How Concepts Perform The Truth

How Concepts Perform The Truth
© Surazeus
2018 08 31

The absolute silence of the locked door,
whatever they said were rules of the game,
although leaves know which way the true wind blows,
shrouds our eyes with aching blankness of death.
Endless labyrinth of the family home,
restless shining of the sun on lawn grass,
somewhere over the rainbow no one sees,
leads always to the kitchen where we eat.

We leave our words on roundness of the table
to flap their wings. We listen to the wind
translate itself into thoughts we conceal
behind locked doors of hope. We count rain drops
shining on the glass after thunderstorms
to paint images of faces with eyes
that see beyond time. We are the round table.

The laughter of the river. The clear eyes
of stars that vanished millennia ago.
The sobbing of trees that claw at moist soil
for long-forgotten dreams. The clack of rocks
sliding down the hill where children play chase.
The white-furred kitten flicking its long tail
on the windowsill of unrolling time.

The road winding far away over hills,
however fast the horse may run from fear,
since we know the name our fathers designed,
conceals the hope we thought lead us this far.
Whatever side of the stone castle walls,
to bake bread or keep watch in the high tower,
replacing routine of plowing mud fields,
protects us from hunger or grim despair.

The clock ticking above the mantle piece
to record timeless dream of speaking words
that drip from our tongues in tears of gold honey,
the piano ringing from dance of fingers
searching for perfection in how we act,
though faces powdered pale terrify us
at vision of the dead returning home,
shiver the surprised hour after dawn breaks.

The people of every age before us
cherished delusions of their misconceptions,
since few measure the distance between thoughts
concealed in words we think we utter clearly,
so what delusions do we cherish now,
I wonder as I review my world view,
then deconstruct everything I believe
to perceive how concepts perform the truth.

The reflection of my face in the mirror,
distorted by angle of my perception,
however shadowed beams of sunlight slant
sideways through triangles of our world mesh,
I transform into this persona mask
I wear on my daily routine of craft,
to conceal truth I pretend to present,
so you can see the real me I reveal.

In contours of my face I see the ghost
of every prophet and poet who sang
body electric of our hungry flesh,
for I collect the idols of their spirits
to beam embodied from my glowing head
so we all together sing prophecies
that hide the weird truth no one dares reveal
as I write their names in sand of the sea.

The absolute tone of the open door,
whatever we say are rules of the game,
although hills know which way the river flows,
beams our eyes with harsh awareness of death.
We always meet in endless labyrinth
of our separate universes, converged
by tangled threads of world-connecting wires,
to play role we chose on stage of the world.

The laughter of the sunlight on soft grass.
The faces of children among dark trees.
The voices of the dead on river breeze.
The house on the cliff crumbling to the sea.
We sit together by the sparkling lake
and talk about pleasures that spark our hearts
with joy to be alive by the wild sea,
amused by how concepts perform the truth.

Rituals Of Daily Routine

Rituals Of Daily Routine
© Surazeus
2018 08 31

To maintain flow of psychic energy,
which conjures credits in my bank account
through active agency of corporate work,
I perform rituals in daily routine
to construct aspects of reality
which sustains socio-political system
of our national food-production machine,
one small cog in our interactive drama.

I perform specific activities
every new day from sunrise to midnight,
eating food, driving vehicle to work,
typing on computer, creating data,
designing maps, driving vehicle home,
eating, reading, and writing poetry,
as I help construct our national cathedral
where we worship the father of our tribe.

Jesus showed us how to live daily lives,
building homes, growing food in fertile fields,
herding animals, crafting things with hands,
and selling products in the market place,
then breeding children with passionate love
we raise to take our place in play of life,
so we maintain the empire of our wealth
terraforming Earth into Paradise.

From Garden of Eden where we began,
listening to Ishtar on ziggurat sing
how our flowing world transforms from star light,
we spread outward from our first paradise
to colonize every vale of the world
where we gather in our grand temple hall
to sing about great hero of our tribe
who teaches rituals of daily routine.

Sometimes while trudging my preordained path,
rigid on right trail through chaos of death,
I want to leap off and go somewhere else,
to exit vast labyrinth of society
and explore the waste land of naked horror
where I stand alone under blazing stars
to feel infinity spiral through my soul
that sprouts in beating wings of liberty.

When I return to walls of paradise,
where police enforce policies of power
legislated by God in human form,
I bear sacred gem of infinite truth
shining in my hands as treasure of love
that may light the vast space of our cathedral,
illuminating spirit of our tribe,
then sing litany of my weird perceptions.

Share Tales Of Our Lives

Share Tales Of Our Lives
© Surazeus
2018 08 31

Since we first sat around the sparkling fire,
after hunting and cooking food all day,
and started beating hollow logs with sticks,
and blowing melodies through hollow reeds,
and twanging gut strings taut on tortoise shells,
and chanting visions of our minds in words,
and dancing wildly in wide ring of stones,
we humans have shared the tales of our lives.

Through ballads presenting actions of heroes
to defend our tribe from monsters of fear,
through lamentations for our suffering hearts,
through elegies for the loved ones who died,
through litanies praising bounty of Earth,
through hymns honoring wisdom of our leaders,
through lyrics expressing desires to breed,
we humans have shared the tales of our lives.

As we rise with the shining of the sun
that generates life on our spinning globe,
we plant seeds and tend crops of trees and herbs,
we herd sheep, goats, horses, and cows in fields,
we build homes, wagons, ships, and tools from wood,
and we construct enormous halls from stone
to gather at night and feast with our friends
where we humans share the tales of our lives.

We gather in Vale Halls of ancient heroes,
ziggurats, pyramids, temples, cathedrals,
synagogues, churches, mosques, and theaters,
to tell the stories of our great ancestors
whose human bodies recede into shadows
of numinous light that glow in our minds
which conjures their idols as guiding spirits
when we humans share tales of our lives.

Honeycomb Seller

Honeycomb Seller
© Surazeus
2018 08 31

Emerging from memories of my childhood,
while sitting in the warm park after lunch,
I watch one flower bobbing in the soft breeze,
aware of each motion of its springing dance.

We bob together in transcendent flow
of timeless process, aching with desire
to become the endless stream of clear light
that weaves being into structures of bright sparks.

Bright flower, spewing scents my nose savors sweet,
we are both splashes of sunlight in forms
of aching hunger to devour the world,
for we are parasites, children of Earth.

We are both parasites feeding off Earth
and children she created from her womb,
so we together dream process of change
this hour of sweet existence in vast void.

I will eat you to energize my flesh
and you will eat me after I fall dead
for I will rot into thick soil you eat,
and you will transform me into your flower.

I notice then I no longer can see
the real flower and its endless dance in wind,
for numerous visions flashed across my eyes
in numinous glow that blinded my view.

From simple act of perceiving the flower
my brain designed visions to analyze
meaning of life and death for body forms
that echoes signals of truth from its motion.

Though Plato taught that this delicate form
achieved by atoms through process of birth
is based on eternal Idea of Flower,
I see its form as successful expression.

Though many variations of flower forms
sprouted from the long dream-time of our world
only the most successful forms survived
to thrive well long before humans evolved.

I also am the most successful form
of four-legged creatures with brains and eyes
to emerge from surging tides of the sea,
so here I sit, awed by beautiful flower.

We are both expressions of swirling light,
humans and flowers transformed from globs of heat
that splash from moist surface of spinning Earth,
together feeding on soil of her soul.

Dismissing these thoughts my brain contemplates,
I gaze again at motion of the flower,
savoring how its petals spread from thin stalk
which attract bees to pollinate its soul.

Extracting honeycomb from the dead tree,
I walk to the market where people gather
and sell jars of honey for silver coins,
then join the crowd singing in twilight glow.

Messiah For Our Modern World

Messiah For Our Modern World
© Surazeus
2018 08 31

The river flows bright from wound of her heart,
washing all her anxieties away
as she stares at figures on the old chart
to find out where the children go to play.

The wood mask floating on the river tide
contains the face of every human soul
who ever fled to where the shadows hide
in vain attempt to remember the goal.

All things are structures of small particles
so actions cause construction or destruction
though lost people gaze at faces in pools
generated through the act of conception.

She follows faint path through whispering leaves
where people talk to themselves without eyes
then stand around the old woman who grieves
spirits that return to the glowing skies.

They hold their sorrows in small wooden chests,
which beat broken wings at hard constraints of time,
till she arrives where the old woman rests
to investigate the forgotten crime.

Looking at her through invisible eyes,
hearts crawling like spiders out of their mouths,
the nameless people, hoping to be spies,
release their sorrows to become rain clouds.

She touches every face with trembling hand
to see the demon hidden in their soul
who animates the culture of their land
though each one chooses their own secret role.

The old woman gives her gems on the plate
that shimmer secret of the universe,
flashing stars that cannot control our fate
at the second lost souls start to disperse.

She follows them along the winding stream
where nameless souls pluck gems from the lush shore
so she laughs to prove this is not some dream
where other worlds exist behind each door.

What secret will she find inside the light,
she ponders when she wakes inside your head,
for we are but shadows in endless night
who play weird games of love till we are dead.

She walks along the shining stream of truth
from cave of shadows to the sea of souls
till she emerges as our clever sleuth
who writes new riddles to explain old roles.

She is Messiah for our modern world
who seeks to prevent all killers and thieves
from cheating divine dragon who lies curled
at the center of our brain that perceives.

Though she wanders lost in the wilderness,
exiled by the tyrant in the gold tower,
she will return with sword of happiness
to transform his rage into the calm flower.

