I Am Dreams Of Earth © Surazeus 2023 02 28 On wings of Icarus I am dreams of Earth as spirit of atoms flashing through brains when I howl into void of nothingness to draw my horror from darkness of fear till it burns as light of terrible joy, so I laugh at absurdity of life. On waves of sorrow I am dreams of Earth sprouting as grass from core of the mind when I reach for light that burns inside time because I am new body of this land as wind incarnate in this clumsy frame flapping frail wings of passionate hope. On beams of starlight I am dreams of Earth bursting into being from terrible truth through weird ecstatic agony of faith to transform rotten slime of lucent rage into graceful fruit trees of timeless joy where ravens gather to talk about light. On hill of demons I am dreams of Earth as child of laughter struggling to survive indifferent hunger of the twirling globe that spirals lost in blank void of my heart though I float mindless in cold surging waves on breathless ballast of my broken wings. On bells of anguish I am dreams of Earth vibrating bright with buzz of molecules that spiral wild from diamond of black holes as brilliant emanation of god brain where memories of each soul who ever lived is stored in mythic tropes of naked lust. On boat of horror I am dreams of Earth fishing for leviathan of esteem to catch demonic whale of social games as potent symbol of indifferent nature who sends death to consume our fragile souls in harsh evolvement of relentless time. On sands of today I am dreams of Earth trapped in glowing hourglass of arrogance that paints faces of gods on mindless stars who soar on wings of desire to transcend this seething body that conjures the soul to explode in frail fireworks of this life. On wings of Orpheus I am dreams of Earth singing about catastrophe of love that tangles hearts of people with desire to generate new bodies from our genes so we rise from bleak abyss of despair on Phoenix wings of divine poetry.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Tuesday, February 28, 2023
I Am Dreams Of Earth
Monday, February 27, 2023
Dictator Of The Earth
Dictator Of The Earth © Surazeus 2023 02 27 When I become Dictator of the Earth I will enforce this basic social law that states each person with spiritual mind may live their life in freedom as they will as long as they cause no destructive harm and treat each other with creative love. When I become Dictator of the Earth, after I boldly oppose and dethrone tyrants who oppress the helpless with greed, I will free the bodies and minds of people from blinding bondage of religious faith so they may perceive the world as it is. When I become Dictator of the Earth I will establish liberal institutes that educate minds of people with truth so they deprogram patriarchal state to dismantle hierarchy of the rich which would give each living soul wealth of hope. When I become Dictator of the Earth I will construct system of liberty that provides equal opportunity for each person to activate their dream and build private paradise of desire where they can dwell with the people they love. When I become Dictator of the Earth, after I fall from grace in court of fear because I oppose lust of nepotism that crowns the incompetent son with power, I will hire people who exercise skill based on talent through focus of hard work. When I become Dictator of the Earth I will fund world food-production machine through capital investment of bold wealth to distribute food with fairness of law through faith of socialist generosity so every person may eat all they need. When I become Dictator of the Earth, through revolution against monarchy, I will legislate strong democracy based on accurate count of popular votes that allows all citizens of their nations to choose the person they trust to rule well. When I become Dictator of the Earth I will rule without ruling by decree by letting people live without constraint so they confirm their soul with self-control which is their liberty within the law when people create rather than destroy.
Sunday, February 26, 2023
Perfect House Of Dreams
Perfect House Of Dreams © Surazeus 2023 02 26 Through stark analysis of clocking birds, who strut on chessboards of conceptual fate, I find hydraulic fragments of lost time scattered on hills of sun-baked apathy, so I search for the perfect house of dreams where my children can play beside cool streams. The blind chickadee in the purple birch considers honest cactus in my yard, but chooses to define dream formulas adequate for how we measure our fate based on choices of chemical desire that model children who sing in the choir. Sweet ennui for how the open door breathes excites my misery for people who die in wars and famines that shatter our faith in grand narrative of our global play despite reluctance to channel new shows about children who sing in bitter snows. The mountain chickadee on my thumb knows secret name my mother gave me at birth so I sit at round table of false wealth to gamble for salvation with my heart though I always lose in the final round when children run to the flashy fairground. When we choose to go down the rabbit hole to find the queen who rules in Wonderland, we find ourselves stranded in the Dream Void, unable to remember the password we once used to access fake paradise because the perfect house of dreams is nice. The ghost of Sri Dewi in field of rice asks the yellow chickadee by the sea how to construct the perfect house of dreams where she can paint the history of the world in the weird book no one will ever read while the raven seer designs new world creed.
Saturday, February 25, 2023
Revelation Of Thrumming Rain
Revelation Of Thrumming Rain © Surazeus 2023 02 25 Now through revelation of thrumming rain that drowns city streets in exquisite pain we see indifferent glory of black skies blaze white with joy in vision-glowing eyes, still under uneasy umbrellas bound as wingless angels to iconic ground. Yet in lush meadow bright with purple flowers, awake in eerie beauty of lost hours, young bashful goddess of creative faith lingers with sorrow of love from blind wraith of pungent energy that beams our hearts with hungry anguish of apples in carts. We eager fools of time as fragile souls, who worship Nature with conceptual roles, hide in apartment rooms of dreamless walls to translate hymns from dark demonic calls, yet dream of mountain winds in singing pines veiled by ancient spells of psychotic signs. So many people in gray cubicles, who weep or laugh while watching musicals, long for wild freedom of wooden rowboats on sun-glamored lakes of transcendent notes, but follow strict routine of daily turns to channel passion well, though chaos churns. Our constant struggle to live on our terms, while wearing masks of dead gods, but confirms fierce urge of nature through atomic gears fuels mindless drive to evade morbid fears by generating life before we die and dissipate to whispers in the sky. Because I carry lamp of careless hope that glows in full sunlight with wordless scope, I guide lost souls in maze of doorless fanes to escape empire where blind tyrant reigns, but men return to work in factories so they can pocket their own prison keys. When trees reveal the mind-expanding storm, incarnate from light in conceptual form, I build vast empire of temples in Heaven to shelter children of the laughing raven from horror of Death who beams in our bones with hazy spirals measured by star stones. If we wish to keep our world view intact we must analyze horror with plain fact that we are structures of atoms on fire with angelic flames of human desire, so we gather in Stonehenge on bleak plain to seek revelation of thrumming rain.
