full of documents and fears, Carla rides on the crowded city bus through the endless maze of buildings and parks, then drinks chamomile tea on futon couch and pets her kitten with alien eyes while she sketches fairies dancing in moonlight.
Wednesday, April 22, 2026
Rubber Wheels Of Flight
Rubber Wheels Of Flight © Surazeus 2026 04 22 Star angels seem to follow me around while I am driving on the busy road, adjusting speed of passionate desire to keep from hitting souls of other cars because we race endless circles of hope to catch the rainbow falling from the sky. My fingers dance on keyboard of weird spells to weave illusions that reflect the world of pulsing objects, formed of chemicals, that fool me into thinking I am God till Death erases my soul from the world, and all my atoms become other things. I watch the red light till it flashes green, then I assert my vain right to exist as metal shell on rubber wheels of flight, bright angel transformed to frail human being assigned strange name that honors long-dead god who drives with millions on vast maze of roads. Parking my car in garage of false fame, I walk with crowd of gods in human form to work all day in office of insight where I map multiverse of proxy worlds as half-aspects of one vast universe composing puzzle programmed from my dreams. Severe thought static, translating dream songs from tangled cantos of unique syntax trademarked by serpent of the well, expands scope of my conscious attention to facts encoded in moral tales of concern that invoke syndrome of unscheduled truth. Unlicensed lecture, expressed by shy god, shows me how to manage with legal jokes tense energy of our Daemonium who performs role with correspondent wit of Sign Giver who speaks with Inner Voice to guide my journey to the Promised Land. Excerpt of famished framework, glorified by solemn angel born from river stone, who appears to me as gleam of pure light, reveals entrapment trick they play on me till I escape high walls of paradise with one last apple full of fertile seeds. Through featured tropes of graphic interface I dare conceal strange program of my heart by which I forecast state of world affairs through clumsy assessment of bankrupt laws that helps me solve weird problem of my soul too beautiful for brokerage of death.
Wise Spirit Of Anahita
Wise Spirit Of Anahita © Surazeus 2026 04 22 Awake in gloaming of our endless day, with fierce impatience of the fractured moon, I measure wholeness of conceptual fields where hungry people tend vineyards of faith, and wait for Anahita to arrive with jar of water from her sacred pool. Her long black hair flowing in evening wind, Anahita walks among refugees from civil wars that destroyed family homes, and pours fresh water in cracked bowls of hope so they may drink sweet spirit of the Earth that resurrects their hearts from bleak despair. Assassins cloaked in blue suits of contempt surround brave goddess of water and health with evil intent to clamp her in chains and force her to kneel before Angra Mainyu in humble submission to his desire, but she defies his daevas with strong will. While Anahita fights daevas with courage, Ahura Mazda arrives on white horse, leading army of brave warriors with spears, they made from pines of Hara Berezaiti, who defend people of Assyria and protect wise Anahita from harm. Awake with wise spirit of Anahita, whose courage animates my heart with love, I fight destructive force of lies and hate, embodied by cruel tyrant in gold tower who tries to enslave people of the world as mindless workers in his factories. Her eyes gleaming bright yellow as topaz, Anahita stands on high ziggurat, wearing crown of Ishtar with humble pride and bearing wand of Inanna with love, to organize free peoples of the world law-bound in United Nations of Earth. Though Midas wrecks institutions of peace, and Pluto grasps at false rainbow of wealth, we join brave goddess of wisdom and truth to build Zarathia through Liberty from ruins of rapacious nation-states, ensuring justice and freedom for all. Though tyrants attempt with aggressive hate to destroy wise spirit of Anahita, collective energy of psychic power, that beams from heart of every soul on Earth, weaves matrix of our faith in shield of hope to support fertile goddess of our love.