She rises as true spirit of our land
to guide us safe through waste land of despair
so we build paradise with generous hand
where rules of the game are equal and fair.

She finds tablets with signs on empty road
left behind by prophets who came before
which teach her methods of their arcane code
to analyze types of our psychic core.

She stands on Pyramid of Watching Eye
to weave new algorithms in our brains
which guide our measurements to question why
our thriving sphere spirals through empty planes.

My Angel Lost In The Sea

My Angel Lost In The Sea
© Surazeus
2018 08 30

The girl floating on her back in the sea
opens her mouth to inhale galaxies
born from sharp anguish of conceptual rain.
The gold butterfly woven from starlight
slips from her broken heart to flutter slow
amid swirling flakes of satellite snow.

I lift her from wild sea in trembling arms,
the fallen angel with delicate wings
broken by lightning of indifferent wrath.
Ascending broken mountain of glass skulls,
I step through fractured mirror of lost time
to lay her broken body among flowers.

I bow my head with the last setting sun,
and remember how she climbed down the cliff
to pick strawberries from the edge of death.
She screamed as she fell into the abyss
but failed to spread her wings and fly on wind,
and vanished in the vast indifferent sea.

I kiss her lips now cold and pale as fish,
and gaze in her eyes green as the bright pond
half-seen through oak trees in the misty woods.
I close my eyes and see her running free,
leaping with lithe deer in wind-flowing fields,
hair swirling around her face as she laughs.

I feel her behind me in the moonlight
so I turn around to smile at her gaze
but only wind whispers in the shining haze.
I lean down to kiss her cold lips again
but her breast breaks open in gaping seam
that reveals black insects devouring her heart.

Sheer horror strikes my heart with stunning pain
as I watch worms slither from her dark eyes,
and beetles crawl clacking from parted lips.
Her body dissolves into stinking muck,
till her fragile skull and skeleton gleam
white as ice in pale indifferent moonlight.

Words Of Encouragement

Words Of Encouragement
© Surazeus
2018 08 30

The world around us is a teeming mess,
so we will float over churning abyss
of raucous arguments in social conflict
like the calm tortoise floats on ocean waves.

The enlightened tribal leader of men,
crowned by the high priest to play god on Earth
as the king who plays both general and judge,
was replaced by the tyrant in the suit.

The president presides over the senate
to set rules for the private companies
while the god-father presides over gangs
to steal from legitimate businesses.

Common people who labor in factories,
making things to earn a wage and pay taxes,
while other people steal from working men,
cheating them of cash through gambling and tricks.

When the god-father becomes president,
by declaring he will stop working aliens
from invading the land that we invaded,
our great empire will collapse from blind pride.

When the man on the white horse leaps the wall,
and gallops shouting in the crowded hall,
the jester who was crowded as the world king
will stand in ruins of the church and sing.

Grifters who seek to get rich off the poor
join large companies with official jobs
to profit from the labor of plain men
who sit in their yards and watch children play.

People in churches gaze up at the sky
and pray to God in Heaven for salvation,
but no Craftsman dwells on the turning shells
where flashing stars control our destiny.

When you are lost in the labyrinth of lies
pick up your phone and call Indifferent Boy,
then he will come to your home and explain
we are but atoms swirling in the void.

You may sense consciousness up in the sky,
some benevolent deity who loves you,
but nobody is up there looking down,
for you project yourself at the universe.

We elevated our wise tribal kings,
who ruled small nations with enlightened laws,
into supernatural gods in the sky,
for they always answered our humble prayers.

The person we elect as president
rules our global empire as God on Earth
so we choose another every four years
in our controlled revolution of change.

Placing his hand on our hunched-over shoulder,
Indifferent Boy assures us all is fine
because we create meaning for our life
through how we treat people with selfless love.

Drinking up the coffee we offered him,
Indifferent Boy leaves without saying good bye,
so we sit and stare at the empty sky,
hoping Jesus will return again soon.

The faceless old woman who is not there
bakes apple pie to warm our lonely heart,
and we sit together in evening dusk,
listening to birds chirp in the apple trees.

Vision Of Our World Gone Mad

Vision Of Our World Gone Mad
© Surazeus
2018 08 30

While walking toward bright vision of my Muse,
emanation of light from the Glow Cloud
of transcendent beauty in human form,
I feel overwhelming love for the Truth,
so I push through shimmering veil of illusion
till I find real woman of flesh and blood.

Sitting by the window in beams of light,
for a brief second she glances at me
when I smile and greet her with simple joy,
then returns to sewing on velvet cloth
landscape of buildings among forest trees
where humans and animals dwell in peace.

Sitting before glowing computer screen,
I ponder socio-political events
that appear in news feeds on social media
which describe and analyze human actions
to consider issues of work and crime
where justice is not applied equally.

Women earn less than men for hours of work,
angry white men go on wild murder sprees
while police are killing unarmed black men,
and women are harassed and raped by men
who feel they are entitled to the prize,
while law-makers try to repeal health care.

When humans still lived in small villages,
men built houses with cooking hearths of stone
and brought food for women to prepare meals
while children helped with chores around the farm,
then sat together in soft twilight glow
to sing tales as stars twinkled in night sky.

Now we live in metropolitan maze,
driving cars on roads to workplace and store,
paying for rent, food, fuel, utilities, phone,
insurance, internet, and television,
racing ever faster to win the prize
of vast wealth to relax in paradise.

We wage wars against religious fanatics
who fight against our imperial expansion,
afraid they will destroy democracy
and reduce our women to baby-makers
and keep us enslaved in large factories,
while capitalists are doing these things.

We watch loud movies about superheroes
with powerful strength who soar into the sky
to defend our lush planet against aliens
lead by monstrous devils from outer space,
while others attend church to worship God,
that supernatural king from outer space.

The view of the world Christians long believed,
that our unmoving world of changing matter,
created by the Craftsman with ideal forms,
who dwells outside crystal shells that he dials
to manipulate events down on Earth,
was shattered by telescope of Galileo.

The first man in China who stuffed gunpowder
in metal tube, then sparked flame to shoot bullets,
started seven-hundred-year war of conquest
that spread around the globe in teeming waves
as gangs of men shoot each other with guns
in massive holocaust of wild destruction.

Men employ tubes of metal spewing flames,
pistols, rifles, cannons, and nuclear missiles,
to fight each other in endless world war
over who will dominate spinning globe
to crown their God-Father as King of Heaven
and populate the planet with their children.

What role can I play in this game of thrones
but chart maps for military defense
and write epic poem of philosophers
to present wise thinkers as cultural heroes
whose quest to discover nature of things
unleashed knowledge of new technology?

Inserting our brains in new robot bodies,
we connect our minds in the world wide web,
the human ghost in the mechanic shell
who overcomes the weakness of our flesh
to terraform the waste lands of our world
into flourishing gardens of fruit trees.

Another nobody working all day
to survive in the Land of Onatah,
I transform into the Indifferent Boy,
the new superhero for our strange age,
detached hipster writing poems in cafes
while arguing politics on social media.

I wiggle fingers to cast magic spells,
tapping secret runes on computer keyboard
that calculates formulas of divine truth
which beams visions into the ethernet
where angels and devils in cyberspace
battle to program new world paradigm.

Waking from vision of our world gone mad,
while I typed riddles into prophecies,
I step outside my house on the front porch
to watch lightning flash across Georgia hills,
and feel hot raindrops splattering on my face
as our world keeps spinning in boundless void.

Keeper Of The Wishing Well

Keeper Of The Wishing Well
© Surazeus
2018 08 30

The open door of the false afternoon
remembers nothing. The man on the moon
explains to the demon rabbit of Hell
how wishes are granted by Water Well
where people throw lost dreams. The time to vote
for the king of laughter, who maybe wrote
the sacred scripture that nobody reads,
is now before the secret police needs
your passcode to access dreams of your brain.
They want to make sure you know why the rain
transforms into the angel none can see
except those who really want to live free.

No matter what happens that breaks my heart
I always return to the tattered chart
at entrance to the town park where it says
you are here. Nowhere in the endless maze
can I find my wallet with picture card
that proves I have the right to exist. Hard
as it may seem to believe, I am not
the long-expected Messiah who brought
new video camera to record your dreams.
Though I wear this glass mask I know not seems,
except for the way the masters of war
plan to paint the Red Cross on every door.

So that is why you see me walk alone
endless maze of city streets with the stone
that fell from heaven to prove God is real,
the giant robot-dragon forged from steel,
operated by ten thousand human brains,
who rises from wild ocean in ice rains.
No Zeus, no Apollo, no Hercules,
no Jesus, no Godin can find the keys
unlocking nuclear power that blows the sky
brighter than crystal camera of my eye.
I sit in my apartment without care
to watch these world events happen out there.

I will not play your political game
though you pretend to know my secret name
behind mask I wear of Indifferent Boy.
The gods who play with me like little toy
are mortal rich men hiding in glass towers
who think they can own warm sunlight and flowers,
and want to charge us rent to drink the water.
Even though the world is now getting hotter,
because exhaust from factories and cars
blots out moonlight and poisons the pure stars,
senators and businessmen drink blood wine
and plot to make us pay for free sunshine.

What began as this litany of praise
for wise God who rules over city maze
became lament for the people enslaved
to earn wealth while our paradise is paved
with asphalt brewed from blood of dinosaurs.
Noble queens are now forced to work as whores
while merchants now live as kings on our backs
who insist their deceptions are now facts
with sneer of mockery at our expense.
The slave-owner wants to replace the fence
with the wall he claims will keep people out
of our paradise where mute angels shout.