Friday, February 24, 2023
Blank Of Everywhere
Blank Of Everywhere © Surazeus 2023 02 24 Starting off in the blank of everywhere, I zero in on planet of my mind to build from random memories of my life coherent world view from grand narrative that centers my survival as my quest to help people I love survive and thrive. Deconstructing world view that codes my brain with memories of my ancestors in tropes, I redesign how I perceive the world so my paradigm includes in its scope every fact programmed in proverbs of truth which helps me predict effect of each cause. The blue crow of my mental liberty brings red mushroom from forest of sad ghosts so I brew them in brass cauldron of milk with honey, strawberries, grapes, and pecans, stirring sweet nectar with long silver spoon while Jupiter shimmers beside the Moon. The one-eyed man with Lantern of Lost Hope walks through psychosis of his pristine fear with ramshackle shuffle of rain-blurred streets to paint demonic faces on road signs with arrows that depict departure route to alien valley of the laughing skull. Though he holds fast to what his eye can see with red velvet curves of the driftwood fire, he wears old circus mask of the mad clown, designed with grimace of the dragon face, while strutting through the city park in rain to escape cold classroom where he must teach. Since no one has died in the doorless house since he has lived there with the mother ghost, the one-eyed man talks to the holy toad about warm hands when the winter wind blows while he hunts the nostalgia butterfly by pencilling dark passages through faith. If he decides to slice silence with hope before the ominous ghoul with no name changes address of his ancestral home, he would climb scaffold of forgotten lore to nail boards over windows of his eyes after losing his fake identity. Stuck in breathing room of the manuscript, stabbed deep in the heart by critical theory, he walks toward the angel beside the desk to smear blood on the chalkboard of new thought because the singing toad deigns to explain why we wander the blank of everywhere.
Wednesday, February 22, 2023
Flowers Recite Riddles
Flowers Recite Riddles © Surazeus 2023 02 22 Flowers recite riddles of lonely wind to moon-eyed fish at bottom of the pond who give pens to gods so they can compose fragments of the staircase as sweet surprise, though letters of the alphabet compete with roses blooming in soft silver snow. Flowers wait in bored rain for the white snake to prove her theory about the fishhook because time reveals sweet sorrow we steal despite her decision to play the role no one understands till the paraclete advocates for the perfect midnight show. Flowers consume fake gates of paradise to examine why thunder forms the base of empty nests woven from photographs scattered by bomb blasts when the devil laughs as if we need hunger to calculate vague outlines of our new global world view. Flowers seek revenge on the parking lots within parameters set by blind fates who refuse to apologize at dawn for the sun that disappears in the rune which spells mountain path we must navigate when searching for taut angle of the yew. Flowers leap deep unbridgeable abyss in time for ghosts to attend midnight mass as if the future at train stations waits for children without hope to lose their coats, so we decide to journey in the boat to find the Glow Cloud in the empty sky. Flowers fuel life in vast city maze since death tricks us with the afterlife ruse to relax in glum shade of the plum tree, resigned to believe tall tales of the crow because we worship the arrogant goat which kills anyone who dares question why. Flowers curl roots into sponge of my brain light as honey in hands of the kind crone who makes the sunset vanish without hope in temple paved with skulls of the mindscape too simple for how Sorrow plays the flute in strict tradition of the modern way. Flowers walk to end of the homeless street where old museums live inside my heart more generous than angels working in banks who pretend they do not obey the Sphinx, lost in oblivion through the desert route where the wealthy enjoy my shadow play.
Tuesday, February 21, 2023
Sacred Mask Of Jupiter
Sacred Mask Of Jupiter © Surazeus 2023 02 21 If I consider how stars know my name I would want to open the door of time and think about sad story of the clown who fell in love with his opposite clone, then write their romance as the social farce that illustrates conception of the Force. Alone in Museum of the blind seer, I analyze how the time-machine car maps endless maze of myths I navigate while I wear the hat and the long black coat in my quest to defy the social norm by escaping paradise of the farm. Not yet in love with the mysterious girl, who translates sorrow with heart-breaking skirl, I stop before the First National Bank to program time clock in the maple trunk, then ask the jester in the empty church when he will pass to my hand the truth torch. Each hour strange planet spins in starless void, ruled over by the meditating toad, another person dies in agony, their heart heavy with folklore argosy depicting social heroes we admire whose bodies rot in the martial quagmire. Though my soul was born in Marmara Sea when I first forged the alphabetic key, I have wandered too far from its wild shore in my journey to follow the God Star that leaves me stranded in bleak wilderness as honest son of Ozymandias. I feel no questions burning in my heart since my ancestors ruled the royal court with authority of the honest sword, so I gaze at my face in mirror shard that reflects spirit of the cosmic herald who returns from Heaven famous and laureled. Each time I walk into the secret room to investigate the scene of the crime, I quietly observe the nameless ghost who orchestrates game of the telecast in which I star as son of Lucifer who wears the sacred mask of Jupiter. Admiring elegant grace of the sculpture, which embodies spirit of our world culture, I mimic weird character I design with arrogant attitude of disdain because atoms bloom into conscious beings who gather around warm fires to share songs.
Monday, February 20, 2023
Alice Plays Harp
Alice Plays Harp © Surazeus 2023 02 20 Wearing red velvet gown and jeweled crown, Alice plays harp before gold castle gate where old king dances on grave of his mother who crawls from dreamless well of Melusine with demonic eyes that perceive the future while his planes drop bombs on small villages. Strumming taut strings, woven from fear of death, Alice plays harp before Frigga and Odin while they feast in Valhalla with their clan, celebrating victories in noble war to colonize wild jungles of the world that slave beneath banner of the White Wolf. Beaming sweetly with her angelic smile, Alice plays harp for Iron King of Hell to free damned souls from hell loops of their guilt and lead them marching in holy crusade to occupy groves of the Promised Land where apples rot uneaten on our graves. Chanting prophecies carved on ocean sand, Alice plays harp in glass cathedral nave while hanging in cage from the Tree of Life till the White Wolf appears in swirling mist to drive ghosts killed in gas chambers that fly with flock of doves across the shattered world. Writhing with elegant anguish of faith, Alice plays harp in cluttered maze of myths where dead gods of religions rise from tombs to haunt bright halls of power with desire as worshipping zombies pray for salvation who wander lost in streets of Wonderland. Weeping with joy for stark terror of life, Alice plays harp for army of mad angels who drive Merkabah tanks in holy war bombing schools as children play hide and seek so demons sing hymns to praise the weird freak though Death always beats him in games of chess. Switching on pure light of her inner soul, Alice plays harp in palace of Versailles where famous celebrities gaze in mirrors, entranced by terrible beauty of fame, though Orpheus sings heart-enchanting hope to lead them from dark labyrinth of wealth. Beaming glamorous vision of paradise, Alice plays harp in lush Elysian Fields to resurrect the faithful from the dead who haunt their children at computer screens till they rise against royal tyranny and fight for truth in global liberty.
