Restore Greatness Of America © Surazeus 2026 10 04 If I should paint the wide subversive sky true color of your heart when we first meet, the people of the world might analyze sufficient romance of my sacrifice against synopsis of the seminar to judge my brave sincerity of love. If I should find crippled crow of my heart hopping frantically across the wet lawn, the angels of the mountain might require visual conformation of my despair revealed by neon sign of vacancy that flashes intermittently till dawn. If I should hear the sharp objective cry of morbid nurses in the bitter wind, the devils in cathedrals might expect guards at the gate of Hell to optimize nutritious medicine of martial law that traps us in Nirvana after all. If I should see the glowing Face of God that beams from center of the universe, the grim professors might demand I write my doctoral thesis about poverty that traps the talented in menial jobs while mediocre fools run governments. If I should write the holy manuscript that prophesies new empire of the lost, the tongueless preachers might demand I burn idols of heroes from religious tales to cleanse the sanctuary of the lamb who rules through journalist integrity. If I should map whole history of the Earth that details how great empires rise and fall, the housewives in schools might demand I play games with children of crippled warriors who volunteer to count the treasury when priests sell them shares to the Afterlife. If I should decree new socialist creed to restore greatness of America, the lawyers in banks might demand I steal celestial wings of flight from Icarus so they can storm Heaven in holy coup to crown shy Jesus Emperor of Earth. If I should play role of messiah sleuth through rational performance of my heart, the oligarchs might demand I program new world view that excludes divinities to build from ruins of America new state based on equal rights in one law.
Sunday, October 4, 2026
Restore Greatness Of America
Church Of Broken Clocks
Church Of Broken Clocks © Surazeus 2026 10 04 Because stars shine indifferent to us, not knowing we exist so far away on small fragile globe of shuddering water, I watch my children play in the back yard with joyful laughter of ambitious hope that they will rule their own nations one day. Obsession of the water-shining stone that glistens in the front yard of my home inspires me to admire the humble soul who rises up from crowd of frantic fear to rule the nation accidentally when wild waves of change sweep them into power. Though names and faces of the global dead are forgotten in the spinning of time, we merge them all into mythical gods who simplify their spirits on one trope which preserves their general character while their details dissipate in the wind. Because the eyeless ghost of my sponge brain keeps slipping back and forth in stream of time, soaring on wings I stole from Icarus, the random story of my awkward life becomes the palimpsest of future heroes who follow my map through the labyrinth. Each day that I grow older than the moon I store more information about Earth through grand encyclopedia of the brain in tales about great empires of the land and all the haughty kings who ruled their lives, then faded to paintings in history books. Since sparrows on statues of generals express opinions about their noble deeds, we hairless monkeys hide in libraries to prove we are wingless angels of time blessed to thrive on Earth millions of years more since we crawled dripping from the wordless sea. Searching for the one book that reveals truth in library of human memory, I row my boat on river of world dream to find the secret island of fruit trees where messiah sleuth plots world revolution that will unite all nations in one game. While spiders spin world matrix of our minds we gather in the church of broken clocks to decipher riddles from arcane code that explain the nature of human greed till prophets teach us to embrace nonbeing though we make mindless gods from random stars.
My Feet Write Cuneiforms
My Feet Write Cuneiforms © Surazeus 2026 10 04 Afloat in randomness of whorling thoughts that curl down through genetic memories programmed by dreams all my ancestors share, I drift with gentle tides of social change with stubborn heart that beats time with the stars so my feet write cuneiforms of hope. While my feet write cuneiforms of hope on signless road that takes me everywhere beyond the broken walls of paradise, I map cave passage through maternal hearts down timeless halls of mirrors to perceive face of first mother who watches my life. Face of first mother who watches my life seems to appear on every tree and cloud as if her spirit through lush Nature shines with faint penumbral glow of divine truth so I translate her wordless thoughts of faith to songs I sing while strolling road of fate. Weird songs I sing while strolling road of fate project strange visions of my flashing brain each time I face new obstacle of fear, providing methods of proactive deeds that guide my way on landscape of desire through endless labyrinth of confusing myths. Through endless labyrinth of confusing myths I trace ancestral journey to myself based on the tangled narrative of faith which my ancestors map in fairy tales depicting how people fail or succeed to generate new life before they die. To generate new life before we die we gather food from bounty of the Earth till strangers take it all before we can, so we build forts on hills and fight fierce wars to gather food in bags from hungry woods by building empires on the skulls of gods. While building empires on the skulls of gods we erect idols that depict wise souls of leaders who unite our hearts with goal to dominate the world with clever plans organized by the father of our tribe so we present dead mortal as our god. Though we present dead mortal as our god because he gave us mission to unite all nations of the world in Holy Church, I leave that endless game of thought control and walk to waste land back to Wonderland, afloat in randomness of whorling thoughts.