Purity Of Secret Names
Purity Of Secret Names © Surazeus 2026 04 22 Elemental clarity of strange facts, based on physical solidness of flesh, renews psychic experience of the real combined with purity of secret names we utter as pure prayers of honest faith to conjure spirit of the best we are. Simple sentiment of our valid prayer denies significance buried in mud when name we utter with urgent concern conceals apprehension our brains adjust through imaginative bracketing of fate that sparks immanent transcendence of self. If my true self, expanding from my heart, coheres to object of essential being when I wear gold ring of reluctant faith, I flip attention of perceptive force with quaint discretion of the country road so objects I name vanish into dust. Through insistence of frantic ardency on primacy of the image, that mirrors real emotions seething in frames of thought, we package subjective feelings of hope till name and referent of truth collide, which conjures illusion we think is real. Whole operation of social control connotes feast of love we share in glass church so fluctuating time is overcome by fraught transfiguration we endure if the dead who have lost their sacred names dare return to the living without faith. If we return to lost wholeness of faith, contained within high walls of paradise, we may stain Garden of Eden with prayers while trapped by fortune within givenness of individual experience through spells that we record in books angels will burn. Entranced by mystic vision of my soul sparked awake by light of immortal stars, I stride jauntily over pulsing grass to mark scrupulous field of reference that maintains timeless meaning of our hearts fractured into particles of fake words. Since my brain is conduit for God Soul to express important concepts of truth, I scatter riddles of unshadowed stars when time folds dimensions of luckless fate through archaic technique of language games that free our bodies from religious faith.
Madonna Of The Snows
Madonna Of The Snows © Surazeus 2026 04 22 Sapphires in strong hands of Ithuriel reflect turquoise waters of mountain lake where specter of the rose blooms in his heart, so he kneels among frail Edelweiss blooms and drinks innocent spirit of the Earth while graceful swans float in crystalline light. Curving swan-necks of women in white robes arch with elegant form of timeless trees that drop apples and pears into their hands while their guardian angel Ithuriel protects their souls from wild wolves in dark woods, so they laugh and play with innocent grace. Bending among white Camellia shrubs, in satin dress that shimmers white as clouds, Titania caresses petals of hope and smiles with soft seductive gentleness at grim Ithuriel who wields sharp sword, yet ignores distraction of her blue eyes. Skin white as moonlight on smooth glacier ice, Titania twirls slow under willow tree so pearls against her breasts glitter with trust that Death, bedazzled by beauty of life, will pass her by beneath vast azure sky when she reaches her arm to pluck ripe pear. Beneath bright snow that gleams on river shore, Ithuriel finds ruby gem of love when heat of passion melts his heart with hope, so he retrieves bright jewel from hard Earth and offers it with humble reticence to Titania pretending to be shy. Dipping silver cup in cold fountain pool, Titania offers undine tears of lonely hope so grim Ithuriel accepts her gift and drinks chilly liquor of happiness while gazing at Madonna of the Snows whose fingers caress his hard blushing cheek. Flutter of Sphinx wings in cold gusting wind signifies approach, in wind-snapping cape, when Seraphita strides into the grove, silver tiara with seven sapphires radiating her royal authority, so Ithuriel bows before his wife. Retreating quickly to her small white boat, Titania rows across the turquoise lake while gazing with jealousy of false hope at vigorous guardian angel with sharp sword who steals adoring glance at graceful girl while bowing before Queen of Everywhere.