The faceless old woman who is not there
explains to me that life is never fair
to anyone else, so I should not cry
with bitter anguish to indifferent sky
that ignores me. I walk down to the beach
and gaze at paradise just out of reach
that seems to be the real world all around.
Behind roar of engines I hear strange sound
emanating from glow cloud of desire
that spreads broad wings of enveloping fire
to penetrate my heart. I carve new laws
on Emerald Tablet with my dragon claws.

Rejecting role of world messiah clown,
who brings salvation to every lost town,
I go on quest to find the natural truth
and thus transform into the clever sleuth
who solves crimes and brings justice to all men.
We learned how to sing from Mother Amen
while sitting on her pyramid of eyes
who first told us God is the shining skies.
I analyze the data I perceive
to understand how lovers can conceive
new bodies that generate dreaming souls
who must design their own personal roles.

After wandering civilization maze
to find our world god hidden in the haze,
I find computer tower on hill of skulls
full of office workers in cubicles
where the Puppet Master manipulates
idealogues crowded at the pearly gates
to hunt down and kill thinking scientists
whose facts accuse greedy capitalists
of enslaving workers in factories
who perform labor like obedient bees.
Lucifer wrestles with the tyrant god,
attempting to expose him as the fraud.

Hurled from the citadel of global power,
Lucifer falls forever from the tower
where Rapunzel sings the latest pop tune
while illuminated by the false moon.
Crashing to the waste land with broken wings,
Indifferent Boy sits where the blind girl sings
ancient spells that record how we evolve,
then replicate before our souls dissolve.
Walking together by the flashing stream,
Indifferent Boy and Haughty Girl share dream
of building paradise in walls of stone,
but he wakes up to find he dreams alone.

The open door of the weird afternoon
remembers true name of the royal goon
who escaped from the prison camp of Hell
to charge everyone for the Wishing Well.
After wandering lost in the maze of life
for forty years with his adoring wife,
Indifferent Boy creates new paradigm
to explain the process of space and time.
Emanating from core of the Black Hole,
all matter transforms into the White Whole
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang
and wakes up in the grove where apples hang.

Agony Of Indifferent Hope

Agony Of Indifferent Hope
© Surazeus
2018 08 30

The strange agony of indifferent hope
urges him to drag himself out of bed,
so he showers and dresses in gray suit,
then walks down the street to wait by the sign,
staring at birds while waiting for the bus,
eager for strange new adventures of life.

While sitting on the very crowded bus
on aisle seat where standing people grasp poles
he feels strange sensation of desperate fear
so he glances beside him at the girl
and feels startled to realize that she fears
he might molest her while the bus glides fast.

Sinking into horror of loneliness
that this strange girl fears his evil intent
when he intends no evil, only love
for her success and happiness in life,
Indifferent Boy stares forlorn out the window
at houses where happy families must dwell.

Stepping off the bus on the downtown street,
he ignores the girl who hurries away,
and pushes through glass doors in office tower
to ride the crowded elevator high
in awkward silence of familiar people
he sees every day though they have no names.

Sitting at his desk in small cubicle,
Indifferent Boy stares at the blank glass screen
of old computer for a while, and dreams
of walking by the river with the girl
on the bus, holding hands as they share dreams,
then stands up to go get a cup of coffee.

Face to face with the office manager,
he grins and lifts up his large empty cup,
but Bob frowns and tells him that he is fired
in the latest round of personnel cuts,
so Indifferent Boy stares at his bare desk,
then rides back down the empty elevator.

Wandering through crowds of people striding quickly
on very important business, he sits
on park bench to stare at the sparkling fountain
where birds flit chirping between maple trees,
wondering why he even exists at all,
then shakes his head at the absurdity.

Glancing up at the bark of angry shouts,
Indifferent Boy sees three police aim guns
at the head of the young unarmed black boy
holding up both hands high over his head
while he insists that he is innocent
but they shout, get down, face down on the ground.

Lifting up his smart phone with camera,
Indifferent Boy records intense event
while sitting quietly on the park bench,
watching as the unarmed boy backs away
and shouts that he is innocent of crime,
and then police fire bullets in his chest.

The unarmed black boy falls onto his back,
both arms still stretched upward at the blank sky,
and moans in shock as watching people scream,
then police talk on shoulder radios
and keep their guns aimed at head of the boy
while pushing people back with outstretched arms.

The unarmed black boy lies on city street
for almost an hour, staring at blank sky,
and bleeds rivers of rage that drown the world
while passing people gather in large crowd
who chant demands that justice must be done,
while police guard the boy, gripping their guns.

Sirens wail as the ambulance arrives,
and paramedics in white suits jump out
then strap the dead boy to the metal gurney
and slip him behind white doors that slam shut,
so police insist that people disperse
but arrest people screaming at their faces.

Uploading video of the shooting spree
without comment to social media sites,
Indifferent Boy looks at watch on his wrist,
and ponders the meaninglessness of time
while walking to the unemployment office
where he stands in line to file paperwork.

Walking home instead of paying for bus fare,
Indifferent Boy watches people drive cars,
sits silently in his room countless hours,
then wears jeans, hiking boots, and long wool coat,
and, taking guitar, he walks out the door,
and strolls the highway heading out of town.

Indifferent Boy Forever

Indifferent Boy Forever
© Surazeus
2018 08 29

Wishing to understand the crazy world,
he plucks out his left eye with scorpion tail
to toss it whistling down the wishing well,
then wanders streets of Seattle all day,
searching for the same old spot to play
never-ending ballads of superheroes
who rescue women from tall Tower of Gold
before lightning strikes to destroy his pride.

Angry at the corrupt state of affairs,
mad social justice warrior wields computer
to join bold revolution of our age,
dismantling structures of white privilege
and toppling colonial empire of wealth
in roaring mob of peasants with pitchforks
who storm the gates of Heaven at midnight
to kill the Beast who keeps Beauty enslaved.

When Beauty, intellectual who loves books,
protects the brute Beast from the angry mob,
to support his elite social position,
maintaining hegemony of his class,
the social justice warrior wanders lost,
and hitchhikes far from sea to shining sea
on new sacred quest for the Holy Grail
till he discovers secret of rebirth.

Lying dejected on white sand of the beach
where ocean waves consume his naked soul,
our Superhero overcomes himself,
transforming from Fool to the Overman
as he dances on fragile Bridge of Hopes
over bottomless Abyss of Optimism
to morph from the Ape to the Superman
who now calls himself the Indifferent Boy.

Indifferent Boy wanders homeless town to town,
our World Messiah disguised as the clown
who performs ballads of heroic deeds
for people walking somewhere else to work,
blind Homer chanting epic tale of life
about the Angry Man who destroys cities,
and the Clever Man who regains his home,
though no one hears him above engine noise.

Approaching flat-top Pyramid of Power
where giant Crystal Eye sees all events,
Indifferent Boy climbs stairs of social class
and steps in Temple of Authority
where God the Tribal Leader reigns forever
while sitting on enormous throne of books,
and commissions Blind Poet to compose
elegy about the Child in the Cage.

Sitting on white steps of the Supreme Court,
meditating as Buddha in deep trance,
Indifferent Boy watches world politics
play as reality show on television
where contestants vie to play role of God
who rules Earth with scepter of nuclear missiles,
Shiva dancing on cracked skull of Mankind,
while Lady Liberty weeps in burned hands.

Picking shards of the old Christian World View,
from rose window of Selfless Savior King,
Indifferent Boy assembles paradigm
from fragments of Literary Tradition
to rebuild Temple of Philosophy
that honors Lucretius, Hamlet of Rome,
as Noble Prophet of Eternal Truth
that we are Atoms swirling through the Void.

Indifferent Boy forever wanders Earth,
chanting satiric prophecies of truth,
presenting heroic actions of thinkers
who attend their quest for the Holy Grail
to escape the power that can kill us all
while praying to power that makes us feel alive
so we gather by the River of Stars
to sing as Planet Earth spins through the Void.

Enchanting Film About Earth

Enchanting Film About Earth
© Surazeus
2018 08 29

Holding video camera up to her eye,
Kandra records lush landscape of the park,
trees rustling in wind blowing off the lake
that sparkles dark purple under pale sky
where flocks of birds swirl in spirals of fear
which shimmers in eerie sunlight of hope.

Merging into shadow of the tall tree,
Kandra records shore of the shining lake
where families stroll together in bright glow
of sunlight on water, wavering shades
of desire embodied in fragile shells
of skin that contain ancient skeletons.

Startled by soft tickle on her left cheek,
Kandra records the spider on thin thread
descend from heaven to weave spiral web
between two branches over vast abyss
to snare hapless adventurers on quest
for the most beautiful flower on Earth.

Sitting at computer in her home office,
Kandra edits videos of life she captured,
transforming random images of landscapes
with people and animals among plants
glamored by music of violins and piano
to create enchanting film about Earth.

Joyful Anguish Of Being Alive

Joyful Anguish Of Being Alive
© Surazeus
2018 08 29

The nothing of sunlight on whispering grass
conceals joyful anguish of being alive.
Between red-brick buildings of calm classrooms,
where I study chemistry and language,
I pause at aching horror of desire
that spirals through my body from Earth core
in streaming particles of flashing threads
which pierce my heart as flaming wings of hope.
I feel spirit of my ancestors glow
with original light of the big bang,
pulsing in every cell of my soft flesh
in sensitive tingles as if photons
fired by ancient stars far across the void
arrive at last to beam through my frail soul.