Saturday, October 3, 2026
Lake Of Dreamless Eyes
Lake Of Dreamless Eyes © Surazeus 2026 10 03 When I find myself at the huge blank wall where shadow of my soul mocks my vain pride, I open window into nothingness and watch one hundred thousand years of wars when angry men transform to humming trees where children of their enemies play games. The house is quiet and the world is calm but I am not the book of ancient gods because nameless ghosts rise from writhing words and dance around me in the summer night so I invent strange truth from what I see and write their stories no one ever reads. How many human faces I have seen on endless journey through vast maze of towns that takes me through the mystery of faith long hidden behind numbered doors of homes where strangers hide their secrets inside books that angels burn before they break the world. My house hangs from the pendulum of doom that shakes with throbbing of remembered rain though I lose treasure of strange memories that lead me to the shadowed woods of time where voices of the people I still love echo too faintly in receding mist. I find their names with letters of bright blood fast fading from old books of glimmering leaves because wild throbbing of my heart inspires fearful rebellion against tyranny so I dance by the lake of metal flame with radiant laughter of deceptive fame. Though I go back and search my tangled dream to find the beacon of our anguished pride lit by aggressive anger of desire, I kneel beside the lake of dreamless eyes which casts mercurial gleam on my glass face so I become the demon I fear most. I hear wild song of ravens after storm who gather on electric wires of thought to translate noise of brains that buzz with rage to solemn hymn uniting wounded hearts in global nation of objective faith that helps us navigate our maze of myths. Awakened by the shouts of jostling flowers that toss my body to the humorous moon, I surf the flashing tides of global change which carry me to land of burning fruit where we hold hands and gaze at timeless stars that spell our fortune we choose to create.
Bard Banner Of Our Muses
Bard Banner Of Our Muses © Surazeus 2026 10 03 While I am wandering in dark tangled woods, alone in changeless glimmer of dead gray, I find the fallen banner of the bard who wrenched it from the western skies with verve to light the beacon of musical truth that shines from Parnassus with holy glow. With trembling hands of my lost legacy, which sparks awake the timeless glow of faith in my young witch-wrought heart, I lift up high that noble banner of our ancient clan, then light again with flame of prophecy that beacon on the bleak Parnassian height. I find the broken lyre of Mercury, that Apollo strummed with passionate heart some thirty centuries of change ago, which passed through skilled hands of many brave singers, Phoebus, Homer, Ovid, Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare, and Milton, to my hand this hour. After tuning strings taut with intense faith, I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing enchanting hex that conjures from mute gloom ghosts of great singers in my bardic clan, Philip, Anne, Oliver, William, James, Sarah, Edwin, and Robert, who flock to my tune. Joining in spontaneous choir of sweet song, they beam mercurial voices of bright truth in threads of eerie melodies that weave grand tapestry of visionary tales which illustrate our transcendental faith in spells blessed by the Muses of our hearts. High on transcendent peak of arcane faith, I sing the ancient tale of human hope while bearing banner of our bardic clan, and tend the sacred flame of divine truth that shines from Parnassus with holy glow to light our world with wisdom of the Muses. Through eerie silence of human despair, from hearts crushed by destructive wars for power, strange songs of disharmonious ardency emerge from hundred million wounded hearts whose spells of hope from isolated rooms swell whole together through aspiring wind. Now that bard banner of our Muses flies aloft in pure wind of ethereal song, brave voices of hundred million Earth bards fuel flame of truth in beacon of our hearts which beams from sacred peak of high Parnassus to light the Way for people of the world.