Sunday, February 19, 2023
Radar Range Of My Heart
Radar Range Of My Heart © Surazeus 2023 02 19 When you are here in presence of our faith my heart vibrates with calm serenity, but when you are in absence of our hope my heart buzzes with fraught anxiety, so hold my hand and stay close by my side, near enough so our eyes perceive our light. We sit together in one haven room, each doing our own thing in silent peace, for we balance each other in repose, tranquil in our shared creativity, so linger in radar range of my heart, near enough to warm my soul with your glow. Narcissus, before easel by the pool paints portrait of Echo with gentle strokes, to depict her reclining among flowers where she strums melodious strings of the lyre, so pose for me with your elegant grace while I preserve your beauty in lost art. Zipporah in cave of illusions weaves tapestry that presents grand odyssey when Moses frees people from slavery by leading them safe across the Waste Land, so walk with me home to the Promised Land near enough to teach our children the truth. Juliet on high balcony of hope searches empty garden of her dark heart till she finds Romeo by the moonlit pool gazing at strange beauty of his own face, so turn and call me with assertive faith quick enough to prove your sincerity. Mary Magdalene, sweet Mermaid of Mars, stands on sacred peak of Sainte-Baume Massif, waiting for Jesus, stuck on Patmos Island, to sail home on the fragile ship of faith, so gaze at my face mirrored by the moon long enough to feel my soul in your heart. Iduna gathers apples of the sun from Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil to sell in market by the pyramid while Phoebus strums lyre and sings epic tale, so give me fruit of your heart with desire often enough to bond our souls with love. Though we work on our own projects all day, we feel each other in Garden of Eden performing our roles in function of faith that operates gears of our social machine, so accept gift of love forged from despair pure enough so our bodies merge in genes.
Concept Of False Time
Concept Of False Time © Surazeus 2023 02 19 The house that wants to know the true way back to where the raven in the red oak sings decides to give away its fractured doors so children of the desert find the egg from which blind serpent of the universe unspools conceptual concept of false time. The flag on the house of the weeping king considers how stars calculate our fate because through fear of death our hearts respond with shocking revelation of the damned who gamble for salvation before dawn though we are trapped in concept of false time. The debonair window of vanity, too optimistic for religious faith, detaches hope from mediocrity insipid with brittle passion of hate to face daily reality of death, happy to evade concept of false time. The house in the valley of happy horses performs sudden act of rebellion recorded by the jester with four hands who foregrounds act of translation with faith while buffeted by harsh trials of life, eager to desert concept of false time. The tangible allurements we decline, while on the path of least resistance home, build tales that preserve terror we conceal since light of truth diminishes with fear from permanent fidelity to love deep in the swirling concept of false time. The river flowing through ten thousand doors of safe homes in global metropolis inspires us to release distinctive forms so we become the everything we dream while clearing banks along the sunlit stream that bursts vital from concept of false time. The eyeless ghost composed of tangled words breaks through limitations of the blank page to call for us with radical intent so we imprint our being on globe of dirt which proves our worth to exist without shame, disentangled from concept of false time. The old man howling on the stormy heath with vindictive ranting against despair challenges basic structure of belief with spontaneous impulse renewing soul so we reflect truth based on self-control as wind bends grass toward concept of false time.
Saturday, February 18, 2023
Secret Mission She Forgot
Secret Mission She Forgot © Surazeus 2023 02 18 With courageous strength of euphoric hope from the little thief of her ferret heart, she bears painful anguish of bitter loss through stoic wisdom of the cliffside tree that helps her transcend misery of despair to fly on audacious wings of contempt. With timeless contemplation of the world while resting in shade of the maple tree, she ponders model of the world she sees to analyze flow of cause and effect that she perceives in sequence of events framed by grand narrative her mind designs. With brash confidence of one who faced death by struggling from river muck in the storm, face lashed by stinging rain of bitter hope, she strides along the sunlit road of faith toward walled city shining on distant hill to fulfill secret mission she forgot. With brazen puzzlement in dizzy fear of shapeless shadows shifting among trees, she looks around the forest of strange wind and wonders how she came to be now here in tedious nowhere of obtuse belief too convoluted for arduous thought. With inefficient passion still preferred, that represents determined hope to live, she nominates the raven on the rock as antiquated judge of noble deeds while staring at her stark face in the pool, opting to invite Death from cave of fear. With onerous goal of inflexible faith that benefits rational principles, she studies motivation of the stone to comprehend impetus of weird fate by which our nation purports to achieve perfect balance between self and the state. With superfluous labor of the fool, redundant through imprecise honesty, she measures anachronistic flow of time to streamline archaic process of growth more nonintuitive than burning trees relative for obsolete custom tricks. With shocking revelation of dawnlight, that streams with bureaucratic attitude, she wakes from daze of repetitious dance, enchanted by light on water of love, and runs toward walled city on the red hill that burns with flames of political war.