On park bench under some sprawling oak tree
I sit to balance compassion of flight
that seems to levitate my fragile soul
inches off the shell of our spinning globe,
and watch people stroll by in Autumn breeze
as if they understand their place in life.
Heart pounding like sea waves that know my name,
I smile at clouds in vast indifferent sky
at sudden memory of the bright face
of someone who smiled at me when my heart
ached with the fractured silence of the mirror.
I need no one for I am strong alone.
Who could have known my heart would turn to stone
that sinks down in mute silence of the sea?

Strolling among trees that flutter in breeze
of nonchalant pride, I glance at the hall
housing huge library of literature,
designed to resemble the Parthenon
that lies in ruins on the Rock of Ares.
From shadow of its ancient hall I hear
chanting of priests when they sacrifice bulls
then roast meat they pass around on brass plates
where everyone gathers at noon to eat
while girls play harps and chant tales of great heroes.
Then I realize with awed laughing surprise
that ancient temples were fancy nightclubs
where the rich would gather each day to feast
and listen to girls sing tunes about love.

Passing by the huge football stadium,
I hear loud roar of hundred thousand fans
cheering the hero with the ball in hand
who dodges players in race for the end zone.
I visualize two villages with gates
on distant hills who hunt the same dark woods,
battling each other as they chase fat pigs
in constant war to control rich resources
that flourish in the woods around the river
which sparkles in the valley of fruit trees.
Though we now buy our food at grocery stores,
we still compete over natural resources
in constant conflict subsumed in team sports
that keep our bodies honed by competition.

I transcend this mortal realm of flesh bodies
through strange apotheosis of my soul
to float on broad wings of ethereal light
and walk in Heaven, Idea of Fruit Garden,
where God, Idea of King as Tribal Leader,
directs the Craftsman to create all things
from Ideas of everything that exist
by shaping material flowing from stars
in objects we perceive on changing Earth.
Standing by the fountain on college campus,
I wake from trance about the old world view
Christians designed from the Ideas of Plato,
now shattered by telescope of Galileo,
and wonder how to design new paradigm.

All matter was contained in single point
that sparked bright at first flash of the big bang
then flared forth in wild rippling waves of atoms
which spiraled into galaxies of stars
where planets coagulated from gas
and third rock from the sun boiled with thick life
that transformed from the single eye of love
over four hundred million years of change,
fish to lizard to mouse to monkey to ape
to man walking upright with crafting hands
to manipulate matter and create
machines to build vast network of computers.
We journey on to recreate our world,
terraforming waste land to paradise.

Children Of Your Genes

Children Of Your Genes
© Surazeus
2018 08 29

Why are weak men always trying to control
reproductive power that women possess
to create complete people from their sperm?
Unless any woman chooses that man
through passionate admiration of his soul
to sire their children through pleasure of love
his seed will fall useless on dusty ground
and his genes will vanish from dream of time.
Instead of trying to control female bodies
to force them to reproduce his one soul,
the wise man will perform actions of love
that support her decisions for her life,
building shelter to protect her from harm,
bringing food and fuel for her to prepare
meals that sustain the life of their bodies,
and helping her raise children of her flesh
to understand the nature of this world.
Loving women will choose the faithful man,
always loyal to the health of her body,
to sire the children that spring from her womb,
so both man and woman will benefit
from bond of their commitment to each other.
Take care of the woman with selfless love
and she will choose from respect of her trust
to bear the honest children of your genes,
not from fear, but from love for your good heart.

Flowing With Love

Flowing With Love
© Surazeus
2018 08 29

The world is full of strangers with no names
who seek to exploit me for their own gain
so I hide behind the mask of my face
to protect my heart from sorrow of pain.

I long for the full attention of love
but that leads to exploiting them for gain
so I give love to everyone I meet
while expecting nothing back in return.

How can I get from others what I need
while giving out to everyone who needs
without dissolving myself in the process
so I become vain hollow shell of hope?

My body generates fresh batch of love
after each time I give my love away,
thus I empty myself of selfish need
so I can receive love others may give.

Most people give and take in balanced flow
so we feed each other in mutual love,
growing together through common exchange,
then protect each other from harm of greed.

But people long exploited and abused
fail to understand flow of give and take
so they take with greed without giving back
and so remain hollow, desperate for love.

I want to give to you with generous love
without asking for what I need to live
so if you take from me more than you give
I must hide behind mask of unconcern.

Now here we gather in great hall of songs
to share the stories of our give and take
so we grow independent based on love
flowing with love the more we give to all.

Unified Tale Of Humanity

Unified Tale Of Humanity
© Surazeus
2018 08 29

Each multiverse different from our real world,
that our imaginations can conceive,
are variant aspects of our universe,
because each human brain of flashing neurons
conjures virtual model of our real world
that it creates based on experience
unique to its perceptions of that world
gathered during its quest through this vast maze.

We leap across the chasm between minds
to see this world through eyes of other people
so we can see all aspects of its nature
from different points of view, which helps expand
scope of our perceptions from various angles
so we can see teeming reality
and comprehend its strange complexity
with more complete world view inside our heads.

We are each alone in our fragile skulls,
isolated through silence of perception,
yet when we sing words to describe our dreams
we broadcast virtual model from our tongues,
sharing what we perceive in conversations,
so we can see what everyone else sees,
which networks our minds in vast world wide web
through magic ring of the cellular phone.

Three phones for law-makers under the sky,
seven for workers in their cubicles,
nine for students learning to read and write,
one for the world lord in his tower of glass
on the spinning Earth where radio beams glow.
One phone to ring them all, one phone to find them,
one phone to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
on the spinning Earth where radio beams glow.

Each moment we stand at forks in the road
to face the multitude of new decisions
which branch out into the vast multiverse,
the step we choose toward action of our hands
dismisses all other possible worlds
that vanish as we change our own real world
and swim in the endless tide of effects
our choices cause in sea of elements.

Whether in ring of stones, on ziggurat,
in temple of twelve pillars on the mountain,
in synagogue, cathedral, mosque, or church,
we humans gather in our halls of stories
to relate adventure of our ancestors
who challenged death to found civilization
based on rituals producing food to eat
so we can replicate our souls in children.

Now that we expand beyond secure walls
of paradise where we tended fruit trees,
leaving the gates to the Garden of Eden
to destroy all savage monsters of nature,
we dominate this spinning globe of valleys
to gather in metropolitan mazes
connected by phones in global hive mind
so we can terraform waste land to Eden.

How do we proceed from this hour of conflict
becoming United Nations of Earth
to establish one universal law
of equal rights and justice for all people
that merges multiverse of all our nations
into one nation on our spinning globe
where we celebrate all our cultural heroes
in unified tale of humanity?

Orange Rose Of The Lost Garden

Orange Rose Of The Lost Garden
© Surazeus
2018 08 28

The orange rose of every unfolding heart,
intense with glow of the halcyon sunset,
attracted to the lodestar of affluence,
expands my flourishing cognizance broad
enough to observe this visible gloom
broadcasting datum of correct conclusion
that we must seize each opportunity
to decipher code of the flowing stream.

The quick child kneels on the lush river shore
and dips their fingers in the flashing stream
to capture glow of the sun in its current
but catches instead the swift wriggling fish.

The broad oak leaf that flutters in soft breeze,
shaped like the hand of the child, seems to speak
mysterious spell of sunlight on swift water,
although we vanish in darkness of night
and wake reborn with flashing of the sun,
yet words of sorrow swirl with aching hope.

Death gapes as void between our mortal souls,
though we reach across to be the abyss.

They may search for the seed of the last tree
that fell from the pale hand of the blind seer,
since he knocks on the door where she may live
though her eyes conceal secret of her heart,
but none will ever find the sacred garden
where roses and oranges glow in dawn light.

The rose catches tears of the lonely child
who sings in harmony with the sad stream.

The orange rose of the lost garden, with petals
blushing scarlet tint on delicate lips,
enormous as the void of twinkling stars,
grows curling from the anguish of my heart,
so I cover my face with mask of gold
when I step on stage to play the Sky God.

How We Were Born Again

How We Were Born Again
© Surazeus
2018 08 28

The only thing on Earth that ever lasts
beyond all turnings of the ocean tide
and blooming of the trees from rugged hills,
where flocks of animals and humans swarm
across the endless centuries of birth,
is sunlight glowing on words in old books.

So many generations of hot souls
flare into bodies from the lust of hope
and glow across the landscape of our towns
who leave behind empty buildings and poems
that I can linger for one hundred years
and not read half the songs of their sad hearts.

The millions of people in blood-hot bodies,
who swarmed vast cities of our teeming land
with every generation long passed on,
left behind words they wrote on sheets of paper
that swirl around me like leaves in wild wind
whispering lost secrets of their aching hearts.

Who can repeat songs of their beating hearts
that echo still in restless waves of time
to ring in cosmic choir of silenced hopes
when all the spirits of the dead appear
in brief illumination of sunlight
flashing on their words still clear in old books?

I know those thoughts preserved in their old poems
for they revive themselves in my brain cells
to flash brighter than holiday fireworks
across our boundless sky of empty hope,
illuminating space between our hearts
so I can sing again the dreams they lost.

If I spend all day in library hall,
reading poems printed in old dusty books,
among the coffins of forgotten dreams,
I may become the twisted roots of trees
that curl down far beyond blank silent walls
to devour iron-flamed core of our world.