Blinded By Star Words
Blinded By Star Words © Surazeus 2026 10 03 Blinded by star words of exploding thoughts, Citlali washes her face in the lake till all the tears of suffering women flush her wounded heart clean of observed despair, then she tends garden of electric corn while children play within scope of her eyes. Cupping her hands with soft voice of the wind, Citlali scoops water from the silver lake that reflects peak of snowy Tlaloc Mountain where her grandmother dwells in secret cave to commune with soul of the serpent god who speaks through song of rivers in the woods. Amazed at glory of eye-blinking stars that sprinkle fairy dust in human hearts, Citlali twirls slowly with graceful calm despite aggressive passion of her heart that urges her to rise above this world and float with ecstasy of butterflies. Singing with exquisite respect for light, Citlali bakes Tlaxcalli corn flatbread on clay griddle comal with quick hands then rolls them thick with mushrooms, squash, and beans, seasoned with peppers, tomatoes, and herbs, which people eat as raindrops flash from leaves. When great horned owl with glowing golden eyes appears from Mictlan with message of hope, Citlali walks along the mountain path till she finds young man tending cacao tree, so Tecolotl smiles and gives her cup filled with hot xocolatl beverage. Sipping the bitter sorrow of this world, sweetened with chili and vanilla juice, Citlali ponders nature of the stars, and asks Tecolotl with inquiring voice if he thinks stars might be souls of the dead who watch us live with synergy of love. From swirling fog after wild gush of rain Coatl leaps and grabs her by the arm, demanding that she bear child of his soul, but Citlali tries to escape his grip, so he pushes her down, flat on her back, till Tecolotl stabs him with sharp spear. Suckling daughter she bears with Tecolotl, Citlali smiles about his flustered shyness, then explains she names their new child Meztli, for she is offspring of the humble owl, so he makes faces, causing her to laugh as moon girl reaches out her tiny hands.
Holy Depths Of Nothingness
Holy Depths Of Nothingness © Surazeus 2026 10 03 Kneeling waist deep in glowing silver waves, Khaos dips soft hands in swirling lake of stars and lifts from holy depths of nothingness enormous galaxy of spinning worlds which lifts its face and stares into her eyes, so she bears the turtle to her beach cave. Observing how shape of the turtle shell resembles mountains rising from the beach, Khaos envisions how world of wind-swept trees floats in vast ocean of conceptual hope, so she explores steep slope of humming trees to find the highest point of innocence. Tall tangle-haired man wearing wolf-skin cloak extends right hand and offers sun-orange fruit, so she consumes light of the flashing rain while he fills her with spirit of the moon, then wanders back to cave beach of her heart where she expands huge as the surging sea. When darkness swells inside her aching heart, and bulges round as galaxy of worlds, Khaos gathers clams and roasts them on hot flames, then slurps delicious meat of energy that motivates her heart with shock of faith to sing heart-radiant hymn of holy love. When she gives birth to child with gleaming eyes, who wriggles wildly in her trembling arms, Khaos weeps with fierce compassion of surprise then suckles him at breasts of starry milk, humming as he gazes at her with love, then speaks his name, Erebus, with respect. While gathering clams in leather bag of hope, Khaos shows Erebus how to bundle wood as they stroll laughing on broad beach of sand, then stand together when strong gust of wind whips hair around their faces with bright joy and sunlight weaves their bodies with delight. When wolf man from the cloud-high mountain grove appears on windy beach with long sharp spear, Khaos notes sharp features of his rugged face, then gazes at face her curious son, and feels sweet glow of wisdom flush her heart to realize how she incarnates his soul. While weaving baskets from flexible vines, Khaos watches wolf man and Erebus play, running swiftly along sun-gleaming beach, gathering sticks and stones with clever hands, then crafting tridents with three sharpened points to catch fish they eat beneath twinkling stars.