Figures Of False Truth
Figures Of False Truth © Surazeus 2026 04 22 Dire signs that adumbrate social collapse blind hearts of men with ciphers of star code which isolate bodies of frantic hope from our incognizant roses of wrath, so brave men pose as figures of false truth who wander stranded on the psychic moon. Intelligent inscriptions in dead books reveal bland prophecies of humble deeds performed by heroes with arrogant seeds designed to charge engines of farming trucks despite the broken light of autumn nights that scrambles riddles of national fates. If I imagine strangers on the street while pondering alone in doorless house, weird truth beats crow wings that excites the clown who conjures demons from the wood prayer bead which steals courtesy from soft hands of trees since world economy is based on bees. Savage powers at parties of the rich reclaim social machine of money games contrived by mad god of the River Thames who spends all day painting his picket fence to prove the universe of measured time derives from laughter of the selfless mime. White moon that gleams old words on river shore explains that every star I see in gloom, which scribes sacred maps on walls of my room, burned out long before my spirit was born, so when she rings the doorbell of my heart I buy one pear from her rickety cart. Unnoticed references that age each hour appear from swirling sea of honesty as brave leviathan with crystal key which opens huge door of my mental tower with unexpected passion that love feigns to order waves of thoughts in tangled lines. Since Death teaches me art of minstrelsy, I sing conceptual hymns of wounded souls who writhe as serpents in innocent wells, therefore men must learn art of chivalry from gallant Cave Bear, tamed by Socrates, so they can rule their empire colonies. Folk music from the vinyl record chinks with earnest passion of the suffering man about how life flows swift as hour-glass sand in vain attempt to counter social jinx cast with mute fear by figures of false truth who seek divine answers in mundane math.
Tuesday, April 21, 2026
God Is Not The Other
God Is Not The Other © Surazeus 2026 04 21 God is not the Other of anywhere, for God is the substance of everything that exists as light in the everywhere, so vibrant emanation of my soul radiates from cosmic core of the God Soul that composes essence of the White Whole. Inspired by quietness of God, I sing never-ending song of the human heart that channels conscious energy of stars in music water waves articulate to comprehend strange otherness of light that reflects our own face as Face of God. I study Otherness of the vast world and wonder if some super-mind perceives small temporary frame of fragile flesh that nurtures sparkling flame of conscious self who wakes inside my brain with flash of faith which makes me feel immortal at this hour. Awake in present body of my Self, I glow with countless memories of life all my ancestors lived from birth to birth while I evolve four hundred million years so immortal soul of my genes migrates as vibrant thread of conscious agency. God is reflection of my conscious soul which I project at surface of the world so I feel every atom in all things vibrate with pure celestial thought of light, yet I exist in bounds of time and space, contained within this temporary mind. I am this Other in my dreaming brain as separate entity of conscious thought who swims in swirling matrix sea of light till I dissolve to fragments of God Mind, unless I generate new life with you so we live as one soul beyond our death. Though I am stuck inside this frame of flesh, contained by limits of my space in time, my mind expands scope of attentive care to dream eternity of timeless joy, spruced by infinity of boundless flight, awake in every soul who ever lives. My mother tells me God is Everywhere, so I search for God in the Otherness where I sense bright atomic forms of things, till I find God inside my dreaming brain, then I play guitar at the city gate and sing endless tale of humanity.
Vital Boundary Of Should
Vital Boundary Of Should © Surazeus 2026 04 21 If I maintain my rendezvous with Death in fertile light of the ultimate good, I may inherit miraculous breath far across vital boundary of should, since I thrive through social obscurity with starlight in gloom of security. Preserved as nameless ghost in field of time, I spring unborn out of the Central Mind by which my character performs as mime for state ontology my brain designed in that uncertain hour before red dawn reveals forgotten spirit of the pawn. Blown by indifferent wind of careless fate, I wander toward familiar compound ghost of every person I meet by the gate who may still cherish me as Temple Host, assumed as faceless stranger without goal who waits for me to assign them their role. We tangle alien languages of faith in hybrid code of misunderstood truth that weaves new vision of the cosmic wraith who appoints mad fool as messiah sleuth with mission to revive the empire force which we derive from wyrd celestial source. I find my body on the distant shore, where I left robot of my secret self, to chronicle success of the Dream Store extracted from books of myth on the shelf composed by angel of the bloody wing who gives me Lyre of Mercury to sing. That bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit, which offers promise of divine insight, fools no one but cruel thief who dares to shoot in shameless bid to gain control of light which I oppose with motive to maintain productive peace where everyone may gain. Brave speech may purify strange dialect our tribe employs with calm alacrity, but through conceptual diction we project expanding scope of psychic ministry to weave all languages of Earth in one with the microphone rather than the gun. Still meditating in the Yellow Wood on which road of the future I will take, I map my vital boundary of should to ensure my story is real, not fake, so I stride boldly on the misty heath to keep my honest rendezvous with Death.
