Quest In The Waste Land © Surazeus 2023 05 31 If I wake up at dawn and feel myself fall off the merry-go-round of the mind then words I write will vacuum my mute soul down into bottomless void of the book so I become characters of old tales people in the future will idolize. So I will walk lush hills of daffodils to chat with spirit of the Evermind who beams memories of other human beings into my brain as dreams my mind designs which makes me forget who I really am as I wear masks of long-forgotten gods. Holding hands with the woman I love most, I walk away from gates of paradise to wander signless road on sacred quest through maze of myths past dark satanic mills till we arrive at Pandaemonium where we find work in factories making cars. I keep my cellular phone on my belt in case God calls me to talk about life because he attempts to understand why mortals fight wars with each other to live free from oppression of the faceless rich When hordes of angry boys with assault rifles storm gates of Heaven to overthrow God, Minerva, warrior queen with shining sword, fights Mars to wear the crown of Jupiter that shimmers bright in pool of human blood till Narcissus screams in void of his heart. At night the frail flame of the candle shines brighter than the sun with glory of truth so I search for lost refugees of war to lead them from the sinking boat of faith for the hill we climb leads to paradise where Nobody croaks in temple of ghosts. Though ghosts of all the poets in the world, who ever lived and sang in spin of time, haunt me each night I write riddles of truth I feel at peace with anguish of despair that motivates my quest in the waste land to find the fountain of the wingless horse. While lounging in the plum tree by the lake, among pink petals on the wet black bough, I pose as archaic torso of Apollo to cogitate how I will change my life while I strum guitar in the midnight rain and sing to Lucy in the sky with diamonds.
Wednesday, May 31, 2023
Quest In The Waste Land
Tuesday, May 30, 2023
Weird Spirit Of This Land
Weird Spirit Of This Land © Surazeus 2023 05 30 Weird spirit of this land calls out to me from voice of cars on highway of desire to explore fertile country of the free and sing as part of her heavenly choir, but I sit alone in numberless home, scribbling riddles in ancient leather tome. Weird spirit of this land remembers why we wander lonely as the glowing cloud to search for conscious mind in empty sky who puppeteers minds of the fearful crowd till we break free to manage our own fate then unify beliefs in global state. Weird spirit of this land recalls my name while I sit dreaming on high hill of skulls, then commissions me to master the game that empowers me to transcend state rules so I confirm my soul with self-control as star-singing fragment of the White Whole. Weird spirit of this land defines the truth through energy of psychic character in bold avatar of messiah sleuth who reincarnates mind of Lucifer so I bear light of wisdom to the world as humble servant of the cosmic herald. Weird spirit of this land programs my brain with fierce celestial synergy of faith which molds my mind from soil of Aquitaine, inspired by Muse of our terrestrial wraith to build grand temple of our global queen with narrative that fuels the soul machine. Weird spirit of this land calculates path with global positioning system vibe to oppose tyrants blind with greedy wrath and build democracy for one world tribe to share resources of this fragile globe which I perceive with divine astrolabe. Weird spirit of this land conceives our souls by weaving atoms into neural net which conjures virtual world from chemicals encoded with memes of dream epithets that shine as lamp of truth in gloom of time to guide our souls as we evolve from slime. Weird spirit of this land calls me to rise from surging ocean waves of eager love and swim from darkness to clear shining skies where my mother smiles in fruit tree above, so I give apple to my true soul mate who walks with me safe through the open gate.
Our Sacred Astarium
Our Sacred Astarium © Surazeus 2023 05 30 Based on moral authority of love bestowed on me by my mother at birth, I unite all world religions in one to honor Ishtar, Mother of Mankind, who taught us to gather in fellowship to feast and share stories of noble heroes. Every God who shines as bright guiding star, based on life of one famous human being, we idolize as paragon of virtue to stand enshrined in our sacred Astarium, global temple that includes in its walls all gods who symbolize our psychic traits. Every prophet who sees visions of truth, based on epiphany their brains design, which they express in wisdom-spelling verse inspired by divine Spirit of Mankind, we honor as speaker for the World Zeitgeist to compose holy scriptures we will read. Every temple built with strong hands of faith to honor one god who lived and died well, where story of their life is dramatized to demonstrate how they overcame hate, transcending animal to become human, we dedicate to Ishtar as Astarium. Ascending three steps to Heaven of Truth that mirrors our indifferent universe, we all seek to comprehend the White Whole revealed by messiah sleuth in world tales how wingless angel born from deathless mother becomes cosmic herald of wise Ishtar. When Ishtar stands on ziggurat of faith and sees humanity toiling in pain as slaves in world food-production machine she invites us to her feast in Astarium to share mythic tale of our tribal god who teaches us how to live till we die. With her global Song of Humanity Ishtar frees us from ideology of nationalist hate against other nations so we express our unique tribal culture as faithful members of one world religion, united well by our sacred Astarium. Since all world religions spread from Ishtar we keep our unique tribal character while united with one Astarian mind to honor every god who ever lived, so bear scriptural books, not guns, in your hands, and join us to sing hymn of one world peace.