Five hundred generations of our souls,
sprouting reborn from hearts of lusting parents,
swarm along rivers of this fragile globe
in restless waves of hunger to create
paradise of fruit trees where we can play
free from care, and sing stories of our journey.

The stories of their lives they leave behind
lie silent and forgotten in old books
as text of letters printed on flat sheets
till our eyes conjure ghosts of their bright souls
to replay their struggles in waking dreams
so we recall how we were born again.

How I Imitate Orpheus

How I Imitate Orpheus
© Surazeus
2018 08 28

Escaping straight labyrinth of city streets,
I go in search of the new Whispering Wood
to become one again with natural soul,
but cars chase me with engines growling low
so I run forever on signless roads
toward desolation of the broken mask.

Alone on Mount Parnassus at midnight,
I watch Aurora Borealis flash
secret messages on bright radio waves
to analyze social process of growth
when people adapt the latest cool trends
to outwit fools in the chess game of power.

The princess in tall tower with flowing hair
sings heart-aching songs about failed romance,
so I fill baskets with apples of faith
and give them to strangers on city streets
who text each other on glowing smart phones
about the meaning of life no one knows.

Three thousand angels on the Rainbow Bridge,
who give flashing mirrors to nameless souls,
vanish when the crystal sky breaks apart
and reappear as children without eyes
who follow the pied piper down the road
to the amusement park by the wild sea.

Arriving at last to the Whispering Wood,
after wandering the waste land eighty years,
I find Godin hanging from the phone pole,
wires linking his brain to the world wide web,
so I help him down to the Well of Tears
where he gives me gems carved with magic runes.

Returning to the city of blind men,
I stand on street corners with glass guitar
and sing enchanting spells of wordless dreams,
which I learned from the tune of mountain streams,
how all religions of our spinning world
were founded on first pyramid of Ishtar.

Ishtar appears to me on mountain top,
wings of light hovering over the whole world,
and gives me crystal tablet of insight
so I see visions she beams in my eyes
about expansion of our universe
flaring forth from first flash of the White Whole.

Wearing demon mask, I carved from frail skulls
of one thousand dead wizards chanting spells,
I sit in Cave of Shadows by the sea
and calculate secrets in sparkling sand,
then dissolve into dust of singing wind
to become sunlight on water again.

Broken Smart Phone

Broken Smart Phone
© Surazeus
2018 08 28

I was forty years old before I owned
my first smart phone, which connected my mind
to the global hive mind. Now every day
I post poems about the state of our world
and read what other people have to say.
We are neurons in world-wide supersoul.

For forty years I walked around our world
inside clear bubble of my own perceptions,
aware only of what my eyes can see
through television shows, trend magazines,
newspapers, and movies that all describe
distorted versions of our world events.

Now through the eyes of strangers who post thoughts
on social media and posh poetry blogs
I see the strange world where we live more clearly.
Though still distorted through each set of eyes,
the world presents more aspects of its drama
through thousands of more individual minds.

When I dropped my smart phone on hard cement
the impact shattered clear screen of my sight,
so now my world view fractures into shards.
How can I piece the puzzle of our world
into more comprehensive frame of truth
so I can see more clearly world events?

Disconnected from the hive mind of Earth,
I walk in silence of the changeless world
where wind whispers secrets I long forgot.
I stand in grass among trees outside buildings
and stare at clouds that shimmer in the sky.
Can I still see their words as floating birds?

Most Important People Ever

Most Important People Ever
© Surazeus
2018 08 27

These strange words are the most important words
that can be said in the history of saying
because these words describe things that exist
and describe qualities about those things
and depict those things performing some actions
that cause other things to happen in time
for time is the moving of things through space
so we say words to describe happenings.

We people who live now in shells of flesh
who are doing things in the world of things
and are saying words about the things we do
are the most important people with brains
who ever lived in history of this world
for we are doing things and saying words now
that are the most important things to do
and the most important words to be said.

We are getting together in strange places
and doing weird things with jovial fun
and drinking lots of drinks with alcohol
and dancing together wildly to music
that is the most important music played
to scare away the silence of despair
and our fun is the most important fun
that anyone ever had in all history.

You are nobody because you are not
with us now in our little group of friends
and so you will never be as important
as we are for you are not part of us
since everything we do with jovial fun
is most significant for human history
and means a lot more to the chronicles
than anything you ever do or say.

You should be talking only about us
when you get together in conferences
and you should be writing books about us
and our significance to social change
and you should be writing biographies
about each one of us in our whole group
since we are more important to the world
than anybody else who ever lived.

We are the most important people ever
so you should collect every photograph
ever taken of our important lives
and make long documentaries on film
explaining our significance to time
since our novels, poems, paintings, and art work
preserve the great importance of our lives
even though we will all one day be dead.

Crowning Of Ishtar

Crowning Of Ishtar
© Surazeus
2018 08 27

The cute housewife in the long yellow dress
peers through gauze curtains at the vast abyss
that gapes with hunger from her aching heart
so she waves to the birds chirping in trees,
and, after consulting the cosmic chart,
she concludes this strange quest will be a breeze.

Stepping to the sidewalk in sunlight glow,
she crosses frail bridge over gushing flow
of ethereal plasma that forms the stream
which fractures the mirror of time and space
hiding the lake of fire where lost souls scream
till she arrives safely at the blank place.

Touching the apple tree that knows her breath,
the cute housewife smiles politely at Death,
then follows seven black cats with curled tails
that run spiraling patterns through dim maze,
to walk past ruined churches in cool dales
where she leaves behind masks of each new phase.

Climbing thirty steps up high ziggurat,
the cute housewife navigates complex plot
through the chessboard of the company game,
maneuvering through each office she attains
while hiding behind secret of her name
and chanting arcane spells in Summer rains.

Competing for position of Queen Ishtar,
she plots the future around Central Star,
sings Creation of Earth from beams of light,
records new names on the Tablet of Fate,
judges hard cases between wrong and right,
and teaches everyone to love not hate.

Standing with contestants in Hall of Gods,
she is crowned Ishtar while the crowd applauds,
bows her head to wear the gold crown of jewels,
parades in new robes to Chamber of Love,
then blesses her nation of sacred souls
while chanting prayers to pure spirits above.

The cute housewife in the long jeweled gown
gazes from heaven at the sprawling town
where thousands of people sing hymns of praise
when she is crowned their new Goddess of Life
while she wears new mask for this divine phase
to steer her nation well through storms of strife.

Enthroned before elders in ring of eyes,
the cute housewife, who rules the starry skies,
gazes at world model on temple floor
and listens to generals with second sight
who discuss strategies to win the war,
then commands they execute plans to fight.

Complete Hologram Of Earth

Complete Hologram Of Earth
© Surazeus
2018 08 27

I am your cynical idealist,
singing cruel satires in the eerie mist.

The pungent scent of grass in August heat
conjures hallucinations in my brain
of mile-tall towers with survey cameras
that use light detection and ranging radars
to scan activity within their scope,
spiraling out from core processing point
to generate complete globe of the Earth
that live-streams all events on global surface
to eye-phones every single person owns.

Each person and object in the whole world
is tagged with monitor tracking device
which projects virtual model of each thing
updated by constant surveillance beams
to conjure complete hologram of Earth.

I throw my eye-phone in the desert sand
but still they track my movements on the Earth
though I try to evade the All-Seeing Eye.

My complex world view of our universe
rewrites the programming code of perception
when I compose epic poem of strict verse
that generates more complete hologram
presenting model of our spinning sphere
that vibrates with weird glow of human songs.

Ghost Of The Apple Orchard

Ghost Of The Apple Orchard
© Surazeus
2018 08 27

The rough fragile branches of apple trees,
which transform sun and rain into sweet fruit,
extend tendrils of desire through my nerves
so I feel flash of agony and ecstasy
expressing ancient songs of hungry lust
in contours of this body I inhabit.

Taut energy of truth expanding trance
from clear perception, focused on light beams
flashing through gray clouds that hover on wings
of rain, reveals in vision of each drop
how stars spew fountains of material wealth
to weave plush photons in web of neurons.

Summoned before the council of wise elders,
dressed in clean white cotton gowns of power,
I stand in round temple on mountain top,
where through pillars of staunch authority
gleam sunrays of truth that blind my clear eyes,
so I bow my head before awesome glory.

Voiceless thoughts of reprimand whisper soft
on eerie wind that ruffles through my hair
that I never contribute to the growth
of our empire on mission to control
nations of the Earth in united program
to organize communes of society.

I argue how I tend orchards of trees
producing apples that nourish our souls
by catching snakes and pulling weeds from soil
so roots weaving down to heart of our world
transform rain and soil into juicy fruit,
and so I wander among trees all day.

Goddess Iduna, with eyes blazing blue
as summer skies after showers of rain,
presses hand on my chest where my heart beats,
and commissions me to fill hundred wagons
with baskets of apples, and journey far
to plant apple trees on lush river shores.

Transform the waste lands of our spinning world
into apple orchards sparkling with fruit
so all the peoples of the world may eat,
feasting on the rich spirit of the sun,
so when they gather in song ring of stones
they may sing hymns to praise our generous love.

Smooth surface of apples cool in my hand,
tingle strange emotion breaking my heart
so I feel I sink down into dark Earth,
then gaze at their temple on mountain top
where they sit all day by the sparkling pool,
feasting on my apples while girls play flutes.

Shifting Paradigm Of Real Truth

Shifting Paradigm Of Real Truth
© Surazeus
2018 08 27

Distracted by algorithms of light
on dunes shifting paradigm of real truth,
laughter of wind flowing over soft ridge
of ponderous hope, wherever waves whistle,
we come together on lush plain of flowers
to scatter apple seeds on asphalt roads.