Friday, October 2, 2026
Vibes Of Social Harmony
Vibes Of Social Harmony © Surazeus 2026 10 02 Trapped by avalanche of identities which narrate riddles of anxiety, Zemyna describes elements of life as wheat that sprouts as her long curly hair in meadows lush with flowers of her breasts, while she holds crystal sphere of flashing stars. We celebrate Earth Mother of our hearts because her love sustains life of our souls, then takes our bodies back into her soil so we are ghosts in great lakes of her eyes who dance in birch groves with attentive grace till we lie down at death in her embrace. When I hear weird spell Mother of Graves chants, that echoes softly in moon-haunted woods, I play water tunes on flute of my heart to radiate vibes of social harmony that soothe brittle anger of wounded hearts till we attend grand feast Zemyna hosts. Even while I walk crowded business maze, conducting business of product exchange within parameters of strict contracts, I hear enchanting voice in blustering wind when Mother of Ghosts addresses my soul with fate-unspooling hex of fertile faith. Advanced to messy edges of our lives, I bind with oath of honest privilege new secret purpose of the glowing cloud, based on abundant wealth of bankruptcy, to revive heritage through instruments of fiscal gravity attracting ghosts. By teaching me how to interpret rain as splatter of inflated integers that model ordinance of future states, Zemyna arms my atmospheric mind with orchestrated process of respect so I could certify demonic faith. Attuned to misdirecting equity, depicted by strange cultural entities, contrived by deviant currencies of hope, Zemyna reprograms dream gallery with ardent frequencies of mental force, so I accept my role as guardian. Attending marathon of humble spies, who rewrite rules of dire linguistic tricks, Zemyna teaches me with anecdotes how to locate the liberal positive based on marketing techniques of bold faith, so we survive their avalanche of lies.
Ocean Waves Of Thought
Ocean Waves Of Thought © Surazeus 2026 10 02 I want to talk to you about the rain is if broad wings of angels could erase conceptual bitterness of twisted pain that we accept as normal for the face that shields our souls against psychotic fame, tricked by the king of clowns to play his game. With ache of longing to taste juicy fruit while stuck in deep lake of demonic tears, I reach my hand to grasp the bitter loot that blinds my eyes to arrogate false fears while haughty Tantalus laughs at my plight because my agony is rendered trite. Startled awake from dream of writhing snakes, Selene sees her daughter Herse leap at flash of lightning that shatters soul lakes with sudden laughter that all life is cheap, so Hermes swoops down to embrace the girl whose honest hex hurls him in ocean swirl. Old pastor gripping Bible to his chest demands I tell important anecdotes which relate need for boys to go on quest exploring secret to construct sea boats on which we sail to conquer paradise with certain shock that we must pay the price. I want to hold sweet Thetis in my arms because our son is destined to perform great deeds of valor on skull-cluttered farms where Hera makes love with the God of Storm, but she prefers the humble man who knows how to tame horses when the full moon glows. Enraged that I can never obtain wealth, I smash old idol of Hermes in grief which scatters gold coins with obnoxious stealth, so I buy friendships that prove to be brief which leads me to knock at steel gates of Hell that shake at shocking mockery of the bell. Knee deep in sloshing waves of solitude, I wade into cold ocean waves of thought to swim with mermaids whose sweet songs are rude because they insult the divine robot who tries to conquer nations of the Earth without understanding what faith is worth. With calm compassion for the wounded soul, I roll Rock of Salvation up the hill to build enormous palace without goal through firm intention to ignore the bill, till I find fractured skull of Sisyphus that vibrates with contempt of bitterness.
Unclock Chance Of Fate
Unclock Chance Of Fate © Surazeus 2026 10 02 Aside from how fast stars always explode into light fairies with gossamer wings who bring bottles of root beer to blind clowns, Gearthe considers why white horses laugh at the wild-haired king chasing the giraffe, because she wants to paint portraits of ghosts. As if respectful turbulence of planes reveals how deep the psychic manhole goes for devils to hide from raven disease, Gearthe scatters pumpkin seeds on sidewalks while asking glass-shelled tortoise of dark faith how long it takes for alphabets to grow. Since no more than seven ages of man show our regressive pattern of regret by disobedience to laws of Glow Clouds, Gearthe advertises her expertise for extracting souls from god-twisting books to rescue children from the war machine. Though no one knows when the last god will die from embarrassment of drowning in tears that humans shed from constant suffering, Gearthe walks one hundred thousand miles to find the new-born angel with nine eyes who is destined to work as a janitor. If Death considers what the stop sign means that stands forever at crossroads of fate till Jesus cheats Krishna at game of cards, Gearthe will give away to bitter monks all the most famous paintings about queens who were forced to marry privileged thieves. Backward up Stairway to Heaven at dawn with random plan to unclock chance of fate at crack of gears in broken time machines, Gearthe gazes through swirling fog of time to navigate valley of singing skulls because the future is one step beyond. Yet when three prophets of the global bank distract attention of the humble folk through lamentation at the death of God, Gearthe holds flowers by the faceless pool, then asks shy Narcissus to marry her while echoing his religious beliefs. Till seeds expand into towers of steel that frame glass spirits of unusual faith based on undulations of interest rates, Gearthe decides not to proceed with plan to purchase glass castle from Jupiter till he admits his conceptual mistake.