Monday, April 20, 2026
Mystic Of The Absolute
Mystic Of The Absolute © Surazeus 2026 04 20 Considered mystic of the absolute, shy Sylphus mounts the wingless horse of pain and flies with casual fear to Camelot where Daedalus invents mortgage machine to maintain neutral stance of spectral pride, silver with shadow of the deified. Supreme assurance of arrogant vote presents voyeur of our trademark concern for which Wonder Minion will play the bait that lures blind vampire to deserted barn where he is forced to milk the money cow while Gabriel operates the dream plow. Threshold of welfare, troubled to transform bodies of children to robots of faith, denies attempts to cross unvoltaged term we urban ghosts decide erases myth despite transference of the ego mask, tempted to drink sweet soma from the flask. Recording process of world social storm that shatters institutes of global peace, brave Sylphus visits temple without charm where grim Amaterasu names her price for selling sacred bronze mirror of souls in place of demon apples in cracked bowls. Insurance, designed to protect the mind from induced improvement jesters proclaim, liquidates stolen assets without brand controlling interest in the money game, yet Sylphus asks Aurora with star eyes if she will help him organize their spies. Increase of hybrid machines on the road defies logic contrived by weeping bards, so Sylphus proclaims Gospel of the Toad whose spiral-rainbow eyes of sacred chords hypnotize loyal followers of Zarth whom they proclaim is Emperor of Earth. Major placement of protein packages, as proxy partnership of brain perfume, reveals location of sad hostages who prefer to contest for global fame as if they think they can evade the curse that opens portals to the multiverse. Reborn as mystic of the absolute, lithe Sylphus surfs huge waves of social change while on world tour to play demonic flute with Artemis as quantum queen of grunge, then in the Green Room when the play is done they eat pineapple pizza of the gun.
Angel Of Star Fire
Angel Of Star Fire © Surazeus 2026 04 20 Startled awake by angel of star fire, who haunts our nation with wings of despair, I lounge on my back porch and play guitar while King Midas destroys America so he can crown himself king of the world, but he drowns when he tries to walk on water. Inspired by hymn from angel of star fire, we gather at the river of cracked skulls that floods city mazes with crystal tide which flows by the electric throne of Death where wood statue of God erupts in flames when Aaron casts serpent wand in the grass. Longing to fly with angel of star fire, I race bicycle down steep hill of hope with arms of faith outspread to imitate eagerness of Icarus to transcend mundane routines of daily rituals designed to maintain life through self-control. Eager to play with angel of star fire, I carve chess pieces from statues of gods which I found buried in mud of the well so we perform our roles on stage of power to protect Liberty in the High Tower where she sings with blue bird of bitterness. Trapped in life maze with angel of star fire, who sits on crystal throne of glowing clouds beneath binary rainbow of respect, I refract currency of my star soul through prism heart of her kaleidoscope when Minerva returns from Cave of Truth. Freed from prison by angel of star fire, I map whole history of our human race on time-animated atlas of Earth so we can navigate landscape of ghosts to build from ruins of America new land of justice called Zarathia. Deployed to war by angel of star fire, I wield Excalibur with clumsy grace, as warden who guards the garden of God, which I forged from stone in Cave of Illusions to lead world revolution of the caring against all tyrants and kings in glass towers. Reborn from fear as angel of star fire, I stand on ziggurat of Mother Ishtar to strum the lyre of Mercury with faith when she casts spell of brave enlightenment to prevent Midas from fracking the world, so we join United Nations of Earth.