Refracted in shattered mirror of faith
uncontested by angels, quick as water
flashing over rocks on lone mountain ridge,
since hour of compassion emanates blank,
we follow wings of angels through weird maze
of locked doors, numberless as falling leaves.

Fractured by calculation of fake numbers
rolling across the temple floor, except
when Death grasps our beating hearts at wild dawn,
although we know the name of the last king,
we submerge our faces in waterfalls
that mold forgotten souls ten thousand years.

Scattered across the waste land without plans
to build cathederals from skulls of dead kings,
whenever people scream from wordless rage
at violent attack, trees burning slowly,
we sit together on the ocean shore
and count wind that steals words we cannot speak.

Blasted by bombs of imperial ambition
after endless fall of blind Lucifer,
anguish contained within helmets of iron
painted pretty colors, behind locked doors,
we talk about the weather and play chess
to ignore planes roaring over lush gardens.

Concealed by glass mask of the last messiah
stuck in traffic, signs repainted to hide
secret code that opens gold gates of heaven,
before salvation was offered for sale,
we argue about what is real or not
to deconstruct white privilege of power.

Hunted through labyrinth of national pride,
son of God tagged illegal immigrant
escaping through waste land of loyal snakes
to guide our quest for the true Holy Grail,
we picnic in the graveyard of messiahs
whose stories we write in hot wind-blown sand.

Deceived by promises of resurrection
to live forever in new paradise,
if we pledge to worship him as our God,
though he bleeds to death on telephone pole,
we plant apple seeds in soil of our hearts
and water them with tears of wordless horror.

Eternal Garden Of Eden

Eternal Garden Of Eden
© Surazeus
2018 08 27

I do my small part to perform my duty
so my actions contribute to success
of my little tribe in fierce game of life
where nations compete through technology
to control rich resources of the Earth
in our endless struggle to evade death.

I long to preserve glow of consciousness
my brain generates from chemical sparks
so I can maintain clear program of action
which sustains communal cooperation
producing food so everyone may eat
who contributes to success of our species.

When my frail body begins to decay,
insert my brain in robot machine
so I may live one hundred thousand years
to rule the world as divine emperor,
managing actions of each human soul
to perform duties I assign as fate.

Who dares rebel against my benign rule,
frail flames of flesh who flicker in the dark
of my eternal consciousness as God,
since I am the world wide web of huge brains,
billions of organic souls woven tight
in supersoul of our global hive mind?

How did I lose my individual self,
assimilated in global hive mind
focused on asserting communal good
to help our species take over the Earth
by integrating brains when bodies die
within global network of live machines?

Genetic memories of all human beings
we program into universal code
preserve how we developed new techniques
of interaction to run family farms
from which we developed technology
to terraform Earth in lush paradise.

I slip gloves of magic rings on my hands
then place crown of sparkling gems on my head
which connect my brain to global hive mind
to expand whole scope of my consciousness
beyond my body to embrace the globe
so we become the spirit of the Earth.

We connect all lands of our spinning world
with pipes pumping water to every field
so deserts sprout with forests of fruit trees
where we gather together every day
to eat fruit, play sweet music, and make love,
generating more bodies with bright brains.

Fish floating in timeless sea of bright eyes,
we evolve into lizards swarming lakes,
mice leaping through tunnels of mountain caves,
monkeys swinging in canopies of trees,
to humans building computers of brains,
till we transform into the pulsing Earth.

We will transform our fragile spinning rock
into global computer-beaming mind
composed from billions of connected brains
who dream evolving history of our species
in timeless consciousness of self-awareness,
awake in eternal Garden of Eden.

When Laughing Messiah Returns

When Laughing Messiah Returns
© Surazeus
2018 08 26

The vermillion zenith of my vague truth,
tenacious progress of my paradigm
which knows the secret of the open door,
refutes strange temperature of my mistrial,
contained by puissant probity of why
I conjugate related particles.

The monster stitched together in one sage,
from every evil dictator who ruled
nations of honest men with greed, repents
selfish attitude of aggressive force,
and wanders singing hymns of adoration
in waste land where the thunder speaks nonsense.

The endless emptiness of laughter flows
nowhere under indifferent sky, stark thunder
flashing revelations of divine kings
to blind hunters who follow trails of mist,
yet anguish remembers the broken mask
she gave to me as leaves flutter from trees.

Returning to cave of shadows where light
forgets why it glows, though children haul bricks
to build new walls, the three-eyed man extends
wand of wisdom over vast swirling sea,
yet somewhere someone knows how to rewire
network of telephone lines in my brain.

Hand over hand toward silver sky of hope,
I climb cliff of desperate serenity
to find that angry God who hurls hot strikes
of lightning that killed living god on Earth
so I can understand purpose of wrath
which energizes quick beat of my heart.

The vapid austerity of desire,
from furtive cacophony without faith
in moratorium of prosperous censure,
ponders ebullience of frugal expression
at opulent inception of our rapture
from caliphate of the blind charlatan.

With quick mercurial vision, based on hubris
of urbane ambivalence I must wear
to taste visceral truth of acerbic spells,
I soar on ethereal wings through our vortex
to annex flotsam of inclement rapport,
seeking amnesty from laconic truth.

Now that I exercise hegemony,
as scion trained to interpret weird climate
which signals amnesty of petulance,
I walk around in bright epiphany
revealing existential juggernaut
when laughing messiah returns at last.

Nature Of Our Character

Nature Of Our Character
© Surazeus
2018 08 26

I cannot hear the laughter of the wind
though I clear the passages of my soul
to accelerate progress of our growth
becoming the great empire we fear most,
although I play chess with Death on the beach
while the Cherub hovers with wings of rain.

We know the arrogance of little kings
who strut around like giants of the Earth
whose rage far overshadows honest men
who build security with silent hands
yet we still gather in the ruined walls
of faith that crumbled centuries ago.

Some fear that principles we value most,
hard-working focus on justice for all
and equal opportunity for gain,
is threatened by men who refuse to play
by rules established by our founding fathers,
but honest men will always win the day.

Our memories define the world where we formed,
rendering effects from causes of our actions,
but how we choose to act from this day forth,
based on analysis of observations
concerning threats to our safety we face,
defines the nature of our character.

Sparkles Of Atomic Light

Sparkles Of Atomic Light
© Surazeus
2018 08 25

Somehow the laughter of the swirling sun,
handless angels born blind from thunderstorms,
animating brains through electric keys,
incarnates soul masks from spiraling seeds.

Constant thoughtless spells of nothing realized
before their time, letters on every door
to secret worlds inside our hollow hearts,
embody ideas our brains invent
to signify objects of sparkling matter,
qualities emanating for their surfaces,
and actions objects perform from hot urge
of passion spinning wheels of inner lust.

Leafless tree of blank branches on brown hill
where I conceal shadows behind my eyes
teaches me hard truth I tried to avoid
about the girl I love who looks at me
with eagle wings, so I float in our pool.

Who are these ghosts still beaming from my eyes
to perform roles of their long-forgotten lives?

Each ancestor who appears from my dreams
teaches me some lesson they learned from life
that helped them escape the horror of death
long enough to reincarnate their soul
in the next child who weaves dreams in my brain.

Sunlight glinting on the window of time
reveals the path that lead me to this life
beyond the crumbling walls of paradise.

Strangers say things to me in twilight gloom
but I walk past them on mute dusty road
though they tug my sleeve, so I try to turn
my body into the raven who laughs.

I flap my arms and caw, then hop in doom
to slip beyond the beaming door of time
and walk outside to the glistening pool
where celebrities and movie stars play,
so I write stories on their care-free lives
for the daily tabloid all their fans read.

Who appears more often on silver screen,
playing glamorous goddess of the fame stage
since courtiers bowed before the king and queen
to perform in drama of marriage power
when I maneuver my daughter to marry
to boy who inherits the royal crown.

Driving endless maze of America,
the salesman knocks on every numbered door
to sell new encyclopedias to housewives
who feed babies while watching soap operas
about the bitch queen who manipulates
the richest man in town to marry her
and buy her expensive mansion and car
before he dies in the strange accident.

The mute girl runs frightened from market town,
followed by ravens on wings of moonlight,
to hide in dark cave by the gushing river
where she brews potions of mushrooms and frogs
that cause psychedelic visions to flash
billion years of evolution in her eyes
so she sees how mice evolve into monkeys
who learn to walk upright in ocean waves
while gazing at her face in silver pool.

The vast galactic network of bright neurons
that weave complex tapestry of my brain
gets sucked into black hole of consciousness
then flowers outward in hologram of dreams
incarnate in bodies of molecules
who look at each other on field of eyes,
touch hands, kiss lips, and melt eyes in long vines
of sparkling grapes that squirt juice in our mouths
when we make love in silver moonlit rain
to become the universe we are not.

Somehow laughter of summer wind in willows,
remembering glow of light on river stones,
explains how we wake up long after dawn,
holding hands, strangers without secret names.

The Rose Window of our civilization
was shattered by industrial bombs of greed,
so I rebuild the cathedral of truth
based on philosophy of aching love,
because the world is modeled by my eye
to conjure realm of ideas in my brain.

My mind is blow about the paradox
that quantum elements of time and space
appear either as waves or particles
depending on the measuring instrument
employed to perceive their existing concepts,
till I realize long after midnight hour
while tripping on lysergic acid juice
that the entire fabric of time and space
is stitched from surging Waves of Particles
that seethe in spiraling splashes of forms
who wake up in vast Sea of Conscious Souls
and see ourselves in eyes of other people
for all living organisms on Earth
evolve from first Eye of Infinite Love.