Monday, May 29, 2023
Beauty Of Each Soul
Beauty Of Each Soul © Surazeus 2023 05 29 When the star pool of our infinite eyes weighs my mortality with mirror stone I feel strange majesty of sparkling rain enhance frail nothingness of my soul being, so I sing elegies no one can hear for all the people killed in senseless wars. Though world of dreams I see in the star pool shimmers with limpid unrealness of faith I sense sweet beauty at horror of death reveal my body and soul in dark water where material otherness of my mind forms formless everything my words invent. I could with solid words of granite hope personify otherness of my mind to mirror virtual world of hidden truth so I join choir of angels who despair of ever singing the most perfect hymn that captures shocking discourse of the night. Should pure mind of infinity exclude encoded psalms of wisdom we compose soft roaring waves of the indifferent sea would still sing slow in harmony with death that gives me this brief life of anguished faith to here express my love for transient souls. Yet I fling fractured laughter at the night to taste conceptual horror unconstrained through puritanic taste for sordid laws with each titanic surge against blind time by which we fragile humans still insist we conquer death with art works we create. For we are shadow warriors for the truth, defending beauty of the messy mind against conservative demands of pride that we maintain strict control of each act so we will create, rather than destroy, lithe structures framing atoms as our souls. With elegant severity of faith through perceptive devotion to friendship, forged by mutual suffering of unfair pain, we search for meaning in random events to find conspiracy of mindless nature where only fatuous forces operate. Though physical form of my bodied soul will vanish in blank void of nothingness verbal reflection of my soul remains in silent flowing shimmer of mute words that celebrate strange beauty of each soul who ever lives in history of our world.
I Make My Self
I Make My Self © Surazeus 2023 05 29 When I lurch forth on my journey of life I do not find myself, I make my Self from fragments of memories blind angels lost to piece together my own character from tattered spirits of old undead gods till I become weird idol of my soul. Though the endlessly winding road of life which I walk to find Promised Land of dreams is not marked with signs of mystical truths I blaze my trail against heavenly walls by leaping over obstacles of faith because I love roaming lost in Wonderland. I find strange people, living in each town that clutter vibrant states of honest hope, awake with special personalities encoding psychic tropes in social keys they use to open doors in maze of myths to find safe haven from despair of truth. Strange personality of every person I meet on journey of my life in Wonderland glows bright with zestful energy of hope to print their name in Chronicle of Truth by living large against cruel tyranny through vital Spirit of Democracy. Through fierce expression of our own free will we swell large against limits of the law to grow beyond our mortal human selves as we transcend our frail humanity through bold apotheosis our love sparks to become gods blazing in void of death. With vigorous song of exuberant passion we dance in cold indifferent rain of time to glow with dazzling beauty of our souls through dynamic agency of rich lust defined by diverse styles of luscious joy fueled by suffering of existential angst. So many unique people in this world vibrate with vivid compassion of love from strange attractive ache of lonely faith that my heart swells with tranquil adoration because I savor beauty their eyes beam which lights eternal darkness with brief life. As I approach dark tomb where I will lie no longer conscious through eternal night I scatter memories of my blazing brain as seeds encoded deep in tangled verse so I become mute ghost in words of books conjured only when strangers read my poems.
Sunday, May 28, 2023
Drink Blood Of Apples
Drink Blood Of Apples © Surazeus 2023 05 28 My face has turned so white with joyful angst I disappear in marble statue core, yet leave my name, and dates of birth and death, carved into hard flesh of the universe so when I walk away from my own tomb only my voice remains as wordless wind. Though I have forgotten all I once knew I read my story in strange words I write with blood that flows with tears of hopeless love which glow as weird dramatic scenes of life on flashing television screen of truth to blind millions of people with fake news. Because my living body conjures love as screaming shadow of newspaper tales I clothe my naked mind with simple faith till I become alien to my best friends who walk shattered hillsides of scarlet trees to drink blood of apples with careless laugh. Awake in misty dimension of facts which people hide in secret treasure chests, I challenge divine doctrines of old priests who strew ancestral seeds in rancid soil so screaming warriors burst from field of dreams to dance on wooden bridge of anxiousness. With musical potency stripping lies I choose to believe unreality appearing clear around my naked soul when I rise fragile from skeleton veil to incorporate passion of weeping words poured from wild blazing wisdom of the sun. When lucid dome of Heaven forged from gold shimmers bright under green waves of innocence I sail small fishing boat of eager hope toward sacred isle that sinks in sea of eyes since I must choose the meaning of my life by writing novel no one would believe. So I dance barefoot with unfettered glee on fallen statues of rebellious kings who die alone in castles of cracked skulls since no one listens to their prophecies misconstructing strange visions of the truth which echo vacantly through eerie caves. Archaic sentiment for river towns, which I deny could poison my foul heart, disturbs that universe of fallen gods because we need no tyrants to obey, so we will vote for intelligent clowns to lead our empire from the broken throne.