Friday, February 17, 2023
Joyous Whimsy Of The Mad
Joyous Whimsy Of The Mad © Surazeus 2023 02 17 The tree exploding from my ancient heart blooms television screens of laughing ghosts whose ice cream faces melt in summer heat when hippies dance in ruins of the empire to celebrate wild Dionysian rites with joyous whimsy of the faceless clown. Reborn soul of William the Troubadour animates my heart with ambitious plan to seduce cold hearts of the arrogant with joyous whimsy of the fractured mind reflecting masks dead gods throw in the trash with fish heads eaten by grim alley cats. Without my sun-nurtured heart of lost faith I could not endure soul-stretching years of nations torn by political strife when gangsters disguised as good presidents fight clandestine wars over mines of gold with joyous whimsy of the hungry king. Because Orpheus loves the raven girl, he measures terrible beauty of life by smiling bright at every soul he meets when he learns how to walk without his wings with joyous whimsy spawned by fear of death which he encodes in children story books. With joyous whimsy of the god who breathes ethereal spirit of the cosmic wraith Orpheus plays guitar in sea-town rain to sing about the hardy Lystrosaurus that ruled the Earth for thirty million years since wingless angel wears face of the wolf. Though the robot with positronic brain imitates artistic style of Van Gogh its algorithms cannot replicate existential angst of the tortured artist whose paintings generate grand narrative defined by joyous whimsy of the mad. Radiant with joyous whimsy of the fool, Orpheus refuses to work all day in corporate office of the mafia gang for they exploit poor workers of the world, extracting wealth from labor of their hands, then sing God Save the King in church on Sunday. The first time his eyes see fierce countenance of black-eyed Electra with wavy hair his heart thumps thunderously with angst of love so he gives her magic ring of his heart then flies her home on wings of Icarus with joyous whimsy of the cosmic bard.
Thursday, February 16, 2023
Without My Burning Heart
Without My Burning Heart © Surazeus 2023 02 16 Without my burning heart to guide my way, I would be lost in maze of Wonderland, so I will never kneel in gloom to pray to faceless terror of the bloody hand, as if I am the star that never falls to crack the mirror mask in doorless halls. Without my burning heart to light the world, no fruit trees blossom from vast parking lots where war orphans follow the cosmic herald who turns them into valiant Argonauts dauntless in their fight against tyranny to calculate strange code through irony. Without my burning heart to crack the eggs that nurture demon souls of deities, described by names and deeds in catalogs because Orion loves the Pleiades, our children program weird computer code to map the multiverse by psychic road. Without my burning heart to frame the truth with arcane doctrine of the hero code I accept my fate as messiah sleuth, though I refuse to sing the palinode disputing doctrine that the afterlife is lie designed to heal hearts torn by strife. Without my burning heart to trace the path my bold ancestors blaze around the globe, I could not grow into the polymath composing ballads to pulse of the strobe that blinds wingless angel in the glass church who budgets journey for the occult search. Without my burning heart to prove the notion that we are atoms swerving in the void, I could not find primal cause of all motion that spurs my dreams in psychic solenoid when we run laughing on the beach of faith to become one with the galactic wraith. Without my burning heart to choose the words that help me navigate vast maze of myths, I might not find you singing with lake birds safe withing ring of diamond monoliths which form ancient temples of dinosaurs now thriving as sad poets in bookstores. Without my burning heart to print the tale depicting tragic romance of young fools, I will build paradise in river vale with secret formulas of psychic tools so I can raise my family in safe home when I find the true grail and cease to roam.
Wednesday, February 15, 2023
Ancient Heart Of Power
Ancient Heart Of Power © Surazeus 2023 02 15 The raven girl in fenceless field of corn still gathers skulls of kings from dreamless graves, for she knows where messiah sleuth was born and learned from witches in dark gemless caves. The young boy born from ancient heart of power knows how to translate passion of the flower. The raven girl walks by the River Jordan with fruits of woe in basket of her heart, concealing key that opens secret garden to calculate our fate on starless chart. The prophet forging ancient heart of power protects his lonely bride in hidden tower. The raven girl on road that never bends strolls past the broken walls of ghostly towns while singing wordless hymn that never ends where milk cows chat with death on misty downs. The blind king clutching ancient heart of power runs wild and naked in the midnight shower. The raven girl in ruins of the church retrieves the arcane book of fairy tales, for she will never cease her sacred search to find the concept of the honest scales. The sad cook brewing ancient heart of power bakes agony from phantom of the flour. The raven girl awake in castle hall carves statue of Athena from my bones, so when I answer pain-extracting call I teach the art of song to demon stones. The wolf boy chasing ancient heart of power finds Fairy Queen in cool shade of her bower. The raven girl in chthonic vale of faith encodes our memories in global myth till weeping farmers worship sun-faced wraith whose soul vibrates from Martian monolith. The grim bard scoring ancient heart of power sits stranded in train station with the dour. The raven girl in gnomic dream of fear explores beyond stone walls of paradise to learn art of rulership from the seer who judges truth through throwing of the dice. The weird clown cheating ancient heart of power plays chess with death to signal sullen glower. The raven girl who marries me with love designs reincarnation of our souls as wise child who loves charting stars above while painting characters who play weird roles. The third son gambling ancient heart of power chooses to live as humble corn-field plower.
Tuesday, February 14, 2023
Shining Light Of Faith
Shining Light Of Faith © Surazeus 2023 02 14 Follow shining light of faith to create map of behavior that leads to heaven. I try to design my own secret fate by translating laughter of the moon raven. I rise each morning with light of the sun till I fall asleep in heart of the grave. Dancing slowly in beams of morning light, Juturna brings me glass of sparkling water. Growing from your heart like the aerophyte, I design beauty with hands of the potter. The moon gleams on rainwater in the pot that reflects love in shining light of faith. Search for shining light of faith to conceive new life from seed of spirit generation. I leap abyss of mystery to believe love can spark process between thought and action. I float at midnight on the ocean wave till I resurrect from heart of the grave. Drawing bucket of water from the well, Juturna fills tall jars in family wagons. Chanting Saturnian verses in dream spell, I teach our son Janus how to tame dragons. The moon glitters inside the leather bag that captures soul of the Zephyrian wraith. Measure shining light of faith to display round shape of Telluria from star-watch tower. Organic forms of atoms will decay to dust of time that nourishes the flower. We meditate together in sea cave to raise our children at heart of the grave. Humming melody of the temple muse, Juturna tends herbs and worts in lush garden. Extracting my brain from ocean dream ooze, I evolve so my body cannot harden. The moon spirals in minds of embryos as characters programmed by social myth. Treasure shining light of faith to perform role of God archetype as Tribal Leader. Swerving from restrictive rules of the norm, I choose heart-aching romance as a breeder. Holding hands in eerie glow of the nave, we kiss to navigate heart of the grave. Breastfeeding our child with the secret name, Juturna rests under the Tree of Knowledge. Transcending struggle of the social game, I teach classes at Apollonia College. Standing with Juturna at the cliff edge, I give her love with shining light of faith.