Willing River Of Love
Willing River Of Love © Surazeus 2026 04 20 Crawling from coffin of his character, Delmore explains to Queen Elizabeth that he is Phoenix of the broken clock, reborn from jester of the hungry king with mission to rebuild castle of glass where time is the fire in which we learn. Searching for innocent ghost of Rimbaud lost in dark labyrinth of Gormenghast, Delmore steals lute from tomb of Romeo, then sings old French ballads to passing cars that cross the Brooklyn Bridge in bitter rain while Sinatra croons on the radio. Crouching behind shield of Achilles Christ to protect us from radiant nothingness, Delmore cries out to angels in the clouds who drop bombs on factories in Germany, then tames the undivided horse of faith so he can ride the last road back to Rome. Lounging in cobwebbed tomb of Baudelaire, Delmore tears pages from his bank account while catching stones people cast at his head so he can build new wall for paradise that traps obsessive ghost of his childhood in Garden of Eden where none can rest. Paralyzed by impotence of strange hymns, that twists his rigid heart with wordless wrath, Delmore writes unreadable spells of hope in cafe near post office of mad kings, asking Socrates for money of faith, enough to last till the apocalypse. Baptized clean in willing river of love, Delmore waits in Black Swan Pavilion for serene exaltation of the mind to liberate his body from disgust through brave emulation of divine lust, yet names the dead in the Kingdom of Snow. Directing grand choir of humanity to sing solemn hymns of empty dismay that celebrate victory of true love which shines in us before the morning hour so we become aloneness of fruit trees, Delmore plays instruments of ancient song. Walking calmly through day of April light to find his Self amid the blaze of change, Delmore writes new Book of Theodicy to prove with formula of tangled verse that goodness conquers evil every day, till his heart explodes during his swan song.
Sunday, April 19, 2026
Forgetting My Own Face
Forgetting My Own Face © Surazeus 2026 04 19 If I end up forgetting my own face, designed by passion my ancestors felt while walking bravely against wind of fear, I might wear mask of Cloud God to conceal amalgamated nothingness of self which angels document in clever jokes. Strolling in field of dandelion flowers, which explode in wishes of lonely souls, I ponder nothingness at end of time that traps me in this temporary body through which I aspire to climb mountain peaks as witness to transcendent state of mind. Because I know no fate of falling rain while hiding in ruins of paradise, slouched on huge stones that fell from fractured walls, I organize list of tasks to complete in mission to found empire on god skulls when death bequeaths weird secret of rebirth. Dark shadow looms above vast maze of streets where apes in suits play gods in wars of truth while I drive children from school to graveyards where they conduct random experiments to understand how trees bloom rich in Spring from coffin where the vampire god lies stiff. If I end up designing my new face from masks of gods long fallen in disgrace, I may be forced to wrestle before dawn eccentric angel of our nation-state who lives in mansion by polluted lake as castle capital of Avalon. True friendship chains our hearts with bitter faith we try to sell from market stalls of hope when butterfly god in her chrysalis hangs from rugged cross on hill of skulls which sprouts new limbs with apples of the sun so I sail river boat across the sea. In noble fight against the tyrant king we must not falter at the darkest hour for Justice needs our courage to transcend schemes of greed rich bankers promulgate in van attempt to control minds of men who wake from weird hypnotic trance he spelled. Ophelia finds lyre of Mercury rusting on tombstone of last troubadour whose spirit wakes again inside her brain so she ascends ziggurat of world fame to untwist political games of power with pungent beauty of the psychic flower.