Surf The Waves Of Change
Surf The Waves Of Change © Surazeus 2026 10 02 When tyrants take control of government, appointing thieves to higher offices, and funnel dollars of our hard-earned tax from programs that support the common folk to coffers of their private bank accounts, all we can do is surf the waves of change. When humble lawmen from the government ride into small towns on the wild frontier to challenge barons who own all the land, and integrate them in the empire state that trains sons of farmers as banking clerks, all we can do is surf the waves of change. When Midas, Nebuchadnezzar, and Lear imprison angels from Elysium to extract minerals from the mines of Hell, and build tanks and airplanes with bombs of hate to fight over who controls the most land, all we can do is surf the waves of change. When oligarchs of high-tech companies design artificial intelligence to perform functions of analysis that disemploys millions of programmers who fight video wargames in cyberspace, all we can do is surf the waves of change. When farmers attending church on Sundays no longer receive fiscal subsidies, while brave migrant workers from southern lands are deported to towns run by drug lords so no one is left to harvest their crops, all we can do is surf the waves of change. When prophets disguised as cartographers rename the ancient lands of everywhere to realign conceptual state of mind that conjures virtual model of the Earth so we navigate tides of history, all we can do is surf the waves of change. When democratic republic of hope, which we built strong on noble principle that every person born across this land has inalienable right to liberty, collapses under greed of oligarchs, all we can do is surf the waves of change. When Gothinius, descended from two gods, Jesus and Odin, through Holy Grail bloodline of Faramundus, and Frank Queen Argotta, unites the warring nations of Europe in unified state of Gothinia, all we can do is surf the waves of change.
Thursday, October 1, 2026
Lost On Ghostless Moors
Lost On Ghostless Moors © Surazeus 2026 10 01 By stretching my mind across centuries to wind my heart with frantic memories my soul becomes the boundless sky of doors through which I wander lost on ghostless moors to gather blossoms from the playful breeze so I forge trauma into psychic keys. Because I am calm enemy of hate, tricked to play happy by swindle of fate, I am uninterested in fraught game of who suffers most to achieve false fame, so I transcend stark agony of pain by floating wingless in electric rain. If I cast hex of calibrated spells through inefficient laughter of church bells, I may revive my equestrian heart long enough to check fortune-twisting chart against status of episcopal faith, fabricated through lust of the Star Wraith. Since I may inherit Book of Weird Lies, composed by children of dynamic spies, I may attempt to grow angelic wings through spiral sparkle of demonic rings that proves my soul is native to this land as frightened rebel of divine command. Concealed by silence of old broken truth, designed by ravens acting out of ruth, I analyze consequence of my deed, then adjudicate fault through mental need to exercise free will within constraints applied by nature to create more saints. Through ballads, strictly coded to express moral values that conjure happiness, I document events of this wild age, performed by sly mortals on global stage, depicting tragic passions of blind gods whose arrogance transforms them into toads. Across the waste land of eccentric rules children wander nowhere past fractured schools to learn of freedom for the wounded soul who studies secrets of the flashing whole so they can sell anger in holy books because temple priests are restaurant cooks. With tale-tattered quill, from my crippled wing, I chronicle our age of suffering by giving voice to the marginalized who storm Heaven though they are unbaptized, then compile ten billion stories with runes that dissipate into soul-haunting tunes.