Monday, February 13, 2023
Lost In The World
Lost In The World © Surazeus 2023 02 13 Though the traveler gets lost in the world they are still on the journey of their heart, so I keep walking toward where I am not till I decide this place where I am now is where I am ever destined to be, thus I find my true self when I get lost. I cannot lose myself in the vast world because I am always inside my head, so though I do not know where I am now, far from familiar places where I lived, I am always right where I want to be since I can go somewhere else when I want. The young woman lost in the wilderness sits on warm boulder by the flowing stream, and stares at strange trees growing on strange hills till they become familiar to her eyes, then she walks along the river of song to find out where it flows with sparkling hope. I remember the village of wood huts nestled in the valley beside the lake, but I cannot find the hearth of my heart because I forgot to mark with stone signs the path I followed when I left its pale, so I will keep looking till I find home. The raven in the oak tree by the river swoops down and snags the lizard in its beak, then hops along behind the wingless angel who gathers berries and nuts in the basket then sits by the oak as the sun sets red and sings heart-breaking song of loneliness. I wonder if other people like me exist somewhere in vastness of this world, or if I am the strange anomaly that should not exist in the scheme of life, for I have never been where I should be and I will never find home of my heart. The old woman who walks ten miles each day travels eight thousand miles across the world over fifty years toward the rising sun, stopping at last on the broad ocean shore where sunlight sparkles on the silver waves, lost forever in nowhere of the world. The lost traveler on journey of hope, alone with terrible beauty of life, who traveled from the sea where the sun sets, stares at the sea where the sun rises now, then lies down on the sand and watches clouds swirl into vast eye of infinity.
Sunday, February 12, 2023
Secret Room Of Faith
Secret Room Of Faith © Surazeus 2023 02 12 The raven girl in the black lace dress grins as lightning flashes scarlet in rain clouds, then runs through forest of the howling ghost to face the demon rising over tomb from corpse of the pilgrim in long black cloak, and banishes him to Hell with magic spell. The pilgrim preacher in the humble church commands the worshippers to kneel and pray, then takes young girl to secret room of faith where he declares that she will bear his child who will reign on Earth as the chosen one according to sacred command of God. Attempting to escape grip of his hands, the young girl gasps when he pushes her down, then closes her eyes, paralyzed with fear, as he prays for holy spirit of love to fill her with divine seed of his soul so she can reincarnate son of God. Writhing free from greedy grasp of his hands, the young girl flees from secret room of faith to stumble into congregation hall where people of the town who pray to God stare shocked as she cries with distraught despair that the preacher tried to make her with child. Emerging from dark secret room of faith, the steel-eyed preacher of the pilgrim band declares with thunderous voice of divine law that the evil deceiver has possessed body and mind of the young pretty girl who tried to seduce with charming smile. Shouting loudly to drown out her small voice, the pilgrim preacher proclaims with fierce growl that Satan has possessed the pretty girl for she has chosen to become his witch, then commands they bind her tight to the pole though she screams and tries to escape their rage. Murdered by preacher of the pilgrim band, the raven girl rises from flames of truth to live four hundred years after her death as black-winged angel of the apple grove who haunts descendants of the village folk for failing to save her from unjust death. Exposing crime of the town founding father, that had been hidden from popular view more than four hundred years of history, the raven girl in the black lace dress reads report she wrote in the museum hall while the audience weeps at the tragic tale. Entering charred ruins of the ancient church, overgrown with vines in the misty woods, the raven girl encounters star-eyed ghost of her ancestor who escaped the preacher still lingering sad in secret room of faith as spirit hidden in the Book of Shadows. Leading townspeople in the protest march, the raven girl stands before tall bronze statue depicting founding father of their town, and twirls lasso that snags idol of power, so they tear it down off stone pedestal while chanting that true justice will prevail.
Saturday, February 11, 2023
Terrible Beauty Of Life
Terrible Beauty Of Life © Surazeus 2023 02 11 The deathless mother of the spinning world uncoils bodies of her children from light illuminating garden of her heart, and breathes ethereal spirit of the stars that animates their minds with conscious love to savor terrible beauty of life. The spirit of blackness inside our brains expresses shadow of time on world lake in shifting flashes of astounded souls who sing with silence of eternal love ever blooming as fruit trees on the shore to reflect terrible beauty of life. The dark demon that sleeps inside my heart motivates my quest to explore the world in search for relics of the mindless god that vibrates atoms in matrix of souls through cry that inhabits my eager ache to express terrible beauty of life. The dream of tumbling planets blossoms bright with glowing halo of torn angel wings conceals my pilgrimage to sea-side town where barefoot children play with hungry waves on sunlit tidal flats of endless hope to reveal terrible beauty of life. The delicate schooner gliding on froth sails past vague shores of lush Elysium where ancient monstrous gods of primal lust lie under blue unchanging sheen of time, veiled by gold curtain of serpentine light, to challenge terrible beauty of life. The sleeping beauty of the ruined castle rises on malignant wings of desire to hold frail human heart in trembling hands that pulses taut with anguish of intent as shining instrument that creates souls to revive terrible beauty of life. The stark indifferent moon smiles at my mind with buzzing gaze of wordless ecstasy that borrows secret passion I employ constructing virtual world my brain designs with concept of vulnerable loneliness to restore terrible beauty of life. The shadow of love shrouds my heart in faith that fuels aggressive force my mind restrains so I can channel energy of love through throbbing therapy within the horse still searching the Promised Land for my grave to design terrible beauty of life.