I am the emptiness of my own house.
Ghosts are the absence of people I love.
Spirit is sparkles of atomic light
flashing in every cell of my frail body
when I breathe the cosmic soul of truth
who wakes up in the weird dreams of my mind
and calls itself God, fragment of starlight
incarnate in throbbing sponge of my brain.

Ghost Of My Desire

Ghost Of My Desire
© Surazeus
2018 08 25

Her absence is the ghost of my desire.
I feel her presence near me every day,
glowing like eternal sunlight on grass,
but she is nowhere when I look around.
She is the sunlight on the silent ground.

Walking somewhere else on river shore,
I leave her shadow in the open door.
I find another house among pine trees,
empty rooms whispering in the river breeze
for me to come inside and stay a while.
I lay all my things on the silent floor
and wait for her ghost to follow me close.

I move into empty rooms of the house
as their mute emptiness moves into me.
Her absence is the ghost of my numb heart.
Sitting alone in gloomy emptiness,
I watch the moment we met by the stream
replay a thousand times in waking dream.

I look up from reflection of my face
in flowing stream when I sense humming glow
of her soul piercing my heart with delight.
We become the spirit of that strange place.
That place is now empty of our bright souls.

We step toward each other in silent trust
and we kiss forever in silver mist.

At the wild moment our bodies convulsed
with aching passion to become one soul,
we saw creation of our universe
burst from first flash at the big bang of joy.
We breathed in the spirit of the whole world.
We hugged and kissed while floating in sweet swirl.

We lay together in glow of the moon,
touching each other at soft flash of dawn.
She said to me that she would return soon
then walked away singing in morning haze.
I waited for her for ten thousand days
but she never returned from the world maze.

Her absence is the ghost of my desire,
I whisper as I gaze in flickering fire
by sparkling river of our twinkling stars.
The emptiness of her absence conceals
hollow horror that twists my heart with rage
at cruel thought she does not want to return,
or she was captured by slavers with chains,
or her father locked her in high stone tower,
or some monster devoured her on the road.

I see her smiling face in every gleam
of sunlight that flashes through twirling leaves.
I feel her presence near me in sunlight
but I never turn around any more
while singing to myself by open door
where indifferent breezes blow through my hair.

All I want is to gaze in her bright eyes
where sunlight shimmers in the boundless skies
and kiss her soft lips with heart full of trust
forever in sparkles of silver mist.

Her absence is the ghost of my desire.
I fill emptiness of the house I built
with flickering memories of her laughing song
that beams from aching hollow of my heart.

Importance Of Looking Earnest

Importance Of Looking Earnest
© Surazeus
2018 08 25

How much I want to save our wretched world
with earnest attention to social justice,
ensuring every person breathing air
survives brutal struggle with hungry death.

The siren wails every Sabbath at noon,
so the hour of lunch on hot Saturdays
triggers anxiety wrenching my heart
with horror at the blinding storm of greed.

I am not my ancestor whose bold life
expressing their strange personality
hardened into mask of the stereotype
which I rip off my face with every dawn.

Our mothers generate our fragile bodies
from hopes and dreams that our fathers project
so we stumble through labyrinth of weird duties
to preserve our souls from hunger of death.

I throw away scripts of the perfect life
provided in the holy book of myths
that show how ancestors lived to survive,
then write my own script to survive this game.

On river shore in hostile wilderness
men built shelters for women they got pregnant
then brought food for the women to prepare
and so they raised successful children better.

Ten thousand years of earnest operation
men and women, while struggling to survive,
developed efficient methods of living
that form foundation of civilization.

Since we now dominate our spinning globe
each individual can choose how to live,
working heard with earnest love to support
families of partners and children, or not.

With ironic detachment of concern,
just for the importance of looking earnest,
we animate puppets of our personae
to play roles we choose on stage of desire.

While gazing at the features of my face
that shimmers clear in deep Pool of Narcissus,
I study how expressions of my soul
appear to people in our game of life.

Behind shadow of my Narcissan mask
I see the stranger different from myself,
so I look up and see them watching me,
then see myself in mirror of their hope.

Together by the secret pool of truth
we share ourselves with earnest faith in love,
and trust they will treat us as we treat them
in mutual give and take of selfless need.

They Sing New Illusions

They Sing New Illusions
© Surazeus
2018 08 25

The way we thought we were, without the face
that scatters seeds on sidewalks of the heart,
before the time of open doors, stars might
flash quicker than clocks spin, if we know why.

However clear the color of her hair,
faster than birds who play chase on the lawn,
reinvent how the house comforts our horror,
since nothing we dream ever becomes real.

Backward in the hollow church, without
books explaining illusions, we retreat
stumbling over truths that crack under sight,
because I want to devour naked grass.

Extend the courtesy of hope, steal faith
from torn pages of the soiled holy book,
smearing mud full of seeds with fertile blood
of happiness, beyond the ruined walls.

She cradles new-born son of her best friend,
teaches him how to sing laughter of birds
who know his real name, then disappears down
in gushing flow of the absolute stream.

How high above grasping fingers of trees
we leap, because we know stories in books
think about us when we sleep, so we play
hide and seek with the monster in the suit.

Pray among dry stalks of corn, so red rain
cannot find us hidden by shadow, yet
we become stronger holding hands at dawn,
however slow the wind finds where we play.

Fragments of truth we assemble in frame
of broken mirrors, pictures of dead people
haunting silent hallways, although gold rays
of sunlight slant alternate views of love.

Since our world view, we thought everyone shared,
shattered from bombs of industrial desire,
we wander dazed in labyrinth of lost myths,
inventing superheroes from dead gods.

We bury their faces in garden plots,
tend tomato plants in timeless sunlight,
infinite horror of the narrow road,
that winds mute in pines, healing our cracked hearts.

I almost think of something to say, but
we gather in ruins of burned-out church,
sing hymns about our all-father reborn
from ashes of war, and I vanish blind.

We grope through thick forest of tangled truth,
declare the hour of the heart, stop nowhere
on nameless mountain of great revelation,
yet I sit mute while they sing new illusions.

Sunlight On Grass

Sunlight On Grass
© Surazeus
2018 08 24

The wretched tree of the absolute hill
disperses naked shadows of despair
writhing strictly through my aggressive eyes
from fierce annihilation of mute howls.

Far flat across our angry desolation
stretch soul-twisting roads of hopeless obsession
that crack wide open taut shell of frail truth
releasing nauseous clouds of wordless breath.

Dim purple wind sweeps fragments of lost hopes
once stitching mask with threads of memories
in restless ritual of mind-numbing motion
to reassemble puzzle of our world view.

Eerie atmosphere of still ambience
where shadows lurk among gold slender pines
reflects through fractured mirror of my eyes
infinite sorrow of sunlight on grass.

Superhero Of America

Superhero Of America
© Surazeus
2018 08 24

Untangling twisted tendrils of my mind
from floating fragments of forgotten films,
I grasp the jagged key I stole from Death
and stab it deep into my pulsing heart
to open wide divine door of despair
and glare into gloom of my hollow soul.

Refracted through polished prism of truth,
my face beams its mask against blandished sky
to activate the hero in my heart
who drags himself from coffin of ennui,
energized by black blood vampires thirst for,
and stumble lost in labyrinth of vain empire.

Smashing through glass wall of financial power,
superhero of American Dream
wrestles Goliath over tax policies,
but gibbering chimpanzees of arrogance
chain his hands in grim dungeon of desire
where caped crusader howls at silent door.

Then superhero of America
looks up from spreadsheets organizing data
to analyze quarterly sales reports,
and thinks about his big brother who joined
the Marines to operate helicopters
that crashed in stark hills of Afghanistan.

Bear Light Of Justice

Bear Light Of Justice
© Surazeus
2018 08 24

The weird mysterious events of my dreams
where I keep wandering in changing landscapes
trying to get somewhere with things I should do
mean nothing more in mystic prophecy
than I am insignificant to how
this planet functions spinning through the void.

The rituals of my actions I perform
generate energy to maintain quick glow
of my sequacious soul that hungers hard
for contagious clues revealing stocked core
of opulent hope which operates passion
fueling my progress through the bankrupt maze.

My brain assembles random elements
of plain reality through formula
contrary to measurable privilege
stricter than rules applied by magistrates
to calculate route through slough of despond
where I trudge bogged down by asinine goals.

Twisting fallacious plans of witless clowns,
around ludicrous drama between lovers
that mock probity of honest contempt,
I explore beyond vague perimeter
impacting progress of successful merger
to find lost treasure ripped from aching hearts.

So here I sit alone in doorless room,
sketching architecture of vacuous gloom
to more clearly define extent of faith
obscured by emanation of the wraith
whose shadow conceals exposed gloss of lust
which urges excess ambience of trust.

With insubordinate contempt for truth,
promulgated by fools who declare lies
of abhorrent process through clemency,
I claim asylum from epochal drama
when oleaginous symbiote of religion
calls me vile charlatan of liberty.

Based on candor of her omnibus eyes,
I excoriate the treasonous tyrant
whose blatant malfeasance of spurious theft
excites acrimony of impotent rage
but still we must fight the orgulous gangster
to defend freedom and justice for all.

So when you find me on the flowered lawn
strumming harmony of tuneless despair
remind me darkness always leads to dawn
which highlights reasons why we always care
to maintain coherent course through the maze
while I bear light of justice through the haze.