God My Brain Invents
God My Brain Invents © Surazeus 2026 10 01 When dawn sun gleams red over apple creek, piercing my heart with agony of love, I fool myself one hour of glowing thoughts that I am one with some vast cosmic mind, and not alone and small on giant globe that slowly spins in void of nothingness. How comforting to think that cosmic mind, beaming from hills and clouds with warming love, observes my being with soul-nurturing care, empathizing with strange feelings I feel, and would protect my frail body from harm while teaching me to see nature of things. This hope for huge protective soul of love that gleams as ghost in sun-refracting clouds, I wonder if my mind derives its sense from memories my ancestors reviewed because they all experienced sweet care their living parents performed in each life. My mind projects care of this cosmic mind based on experience of each new life from memories of their childhood that transfer brain to brain on dream-weaving strings of genes which feed complex glow of my conscious mind so I expect care from ghost of this world. No parental spirit, bodied in flesh, hovers over me with cherubic wings to shield my frail embodied soul from harm, so my mind projects as ghost of their care incorporeal being in God my brain invents that shimmers as illusion of my faith. If I were not projecting ghost of care as ideal god that presents in thought absent parent my programmed brain expects, I would begin to tremble with stark fear that sharp-toothed monsters of death lurking near may attack and destroy my tender soul. Thus with fake confidence of specious faith I strut landscape of terror to account for secret treasures I extract from death as fruit which I consume to sustain life that flushes with tense strength of ardent pride transient self which I navigate with care. Now stuck with ghost of God my brain invents, programmed by psychic memories of hope that my ancestors conjured from stark fear to navigate through gangs of hostile men, which helped them survive to generate life, I protect and guide my children with care.
Pool Of Her Luminous Heart
Pool Of Her Luminous Heart © Surazeus 2026 10 01 While angels and devils fight in the sky as lightning flashes in swirling black clouds, I wander along crumbling asphalt road far out in the desolate countryside to the abandoned mansion of gray wood where faceless ghosts float in one thousand rooms. Before rotten stump of the ancient tree, that once sheltered children with joyful eyes who played games on long summer afternoons, I kneel and touch small sprout of tender leaves that struggles to grow from its legacy and bloom with apple rubies of true faith. When I touch roots with anguish of regret, that radiates from despair of wounded hearts since people I love were slaughtered in war, passionate beam of psychic energy spirals through expanding scope of consciousness which manifests in tree of global faith. Celestial goddess robed in tattered pain vibrates with spark of cosmic synergy that spirals from pool of her luminous heart so she creates our spinning world of souls to pulse in ocean of atomic waves, then sings while drenched in golden seeds of faith. Emerging from weird visions at gray dawn, I ponder meaning of that vague word, Faith, which weak men, trapped by duty to succeed, wield as weapon of spiritual control, so I gaze at old crumbling house of hope that creaks in wind of innocent desire. How fiercely I longed to escape this house and live with passion in city of lights, but vampires cloaked in dapper suits of wealth, instead of humble knights with crafting tools, became obsessed with beauty of my face and sucked bright spirit of my naive heart. Instead of Penelope waiting at home for Odysseus to return to warm hearth, I am Medusa searching for true love, for I have left behind gods turned to stone as tragic lessons no one cares to learn, yet hope to find Perseus waiting for me. Wrapping her long tangled hair in firm bun, Mary unlocks door of her family home, cleans every room with broom and mop of faith, then sits in leather armchair by the hearth to sip hot chocolate and watch snowflakes flash in timeless light of the gold Full Moon.
Wednesday, September 30, 2026
Fruit Tree Of Untime
Fruit Tree Of Untime © Surazeus 2026 09 30 I live beside the river of blind souls who dance around the fruit tree of untime, awake with arguments of lonely flowers while flapping crippled wings of honesty that flare against infinity of hope till we become new houses for our dead. I bury seeds of sorrow in wet Earth to nourish with tears fruit tree of untime that curls thirsty roots into my thick heart with passionate intensity of faith that startles me awake from wordless dream beneath the mirror sky of burning eyes. Forever down long winding road of thoughts I walk away to fruit tree of untime through endless loops of returning progress since I arrive back where I once began to find the beginning is now my end except I want to start the way again. With crowd of angels on high ziggurat, gathered around sprawling tree of untime, I hold high brass wand with emerald eye refracting beams of sunlight in rainbow that lights bright faces of ten billion souls who sing hymn to the glory of our globe. When God wakes in atoms of dreaming eyes that blossom ripe from fruit tree of untime, I feel glow in my body every soul who will ever live on every world globe in all the universe of swirling galaxies, so I transmit songs of their aching hearts. Like every tree that exists in Spacetime manifests perfect fruit tree of untime, so Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Vishnu, Zeus, and Odin manifest, as mortal men, perfect Tribe Leader who cares for the people who trust him to organize their lives well. Vibrating with eternal buzz of light that spirals out from fruit tree of untime, I declare with radial galactic voice that I am atoms which always exist for all things emanate from my God Mind through transient bodies of organic souls. As temporary being with conscious self, nourished with love by fruit tree of untime, I savor strangeness of this universe and treasure beauty of your radiant soul, so we embrace and generate new life who will live and sing long after we die.