Friday, February 10, 2023
Preserving Dreams Of Love
Preserving Dreams Of Love © Surazeus 2023 02 10 My feet guide me into the swirling crowd of strangers seeking solitude together, for I would treasure memories we share as if Death knows where I someday will be though I seek laughter in the sparkling rain with drops preserving dreams of love I lost. Yet in soft moonlight of blue evening glow we gather around crackling flames of faith to share strange stories of our messy play when we adventure far from hearth of hope to find the treasure of our aching hearts in stones preserving dreams of love we find. You ask me how I know our love is real while we collect from naked trees of fear fresh apples formed from flash of sudden rain, and I reply with nonchalant despair that I feel bird wings flutter in my breast from pulse preserving dreams of love we hide. Dark wisdom bubbling from the fountain well could nourish children who play hide and seek in vast library where word ghosts abide though lovers lost in paradise return to daily drudge of hard back-breaking work with seeds preserving dreams of love we plant. I find you waiting by the cherry tree that curves lithe as sweet grace of wordless hope with white buds swelling on its fragile twigs, so we cup hands to catch soft flakes of light, then kiss with tender passion of desire for fruit preserving dreams of love we taste. My lunar heart of anguish redefined knows how to walk slick groove of honesty, so I smile bright at every soul I meet to feel our bodies woven in one flow of vibrant matrix taut with energy from stars preserving dreams of love we count. Through golden ratio of the galaxy light spirals into planets teeming souls who dance together in the pouring rain after working all day in fields of crops to cherish pleasure of this fleeting life as brains preserving dreams of love we sing. I find myself alone in crowd of people when I gaze entranced in your moon-black eyes so we move toward each other with desire to play romantic roles with perfect grace through fertile tale of passion we compose in books preserving dreams of love we share.
Thursday, February 9, 2023
Concept Of My Naked Brain
Concept Of My Naked Brain © Surazeus 2023 02 09 Because I wake in darkness of the mind I invent insolent names for the rain while walking neverward on broken thoughts till mired in muddle of sweet loneliness I decide not to die in silent hope so I become mute flakes of falling snow. Soft dazzle of my shadow on red grass unclocks sudden consciousness of my brain too adequate for unsurrendered fate based on free will of my pretentious choice disdaining sound of clouds in timeless sky when summer sorrow stutters dream of waves. With promised pleasure midnight allocates for careless body that exudes regret that nothing comes from nothing in vast flow, reflecting multicolored thoughts of gods, I study how green sky distracts the sad by streaming hope on rays of honest fear. When I build absence from the wordless air to wave farewell with ornamental birds the strange new concept of the faceless name assembles lack of breath with zero luck submerged in shining passion of the eye pale blue as early morning sky that knows. Though seasons swirl in weary heresy behind closed blinds of fractured story stones we wear unspoken hopes in cloak of truth based on disastrous completeness of life to outlive myths our ancestors design with deviations from the changeless moon. Escaping empire of bland enmity that coddles hateful traitors to our cause, I build new ship of state from demon bones based on sidereal truthiness of love that shifts with fractal dust of hungry minds though we exchange coins to energize faith. From endless famine of the miracle that measures blood spilled in slaughter of faith I wake from vision of the doorless house waiting among ancient forgotten trees where I learn how to walk without my wings which I gave to oldest woman on Earth. I tear down grove of trees where I was born so I can build new paradise of fate in vain attempt to reclaim my lost self when I journey beyond the world I know which changes concept of my naked brain from angry young fool to the cosmic herald.
Wednesday, February 8, 2023
Ancient Secret Of Happiness
Ancient Secret Of Happiness © Surazeus 2023 02 08 She turns every sign backward with sly smirk to misdirect true way to paradise while visiting her lover by god tree that blossoms from foul rotten corpse of Zeus in ancient forest where blind demons lurk since terrible beauty of life is free. She walks the signless road to Avalon where ravens gossip on telephone lines about celebrities of the art world who dare defy world state authority by making beautiful art that presents different ways to define reality. She calls the blind bard on the telephone because she loves the way his songs confound businessmen who analyze profit scale based on the flower in hand of the child who knows ancient secret of happiness that motivates the latest holy war. She opens book of stories on the desk where magic runes contain souls of dead gods conjured up by eyes of readers who dream how we must fight back against tyranny then give each living soul inalienable right to pursue their happiness into Hell. She runs through milling crowd of refugees forever toward the man with hidden wings to welcome him home from the sixth world war while he wanders the bright museum maze, so they hold hands and chat with Willow Tree about ghost of the girl in the locked door. She hides idol of Zeus in fertile womb to raise him as her first-born son with rules constraining fierce aggression of his lust so he can reign on ziggurat of skulls over vast empire his father designs to organize skilled labor of our hands. She molds mud of the Earth into my body, and weaves sunlight into my dreaming brain, then conjures strike of lightning from Tiwaz which sparks awake my conscious state of being so I observe the world with curious eye to comprehend the true nature of things. She wears global mask of our deathless mother who remembers first flash of the big bang by teaching me how to sing magic spells so I can play role of messiah sleuth performing quest to find the Holy Grail at second coming of the cosmic herald.
Weird Art Of Living Free
Weird Art Of Living Free © Surazeus 2023 02 08 Because I am the compass of the sea, inviolate thought still buzzing in my brain, I leap the singing waves of Avalon to find myself more strange than anyone who tries to measure passion of the rain reflecting lonely treasure of the key. Not less myself than everyone who knows just how to play the new fantastic role that would deceive the brightest butterfly because I sail the crystal ship of why more apt to bungle mission of the goal in restless search to understand dawn snows. Yet still we gather on the destined shore to explore vast maze in Palace of Hoon where even bitter ghosts can still be heard to imitate strict program of the bird designed by trees to analyze the moon before my strangeness arrogates the core. Because my flowers of the bleeding hill must be reflected in glass eye of death I look beyond the tower of desire to study resurrection through the fire, expressing fear from hero of the myth who teaches fools to exercise their will. Because she is the genius of the sea, embodiment of sorrow in sweet form, I wear the gasping mask of mountain wind with tragic gesture of the honest friend, awake at flashing wisdom of the storm since we must learn weird art of living free. If dark voice of the sky speaks through my heart, expressing lonely beauty we prefer, then I play games in dream-emblazoned zones with magic sparkle of brain telephones though I am first-born son of Lucifer who maps world history on the mental chart. Bright lights of fishing boats in swirling mist guide refugees of war to lonely town where Goddess of the Sea with blazing eyes still sings enchanting hymns in weird disguise to wake bold courage of the humble clown who preaches that we all should coexist. So we must now accept this shocking truth, that weak and fearful men join fascist gangs that fight to enslave the weak for their gain, but they spend psychic energy in vain for Justice always breaks their bitter plans through agency of the messiah sleuth.