We Have Not Disappeared
We Have Not Disappeared © Surazeus 2026 04 19 Though ocean waves erase our names from sand, and time dissolves our bodies into dust, our vibrant characters of baser hopes will live by fame in stories of old books far longer than great empires ever last, but even myths will dissipate in wind. I hear strange whistle from voice of the moon as distant echo in shadows of fate, so I help the blindfolded girl escape harsh judgement of villagers with stone hands shocked in rage that she dares defy their rules till we wander lost in waste land of fear. Clutching audible objects of true love that pulse with passion of seasonal hope, we break through shadow of wordless despair to fall in lush grass by the sparkling lake, amazed we managed to evade cruel death whose bitter rage growls softly after dusk. We lie beside soft whispered stream of hope where horses graze among old apple trees, and think about infinity through time that spirals forth in never-ending flow as vast gulf stretching everywhere we look, concerned we have not disappeared enough. Bright face in trickling eddies of starlight appears to watch us from abyss of faith, so we trade silent thoughts between our eyes which hang suspended from billowing clouds, but then weird light illuminates her face that gleams pure white as mask of bloodless ice. I sink in lightless gloom of misery and float on undulating waves of grass to dream I fly on horse of vanity away from roaring demon of my heart, then start awake in gold glow before dawn to see she transformed into a pond toad. Indulging happiness of lightning strikes, I search everywhere through indifferent woods to find dim shadow of her fragile soul for thirty years till memory of her face fades into flicker of leaves in sunlight as I stare at my own face in the pool. While eating bitter apple of my heart, I pause and stare at flicker of the lake and wonder how she vanished in the light, the blindfolded girl I rescued from death, then turn because I think I hear her voice as I transform into the eyeless crow.
Universal Element Of Love
Universal Element Of Love © Surazeus 2026 04 19 Through universal element of love mindless atoms swirl into galaxies that weave stars from aggressive fantasy, then nurture planets blooming ghosts of faith in spiral coil of genes which replicates new bodies that evolve from fish to god. Stuck in this body of frail mortal flesh, as long as chemicals of this lithe form function through interaction of bright sparks, I maintain forward motion through desire to find tree of knowledge with fruit of life which animates my conscious heart with love. Ninth Adam, son of Amen and Adad, breathes gusting air of hope to swell his soul, then stands on wobbling legs of frantic fear and stares at giant dragon with gold eyes that chews bodies of his tribe dripping blood, and howls with terrible rage of despair. Wrenching long brass wand with sharp jagged spikes, that cooled from lava flow at dawn of time, Ninth Adam rushes forward on fierce legs and batters face of the dragon with blows of brave aggression writhing from his heart till shrieking dragon stumbles to escape. Tracking bloody steps of the sharp-toothed beast, Ninth Adam finds in small cave by the lake wounded dragon cowering in stark fear, so he bashes its head with lightning strikes that crushes its skull into bloodied mush, till he lies exhausted under mute stars. Hauling wagon with dragon and its eggs, Ninth Adam enters gates of paradise where Inanna hosts rites of victory as Eloh roasts meat on high ziggurat that feeds five thousand people of the town who praise dragon-slayer with joyous hymns. Enrobed with leather cape from dragon skin, Ninth Adam presides on the judgment throne to reign as noble guard of paradise, while Ninshubur bears children of his seed, then trains his son Zababa to wield spear as hunter who slays dragons of the sea. "Through universal element of love, that fuels our bodies with star energy," Ninth Adam explains to his fierce-eyed son, "we fight evil dragons who eat our minds so we may generate bodies of flesh that preserve immortal soul of our hearts."