Beauty Of Her Cosmic Soul
Beauty Of Her Cosmic Soul © Surazeus 2026 09 30 Gold Key of Wisdom I forge from my heart opens doors of happiness to safe homes where ghosts of apples as organic beings share visions of their minds in songs of faith that shine as lamps to guide us on the road which we traverse to build new paradise. When I observe strange objects of this world that shimmer with light in vale of my heart, my mother Reitia writes words that she speaks as runes she carves on smooth tablets of wood, then teaches me how to cast magic spells as hex that projects vision of my mind. When I see pretty girl with long gold hair and blue eyes gleaming bright as valley lake, I grab her with my hands to kiss her mouth, but mother Reitia twists my arm and frowns, then teaches me to treat girls with respect, admiring beauty of her cosmic soul. Appointed to accompany Her Way, I guard sweet Artemis with magic wand as she attends duties of her routine, protecting her soul from monsters and men as she gathers fruit, berries, nuts, and eggs from eerie shadows of the mountain woods. Though I save her fertile body from harm, stopping men from enslaving her as wife, she saves me from blind selfishness of lust because I come to know her secret heart, as I attend her progress every day, when I focus true love on her, not me. When her mother contracts marriage of state for brave Artemis as obedient wife to manage household of the wealthy banker, I relinquish duty as her soul guard, then drift with broken heart in obscure woods to linger by her favorite turtle pool. As I convince myself to let her go and respect freedom of her private will to marry the wealthy man she may choose, Artemis appears in our secret grove, where I stare at reflection of my face, and calls my name with voice of genuine love. Attending mirror of her glowing eyes, I burst with joy at tenor of her words that she loves me because I love her soul, nursing her freedom to live as she will instead of striving to control her body, so we hold hands and stroll back into town.
Arthurian Code Of Conduct
Arthurian Code Of Conduct © Surazeus 2026 09 30 When hexagonal ice crystals refract spirit of the sun through sphere of my brain, I see crowd of red and black balls swirl wild in flashing spirals of electric coils that scatter into flocks of silver crows who gather in oak trees to sing my name. Because astonishing light of my being emanates from mortal frame of my flesh, I dream delusion of immortal life glowing from conscious system of my brain which tricks my mind to feel as if my soul exists long before it beams from my body. Contained within limiting bounds of being, my soul vibrates from waves of chemicals that interact to conjure glow of life through finite channels of time-woven space, designed by my ancestors so my genes construct this temporary self I am. Spurred to perform act of the noble soul by story of the tyrant who exploits bodies of people to increase his power, I journey road to the high mountain pass where statue of the goddess glows alive and commissions me to defeat the king. Inspired by her vision of global peace, I fight against every tyrant on Earth with passion of brave Cronus in my heart to cast cruel Uranus from throne of greed and free the hungry people of the world to operate farms with communal faith. Just like Saint Lucia asks Empress Maria, who asks Princess Beatrice for assistance, who sends Vergilius to guide Dante to Heaven, so Athena asks Apollo, who asks Mercurius, who sends Orpheus with lyre to guide my journey to the Promised Land. Thus wise Athena teaches me to see essential spirit in each human being so I may attend to their secret needs, and nurture innate talents into skills that allows them to create way of life fulfilling dreams of their ambitious hope. Wielding Sword of Justice in hand of faith, applied to my care by the Fairy Queen, I follow Arthurian Code of Conduct opposing tyrants, enslavers, and thieves, protecting farmers, herdsmen, and craftsmen, and protecting women who create life.