Tuesday, February 7, 2023
Watch That Can Turn Back Time
Watch That Can Turn Back Time © Surazeus 2023 02 07 If I had the watch that can turn back time I would return to the magical hour when you and I, while traveling our own paths through maze of doorless opportunities, meet face to face with intriguing surprise that first reveals the destiny we share. Gazing with speechless joy of aching hope in eyes of the stranger we know so well, we see that we both follow the same star which was always leading us by our hearts to the same haven where we share one goal of generating life in reborn souls. If I had the watch that can turn back time I would go back to the first hour we met to relive the eerie wonder of love that still sparks our hearts with passionate hope instead of trying to change our destiny for I will never regret meeting you. Though we have journeyed on the road of life together as companions of firm faith for more than twenty years since we first met I would return to the first time we kissed so we can savor beyond end of time pleasure of love that binds us with one heart. If I had the watch that can turn back time I would replay the drama of our love forever dwelling on supportive stage on which we establish our thriving home which sustains dreams of children we create who blossom from foundation of our hearts. I wandered far throughout the fruited plains, across deserts, and over rugged mountains, in lonely journey from land of my birth to find the soul mate of my loving heart, while singing in rain under silver moon with faith that I will find you on our road. If I had the watch that can turn back time I would preserve the memories of our love sustained by routine of our daily lives that glows with fragile energy of faith for our brief story in vast stretch of time though we will vanish in eternity. Though death will erase us from dream of time so our names that define our hungry souls, and plot of our fertile romance, will fade to nothing in spiraling stream of time, we treasure fleeting beauty of our lives since we have no watch that can turn back time.
Monday, February 6, 2023
Bright Light In Your Eyes
Bright Light In Your Eyes © Surazeus 2023 02 06 The terrible beauty of life shines bright in orange glow of the sunset over hills where children play in woods ten thousand years in games of love to evade ache of sorrow which generates life from pain of despair though misfortune blights our dreams for the future. The old gray-haired woman in the wheelchair by the oak tree outside the nursing home remembers fifty years before when she fell in love with the gentle man who proposed to her on the river shore before the puzzle scatters on the floor. The little girl on the broad ocean beach finds the magic watch in sparkling white sand that turns back time when she unwinds the hour so she can correct mistakes of the past but she must pay the cost by aging faster, time fleeting as the snowflake and the flower. Smiling at the cat who purrs as she pets fluffy fur, the old woman explains how we must pay when we regain things we lose, for we must give equal to what we take, then wanders the dark hall of empty hope to rescue the hero from his cold cage. Bright light in your eyes, she whispers to ghost of her murdered husband, guides me through maze of confusing memories, because I fear I will forget your smile when you come home after work, buried under falling leaves when our souls are scattered by wind of time. Opening the hymn book in empty church of whispering shadows, the old gray-haired girl sings in harmony with the eyeless sparrow that perches on her hand with fragile wings of moonlight, but stops when the silver bell never rings with voice of the broken door. Gazing at her wrinkled face in the mirror, the oldest woman in the world suspects her magic watch was broken when she tried to save her husband from death many times, so she throws it into the flowing stream of time, then weeps under the willow tree. It seems just yesterday I was still young but when I woke at dawn today I found I am suddenly old, my aching soul fragile as the glass vase on the book shelf where photos of people I love display memories beaming from bright light in your eyes.
Sunday, February 5, 2023
When Death Comes
When Death Comes © Surazeus 2023 02 05 When Death comes wearing eyes of the blind girl she sits at fractured window of the church and gazes at weird nothing of the world then tells me what is missing from its scope so I see strange beauty that is not there through ways of being that is not possible. When Death comes singing riddle of the waves she sits in hollow nowhere of her home to remember days fifty years before when she was young and full of vital fire for she still looks for awe in All of life because she sees Earth as sacred again. When Death comes riding horse of mountain wind she sits at kitchen table in her home to record her radical noticing with disconnected symbols of world myth which maps her exodus from maze of lies after social systems fail and break down. When Death comes searching for the Promised Land she sits in cemetery of dead gods to listen with her heart to songs of ghosts that emanate from tangled words of books so she can contemplate progress of life since we first rise from mirror lake of dreams. When Death comes wearing mask of the mad god she sits on giant river stone of faith and preaches to lost refugees of war way of salvation their minds must invent by breathing holy spirit of starlight that weaves atoms in neural nets of brains. When Death comes writing stories of our lives she sits in library of weeping books to breathe eternal darkness of the heart so we can distinguish voices of truth when gaining knowledge of the wilderness expressing consciousness the brain designs. When Death comes flapping wings of the lame angel she sits before mirror of timeless truth as statue carved from the sycamore tree that depicts Margarita on the front and fierce Mephistopheles on the back though she only sees herself in its glow. When Death comes chatting with skull of Orpheus she sits beneath the fruitful Tree of Knowledge till she transforms to her true serpent form as Melusine, First Mother of Mankind, whose long black hair and moon-pure eyes embrace fragile flame of my soul as we make love.