When Pinocchio Wakes
When Pinocchio Wakes © Surazeus 2026 04 19 When Pinocchio wakes from peaceful dreams of humming with cool breeze by sparkling lake, he stares up at the bearded face of God who sparks life in his heart with breath of love, then helps him stand and walk on clumsy feet so he ambulates through his own free will. Wandering in forest of tall pine trees that sway in dance from mountain winds of hope, Pinocchio caresses their rough bark with hands that sense mute spirit of their trunks, so he breathes deep and exhales vibrant tune, expressing visions of his mind in verse. Ascending mountain trail to gaping cave where faceless shadow of blind demon glows, Pinocchio touches large diamond gem, embedded in stone, resembling his eyes, where he sees first flash of the universe which animates his consciousness with love. "Though I feel trapped in container of flesh, attentive spirit of my conscious mind motivates forward motion through my will as I explore strange landscape of this world to discover origin of my being that pulses with atomic flash of light." Sitting still before bearded face of God by lake in cave of gems gleaming moonlight, Pinocchio asks, "Who am I, and how have I become alive with conscious hope? I feel bright jewel of immortal soul pulse with passion at the core of my being." Eyes blue as sapphires, stuck in cavern wall, gleam with joy as God looks in his eyes. "I am Geppetto, Craftsman who carves things from tree wood, like wagons, houses, and boats. I am frail mortal father of your soul for I sparked your life in womb of your mother." Reaching callused hand with attentive care, Geppetto caresses face of his son. "You are lithe mountain fox of joyful play, wounded by arrow of aggressive hate, so I extracted jewel of your heart to animate body of wood I made." Removing wood mask of his faceless soul, Geppetto reveals bright spirit of God. "If you wear person-skin you made too long you may forget true spirit of your heart, but your heart will always remember who you have been since first flash at dawn of time."
Saturday, April 18, 2026
Yellow Wood Of Hope
Yellow Wood Of Hope © Surazeus 2026 04 18 The crumbling stone bridge over the brown river, on which the statue of the poet stands, waits for my ghost to cross its wildered way, humming with gusts of arbitrary wind that scatters pages of verse from frail hands so our dreams dissolve into silent song. Delicate plum stone of my rotten heart, charred by sad flame of the arrogant lamp, contains original purpose of life designed by Raven Witch of Serpent Lake who brews honey wine in Cauldron of Faith while chanting hex of wisdom from the stars. Atomic light of pure love in my cells began to gleam before our world was born from frantic swirls of penitential lust that sparkles carbon molecules to bind aggressive force of hope with grim desire which aggregates proverbs in Book of Dreams. Startled awake by the wrinkle in time, that folds every universe of my mind in vibrant matrix through radio waves, I study flashing quarks in supple words preserved as letters writhing on white page that prove ten dimensions spiral through eggs. When I come to the road less traveled by, that has never appeared on any map drawn by Lone Wolf in monastery cave, I find pregnant woman by the blind oak who seems to know the secret of my name, so we walk in the yellow wood of hope. Alert in classroom full of changeling sprites, I teach how Mercator projection map provides the best navigation device for brave explorers who sail Seven Seas across ten dimensions of time and space to colonize the world with fantasies. My sensitive spirit of eager faith writhes with rancid bitterness of gloom when I transverse the endless realm of words with yearning to retrieve Diamond of Death by crossing threshold of the Otherworld that leaves me stranded in my first hometown. I drift in dreary reverie of fear to seek asylum in your weary heart where grief corrupts sagacious honesty through quaint cathexis in your faceless soul for which I leap to cross eternity as swirling shadow of atomic words.
Absence Of Auspicious Love
Absence Of Auspicious Love © Surazeus 2026 04 18 To buy dragon eggs at the grocery store, I carry magic box of blinking eyes, reluctant to transcend limits of thought as if I am the tragic money man who always stumbles on the muddy road though I stare at the ghost on the front porch. To dive in lake of pain before dawn light, I watch collapsing century resurge with monstrous tenderness of berry jam which teaches me importance of dream facts to avoid the trap of hiding regret for living blasphemously without pride. To ransack archives of personal taste, I dismiss surprises of history smeared with melancholy colors of hope which suit my vibrant life style on the town when I perform dramatic scenes to prove lessons of survival trick me with wealth. To relax in burning building of faith, I write strange thought formulas on chalk boards that describe how flowers explode from brains through social ideologies of power that divide us into factions of blind greed, impersonal as mountains that drink clouds. To analyze photographs of blurred ghosts, I stand beside the stop sign near the park and count how many chances I have missed in vain attempts to evade curse of fame that dogs my footsteps past the Promised Land till I attend inauguration balls. To formulate myself as almost real, I break into meaningless tomb of fear where skeleton of Jesus, cracked by fate, crumbles into gold dust of burned-out stars, so I stand trembling on the global stage and erase heroes from national myths. To join my neighbors at the barbecue, I untwist proverbs from roots of dead trees disguised as telephone lines of contempt that beam puzzling riddles to glowing screens reflecting faces in masks of dead gods whom we perform all day with reticence. To try ingenuous mode with bitter guile, I measure changing contours of the world where priests lead believers in maze of lies because in the end every person dies, for every fake belief in holy books blinds me to absence of auspicious love.