Tuesday, September 29, 2026
Far Side Of Reality
Far Side Of Reality © Surazeus 2026 09 29 Quick leap to far side of reality through oscillation of brave opposites connects the lonely island of my heart to lush continent of humanity as bridge of compassionate ardency which helps me find missing treasure of truth. Slow fall to far side of reality from transient twirling of excessive tries may channel frantic energy of faith in pulsing tunnels of my sponge-wet brain to motivate attention of my love laser-focused on dark needs of your heart. Grim trudge to far side of reality across dire waste land of the spotless mind reveals bold quality of strong friendships designed by manufacture fervid faith bonding hearts of strangers with calm words disguised as solemn hymns of potency. Deep swim to far side of reality in bottomless abyss of weird insight exposes monstrous demons of my heart who hunger to consume galactic fruit that shimmers so enticingly correct from twisted hands of sad demonic trees. High flight to far side of reality above gold clouds of crystal palaces lures thirsty angel of my bitter heart to hope for afterlife of pleasant bliss strolling with God in Garden of Delight where my doppelganger plays lyre of faith. Bright prance to far side of reality inside wide ring of tall emerald stones attracts shocked apparition of my brain to hope my spirit lives eternally before and after this organic frame contains assertive passion of success. Mad quest to far side of reality around Plutonian forest of wise crows tricks me to follow Golden Way of Weird where I assert prophetic state of mind because I see in vision of dream code events that never happen on this Earth. Brave strike to far side of reality against oppressive gang of psychic thieves compels me to rebel against false gods who reign on hill of skulls with holy word because this space of land around my head provides foundation for my sovereignty.
Trick The Algebraic Vain
Trick The Algebraic Vain © Surazeus 2026 09 29 Exquisite concept of the codicil, that supplements virtual world of my brain with legal formalities of false creeds, contrived to trick the algebraic vain into believing in the Afterlife, facilitates my quest to find the Grail. Though I was born to emulate the god who honors fabricated states of mind with brave expenditure of sordid faith, I strive to graduate from fairy school through evanescence of inglorious jokes that deal explicit codes of ardent grace. Assigned to play adjacent analyst through progress of attractive avenues, I claim my heart has been reauthorized to track essential functions of desire through formulas of courage birds invent by dancing in exotic episodes. Though self-contained by modular regret through optimal duty of honest leaps, despite elite membership of my brain in building framework for our new world view, I compile facts for divine currency concealed by mortgage of the covenant. Calm grandeur of incisions once revised, by calculating new visions of clouds, requires misspelled austerities of love to reassemble cracked puzzle of pride that glorifies deep beauty of true hearts, expunging envy through obsessive joy. Through fractal letter of soul maintenance, reversed by secret techniques of concern, we shop for shocking gossip at the church where angels store grain in bags of despair, till wooden robot of ethereal fear provides welfare for winners who still fail. Awake at aperture of dreamless domes, where haughty angels boast of bankruptcies, I balance catalogs of proofless facts with mental functions of the carnival because we must express impassioned creeds which polishes expanding scope of truth. Thus I will broadcast biblical welfare through wireless workshops of witless thieves who rank themselves pleasant entrepreneurs whose hearts are bound by rainbow allergies, or else we all will die from laughing bombs that disassemble our religious faith.
Lurid Hills Of Ithaka
Lurid Hills Of Ithaka © Surazeus 2026 09 29 Since Ithaka is always on my mind, forever just ahead in swirling mist toward which I journey by the starry map, I gather riches of sorrowful truth in my constructing hands so I can build safe haven for my children to grow wise. Through curtains of uncertainty I leap into frame of the sudden photograph where I hang frozen without angel wings till paper crinkles and dissolves to dust, then I fall into well of gravity to hold my loving spouse in gentle arms. Though brave heretics against holy thoughts emerge in flames from tomb of confidence, they cast all superstitions to the ground in challenge to the Gorgon of the church that lurks as faceless ghost of arrogance in twisted shadows of the broken house. Since travelers still ride their placid ways in cool shade of the nuclear missile bomb, we give each other tickets for the train that never takes to Heaven nameless soul who flocks around my passion-wired mind as loyal bride in tattered wedding dress. Because the yellow sea ghost of desire derides our plan derived from mordent leaves to follow blood-thick river of respect, I leap the lunar silences of fate while I record sweet music of the sand to prove that Heaven is our fantasy. If snow disfigures idols of our gods that stand by frozen brooks of travesty, I may decide to run with gentle wolves through evergreen forest of lonely vales far from the illness of my fractured mind so I become light of the afternoon. Now that my deconstructed soul of masks has been regenerated by the egg, my mother asks the spirit of her god to beam from stars and animate my mind with solemn honor of the upright creed, but I would somersault the laughing beach. With unconstraining voice of solitude I dare rejoice at rapture of my heart when I guard healing fountain with sharp eye that waters lurid hills of Ithaka with ghosts of heroes who give away names of their brave spirits to the world today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)