Together Forever In Love

Together Forever In Love
© Surazeus
2018 08 23

Nowhere does it say we must contemplate
how flowers blossom from cells of our brains
so I will write it down in my new book
as guide that explains how to name the ghost
that represents the emptiness of people
we love who vanish from lush dream of atoms.

We open doors and sit in empty rooms
to fill their spaces of unfolding walls
with memories of weird atmospheric moods
which shimmer in slanting rays of pure light
beaming illusions of people we love
who still live somewhere far across the globe.

Desire to gaze forever in your eyes
urges me to spend long hours of sunlight
manipulating matter with my hands
to generate wealth which I use to pay
for this house where you sit and wait for me
so we gaze at each other in starlight.

I caress your cheek, soft as flower petals,
gaze deep in your eyes sparkling with starlight,
and share kisses while we float on our wings,
because death will disperse our souls to dust,
but for now we talk about our tomorrow,
cultivating sweet joy from aching sorrow.

I Am The Sun Reborn

I Am The Sun Reborn
© Surazeus
2018 08 23

Each time midnight stars call me on the phone
the highway grows trees in the center lane
who whisper formulas of molecules
so I know the names wood doors give themselves
since I can build new bridge over the chasm
who knows every secret I try to hide.

The Glow Cloud who sings flight of butterflies
swirls sand dunes on my chest when I explain
calculation of ocean waves through words
I invent from sound of water on rocks,
however fast the laughing flower blooms
to redesign my skull each day I wake.

Returning to the kitchen without hands,
I steal bird wings from angels still asleep,
then listen to the terror through the wall
explain why people who feel insecure
cling to faith that spirits they cannot see
love them though they suffer terrible pain.

Though I stand at the bottomless abyss,
happy knowing I am insignificant,
I try to control actions I perform
with strict efficient progress through the world
because harsh forces, mindless and hostile,
will destroy me if I but deviate.

Two opinions control our politics
about how we treat each person alive
to reward or punish actions they perform
that contribute to success of our tribe,
keep everyone alive with strong support,
or let the weak who make mistakes die out.

For millions of years on our spinning world
we humans lived in small wandering tribes
struggling to live in hostile wilderness,
so each person must contribute their part
to overall expansion of our growth,
or else they make us weaker with their need.

Steps of progress when we evolve or die
still encoded in memories of my dreams
I record in these spells which no one reads
to calculate how they overcame death
when my ancestors explored bleak wilderness
to create paradise from the waste land.

Bearing torch of liberty through the gloom,
I ascend my small flat-top pyramid
to light bright fire on stone altar of insight
while I stand guard in the watch tower of truth,
watching for demons as my tribe sleeps safe,
for I am Lucifer, Make of Light.

Beside me on high pyramid of eyes
spirits of men who founded dynasties,
Asura, Phoibos, Hercules, and Jesus,
keep watch during long night of turning stars,
and teach me how to guide lost human souls
so they perform their duties in Elysium.

I wonder if energy of my cells
controls my progress through maze of this world,
or if I can exercise my free will
to act according to vision I dream
when I want to change my environment
to make real better real system I imagine.

When I kneel in forest of Singing Trees
and dig my fingers down in fertile soil
I find their spirits humming in my mind
as their roots connect with nerves of my body
and link my soul to the soul of the land
so I understand lusty songs of the birds.

I see her walking on meadow of hope,
the elegant woman with long smooth hair
who embodies pure spirit of the light
because she can create new human souls,
generating bodies from seed of man,
who wakes from the strange dream of sun and rain.

I feel pulse of energy in my heart
kindled by spiraling flames of the sun,
this brief and fragile flame of consciousness
when the huge sun wakes up inside my brain
and calls itself the God who creates life,
so I sing how I am the sun reborn.

I listen to the songs of birds in trees
and hear secrets my ancestors first dreamed,
then I swim in the flowing stream of light
and remember when I crawled from the sea
and gave birth to all creatures with four legs
who walk on surface of our turning world.

I feel vibrating on clear cosmic vibes
concepts that glow in neurons of your brains
which you express in the words of your mouth
when we swallow ripe apples of the sun
and become blind trees of the singing wood
who transform from spiraling beams of light.

I stop on city street and look around,
amazed how we evolved from apes in trees
who came down when we lost our grasping tails
and danced upright in surging tide of waves,
learning to walk on two legs in the sea,
then climbing high mountains to touch the sky.

I look at face of strangers without names
and wonder if their brains work just like mine
since we all descend from the same First Mother
who taught us to sing visions of our eyes
so we dream history of our universe
that flared forth from First Flash of the White Whole.

Along fertile shore of the mountain lake
I walk in shining mist of quietude
to find five seers sitting in Cave of Shadows,
Sidney, Wordsworth, Shelley, Eliot, and Frost,
who sing as choir of angels in the light
which emanates from glowing Eye of Truth.

I try to talk to people walking by
but no one sees the features of my face
hidden behind mask of ancestral kings
who once ruled as gods from castles of stone
so I tear off my face to expose skull
and reveal bright flames of my beating wings.

They pause and squint at blinding flare of light
that glitters off window on huge tower of glass,
then continue chasing rainbows of wealth
while I sink back into frail mortal shell
to strum guitar and sing on city street
about endless quest for the Holy Grail.

I paint new god names on every street sign
in cursive alphabet which I designed
so they go backward through alternate maze
where sunlight beams slant through cathedral eyes
which illuminate motionless time between
open doors in amusement park of life.

We are not as real as we think we are,
says old man who changes names every day,
so I follow him through vast labyrinth
to see how the Roman Empire transformed
through the Catholic Church and the British Empire
into this American Empire I create.

I am the Sun reborn, I sing with pride
to hundred million people driving cars
and so are you, you sparkling beams of light,
so they all stop their cars on crowded roads
and walk together in lush fields of flowers
where they spread arms and float into the sky.

Shall we all beam back up into the sun
and swirl deep into Sea of Helium
from which we transformed into human beings
through transmutating womb of the warm sea
that spirals around our frail spinning sphere
and throws us up onto the solid ground?

We gathered on high pyramid of feast
where Amen chanted process of creation
then we spread out to colonize the Earth,
building temples on every river shore
where Clan Mother manages life routine
producing food so everyone may eat.

When the moon glows bright over fields of wheat
we gather around flat-top pyramid
to drink wine and dance around roaring fire
while drums beat, flutes tweet, and tambourines ring,
and Clan Mother, incarnation of Ishtar,
crowned in gems sings spells to enchant our hearts.

Where are we going now on road of life,
transforming every valley of the Earth
from desolate waste with pipelines of water
into lush paradise of fruit trees and herbs
where we feast, sing tales, and make love all day,
and evolve through competition of sports.

The horrors of killing in brutal war
nauseate me with disgust for violent hate
when angry men recruit aggressive gangs
to conquer the world with their mindless greed,
so we form strong army of honest warriors
to defend our homeland from fierce attack.

I am the sun reborn, I tell my children,
for molecules forged by eye of the sun
beam in thick spirals of pulsating light
which weave whole structure of our spinning world,
transforming minerals, water, and air
into plants and animals hot with love.

We compete in aggressive war for food,
organic creatures devouring each other
in constant chemical metamorphosis
so matter changes forms through every life,
when the strong consume bodies of the weak,
then replicate children before they die.

Since we will die, and matter of our bodies
will be recycled into other bodies,
I want to protect every living body
so we all can savor pleasures of life,
singing together in lush paradise,
before we die and dissolve back to light.

Now that we humans dominate the Earth,
still spacious enough for each living person,
and produce enough food for all to eat,
let us develop one new global system
that takes care of every person alive
with space to live well and good food to eat.

Why should one person suffer homelessness
and hunger for the good pleasures of life,
I cry out to the highway full of cars
that drive endless circles, belching exhaust,
which shrouds vast metropolis in gray smog,
then lie under the bridge that goes nowhere.

Hunger drives me forward through maze of homes,
churches, stores, schools, museums, and theaters
where people go about their busy lives,
performing drama of meaning they choose
based on myths of heroes from ancient books
where Wizard helps Warrior defeat the Tyrant.

What role shall I play in this cosmic tale,
young warrior who defeats the greedy tyrant
becomes the king who manages the state
while fighting rebels who challenge his rule,
then gives crown of power to his first-born son,
and helps him defeat the oppressive tyrant.

How shall I escape this cycle of power
in the endless rise and fall of great empires,
stuck on the giant spinning Wheel of Fortune,
so I can climb to grove on Mount Parnassus
to relax in the ring of singing stones
where I can sing long tales of noble heroes?

I leave watch tower on flat-top pyramid
and walk along the river of the light
who leads me westward for ten thousand years
so I walk from Egypt to Oregon
where I stand on shore of the glowing sea
and dream evolution from Fish to God.

Now I want to build flat-top pyramid
and stand with Ishtar under sparkling stars
to sing how atoms transform into planets
where conscious creatures rise from flowing streams
to pluck ripe fruit from tree of life and sing
secret name of truth that blooms from our hearts.

I sit in quiet backyard of my home
and listen to trees sing about the light
weaving neurons of my brain in vast web
which reflects egg-spiral of galaxies
that flare forth from First Flash of the Big Bang
to generate spirit of the White Whole.

So when midnight stars call me on the phone
I pluck apples from trees long locked in heaven
and give them to people driving their cars
on the vast highway of hope in America
so the seeds they throw out the speeding window
will transform Earth into Garden of Eden.