She Almost Wonders If
She Almost Wonders If © Surazeus 2026 04 18 She almost wonders if time is not real based on how water flows through veins of steel till silver raven, from dim vale she fears, explains strange magic of machinery gears, so lame girl walks downside up to her room where faceless fairies flicker in sad gloom. She never questions why stars glitter gold because she savors water that seems cold while reading romance tales in canny books that were sewn from butterfly wings by cooks who hide crystal keys in loaves of hot bread which she can use to resurrect the dead. She always asks each ghost their secret name because she wants to learn their psychic game which gives her social tools to fool the fools who gather in workshops to design tools that devils use to manipulate minds except for her who loves to feed shy hinds. She ever wanders garden of fruit trees in search of new words she can use to tease grim angel standing guard by jeweled gate whose sky-blue eyes require she defy fate, but when she climbs through window of her heart he flies away without celestial chart. She often leans in window of high tower to watch her favorite horse consume star flower, and dreams of racing swift beyond far hills to eat fresh apples and drink from clear rills, but wakes from daydream in gray mirror frame to smile and pretend she was not born lame. She mostly paints fierce dragon on ice peak whose rage is tamed by lame girl who is meek since she is doomed to inherit the Earth according to chart of her royal birth, so she limps quietly down narrow hall past portraits of ancestors on the wall. She nearly steps through unlocked door of hope in frantic mission to expand her scope by slipping free from castle of despair, but pauses halfway down steep winding stair to ponder abstract numbers of blind faith that help her mind perceive the eyeless wraith. She rarely thinks about mute nothingness while waiting on Bridge of Forgetfulness, so when Rapunzel gains her liberty she strums taut strings on lyre of Mercury and sings heart-wrenching psalms of bitter love while busking in strange towns where she may rove.
Organize Electric Beams
Organize Electric Beams © Surazeus 2026 04 18 While stealing apples from the Tree of Life in Garden of Eden where angels play, I hear tall woman with long flowing hair explain that, though the singers may change, the music goes on for thousands of years, so I lie on my back and stare at clouds. If I should disappear from dream of time my heart will expand its delicate wings and sing in harmony with flowing streams, articulating words with tongue of ice which conjures visions from rumble of thoughts so we become the truth our minds invent. When I am amniote at dawn of time I crawl through shallow stream of trickling light, imbibing water of cerulean skies, across sapphires, rubies, and emeralds, transforming form by climbing tall fruit trees, so now I stand and talk about my hope. Attentive flash of primal energy, that motivates my quest to find fresh fruit, fills empty nothing of my hungry mind when missing feature draws me to new state in constant motion of the absolute to seek truth that is absent from my heart. Fierce longing to remember taste of rain draws me to flashing flicker of the flame which I contain in ring of glowing stones because I know they are the fallen stars that teach me how to label what I see with words that blaze enlightenment of faith. Knee-deep in muddy water of the lake, I move through swirling lichen of desire to catch elusive fish of secret truth while hunting demon of excessive wrath that strikes from tangled limbs of tempting fruit so I snatch the writhing snake by its neck. When savage thirst for ecstasy of love swells huge from pulsing passion of my heart, I open wide my mouth with tongue of ice to speak in words of honest sentiment, but nothing more than howling wind of hope soars from cage of my soul on wings of light. Designed by brutal nature of the bog, I rise from sloshing arrogance of fear to build enormous towers of steel and glass so I can organize electric beams in computer nodes of the world wide web as I evolve from fish to Cyber God.
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