Saturday, February 4, 2023
Spy Balloon In The Sky
Spy Balloon In The Sky © Surazeus 2023 02 04 The girl in the black dress walks down the street while dropping rose petals on cold cement to protest how vampires in business suits exploit zombies who work in factories building time machines for the king of fools to release the spy balloon in the sky. The singing crocodile in glass church preaches good news of the savior Sobek to explain resurrection of the soul when seeds sprout from mud to generate truth that hides beautiful horror of this life to confound the spy balloon in the sky. The girl wearing sunglasses in winter strides along the street like the runway model who never stumbles over our tombstones by solving crossword puzzles in the paper while ignoring stories of space invaders to observe the spy balloon in the sky. The shy hawk on the Tree of Lost Knowledge extrapolates wisdom from rotten corpse who waits among flowers with pungent scents that hypnotize the lonely wolf with hopes still unfulfilled when the crystal moon cracks to expose the spy balloon in the sky. The girl with three eyes that perceive hard core spinning forever deep inside the Earth with passion of the iron butterfly validates my sacred right to exist while she plays violin in the dream cave to assess the spy balloon in the sky. The honest horse who steals apples from snakes guides the lonely jester on signless roads that criss-cross nation of the angry boys who shoot guns of fear at shadows of truth which haunt their dark nights with horror of death to evade the spy balloon in the sky. The girl with serpent wings of burning words deconstructs story of the evil tyrant despised by the bourgeois who play piano for attacking nations of his own race instead of colonizing savage tribes to revise the spy balloon in the sky. The lonely demon in the video store smiles brightly at each person who walks in then watches Orlando after midnight play chess with Death in library of ghosts who plot revolution of the mad king to retrieve the spy balloon in the sky.
Friday, February 3, 2023
Embrace Theology Of Love
Embrace Theology Of Love © Surazeus 2023 02 03 When I feel ache in the dying of things that combusts through my mind with ecstasy, I savor the strange loveliness of things that hypnotize my heart with fantasy so on the shore of Mar-nan-otha Pool I search for Tree Muse who enchants my soul. Though I am mad with bitterness of hope in walking slow circles around the oak, I shout to the Glow Cloud that I will cope when I break free from the sorrowful yoke, but I stare at leaves fluttering in the breeze while I fumble confused with rusty keys. Yet still I tumble in dream of the leaf on wingless sorrow of the eglantine, half-mad with honest pain of wordless grief in weeping for sad death of Melusine who taught me how to read Runes in the well that mirror anguish of the tolling bell. Encumbered with ruins of ancient faith, when I fall into chaos of the sea, I struggle gasping against the star wraith, fraught with unquenchable fire of the free, till I rise resurrected from my rage to portray Lucifer on the world stage. Though I embrace theology of love that all things perish in the wind of time through inevitable hunger for life, I continue to breathe death as I climb enormous mountain of my emptiness that births graceful courage of happiness. Each autumn I pluck ripe plums of desire, addicted to dreams stuck in the machine to channel stoic passion of the choir that sings in wilderness of the unclean where we hear riddles of the hurricane which ponders quaint quintessence of the vain. Ephemeral beauty of the naked song gives my soul freedom to contemplate why I must search for myself in the wild throng that dares to challenge power of the sky through revolution of the taboo thought when I choose to secretly twist the plot. Gazing in vast heart of the black sapphire with arrogant pride in how I know truth, I expose their greed through subtle satire that highlights grace of the messiah sleuth through virile benevolence of his heart when he records our fate with the star chart.
Thursday, February 2, 2023
Resurrection Of Orpheus
Resurrection Of Orpheus © Surazeus 2023 02 02 Nine women collecting herbs in rain-wet woods find the singer dead beside the pool still clutching his broken lyre to his chest, so they cover rotting body with flowers, then sing till he disappears in moonlight and they hear his melody in the wind. Eight thousand years after his painful death construction workers, digging up the Earth to build new office building of blue glass, find his skeleton vibrating in mud, so someone calls the archaeologist who photographs the laughing skull of God. Lightning strikes the skeleton of glass that resurrects the singer back to life, so workers and the archaeologist back away shocked as they gasp in surprise when the ancient singer rises from mud and walks forward into the maze of myths. While walking slowly on the signless road, the singer strums the gold lyre in his hands, and sings heart-aching melody of truth, so thousands of people, in every town he passes through on ghastly wings of light, join enormous crowd of his followers. Leading millions of people in huge crowd across the land from sea to shining sea, the ancient singer strumming the gold lyre keeps walking like relentless robot clown as he sings ballad of each human soul who ever lives in history of the Earth. Terrified of his weird psychotic power, the governments of nations in his way send armies of tanks and planes to shoot missiles that explode in fireballs of fragile egos, but still the ancient singer with gold lyre marches onward against authority. Arriving at gate to the Garden of Eden, where God lounges on soft couch eating grapes and watching beautiful Apsaras dance, the ancient singer with eight billion faces sings in cold torrents of arrogant rain while plucked lyre strings shoot lasers at the gate. Eight billion people storm the gates of Heaven to dance among fruit trees of paradise, feasting on wisdom from the Tree of Life, while the ancient singer with the gold lyre dissolves into seeds scattered in the wind that sprout apple trees from vast parking lots.
Wednesday, February 1, 2023
Dragged Down By Sorrow
Dragged Down By Sorrow © Surazeus 2023 02 01 Dragged down by sorrow of the silent door, I call name of the soul I love the most who gives me apple of the lonely sun then disappears in shadow of the road in search for valley of the walking wall where flowers dance in sparkle of the rain. Dragged down by sorrow of the weeping bell, I search in gravel of the forlorn road for secret treasure of the singing tree who waits forever on the river shore for weary traveler with the morose book from too far away on the dreary plain. Dragged down by sorrow of the ringing rain, I hide in cavern of the faceless ghost uncomforted by light of the blind moon that shimmers hazy shape of our frail bones though we build shelter from lost memories which swirl away as smoke in gusting wind. Dragged down by sorrow of the laughing skull, I kneel in temple of the weeping bride with gift of my broken heart in my hands when I pray to deathless mother of time who molds our bodies from waves of the sea and teaches us how to sing words of truth. Dragged down by sorrow of the mocking clock, I walk treed avenues of playful rain to find the secret voice of mortal minds that radiates bright from void of silent hope because we struggle against fear of death which will erase us all from dream of time. Dragged down by sorrow of the gentle wolf, I run forever through the maze of myths with book I stole to calculate the way isolation completes stillness of faith when I sense sudden storm of pungent rain that shapes my thoughts with energy of love. Dragged down by sorrow of the angry owl, I steal new wings from Icarus so I can fly above this ever-changing world to find the changeless paradise of Heaven in Realm of Ideas where I create virtual world from concept of mutual love. Dragged down by sorrow of the smiling ghost, I visit mother of humanity who lounges in round temple of the snake where Apollo prophesies with blood runes reincarnation of the cosmic herald when keepers of the sword and grail unite.