Saturday, May 27, 2023
God Is The Human Mask
God Is The Human Mask © Surazeus 2023 05 27 God is delusion of the traumatized who seek to understand their suffering by inventing some supernatural being who controls the universe with his mind when he designs atoms to form our souls and gives us free will to perform his play. God is the human mask that atoms wear to express compassion of glowing stars through fertile vibrance of the teeming world that bulges in bodies with dreaming minds who choose to compose drama of their fate through programming of ancestral desires. God is trope of the noble Tribal Leader who chooses to help individuals grow beyond programming of genetic brains by overcoming trauma of despair when cruel men enslave their bodies with pain because he frees them to express free will. God is Idea of the Human Being as eternal form in Realm of Ideas that defines humans who evolve from apes to transcend animal nature of lust when we confirm our soul through self-control by choosing how to live with our free will. God is Persona of the cosmic Craftsman who designs concepts of objective forms that subjective beings perceive as real things when our brains generate the virtual world based on memories our eyes cartograph as we navigate vast indifferent nature. God is psychotic ghost of honest hope who wakes in flashing vision of my brain as divine self I share with conscious beings based on immortal soul of flowing genes evolving from fish into wingless angel because I am the nothing of the light. God is dreamless eye of infinity who talks to mortal humans through sea waves that sing immortal beauty of the mind which perceives itself as eidolic being when we act based on fate of our free will by choosing how to swerve on road of life. God is me that wakes in each human mind with sudden insight into state of being that all things which exist in time and space are structures of atoms in carbon rings so I choose to grow from traumatic fight by inventing God who looks over me.
God Eye Of Infinity
God Eye Of Infinity © Surazeus 2023 05 27 We each live alone with our memories since no one else can experience them alone in silence of vanishing years that dissipate in dust of afternoons, so I give my children recondite keys that open doors to psychic mysteries. We stroll together on the country road where leaves whisper secrets of cryptic love above infernal lake that mirrors mind shining from God Eye of Infinity so we can see our true selves in her heart that radiates weird fortune of the star chart. We tell each other stories of our lives so we can see the world with different eyes but hope distorts perception of the truth so we hear only we our hearts desire and miss strange secrets of clandestine fate that time reveals to none but those who wait. We hide our true identity from friends so they will see us as we want to be while masking who we are for eyes of Death who laughs at passion of our vanity that strips our spirits naked in the dark till our bodies pulse with lust of the quark. We play unwritten roles on stage of faith fueled by intense emotions of despair that flash from lost memories of our youth so every present moment we endure is tainted by sweet terror we recall from shock of suddenness of the Soul Fall. We share laughter at cute sarcastic tale that deep in my expensive heart I feel flowers explode from the arrogant star to prove weird hypothesis that God is face of mankind masking infinity so I float on Lake of Serenity. We savor beauty of the summer day by strolling among trees of naked fruit while people in strange lands too far away die in terrible pain during harsh wars since we can do nothing to save their lives but record their names in bitter archives. We stare at each other with mute surprise to wake from God Eye of Infinity as atoms wound into this mortal being who tries to spread wide nonexistent wings so I can fly around this spinning world and dream memories of the cosmic herald.
Friday, May 26, 2023
Nothing Of The Mind
Nothing Of The Mind © Surazeus 2023 05 26 Out of all the bustling towns in the world where I never imagined I might live I enjoy living in this soul-weird town where faceless people hide their angel wings to prove they are not demons in disguise by singing about sweet horror of life. When I walk spirit-crowded streets at noon I never perceive other human souls for each immortal gene-soul hides its face behind persona mask of living minds who seek to replicate bodies of flesh before we crumble into swirls of dust. The man and the woman with countless eyes want to make love as they pass by each other but they fear the stranger they want to know would reject their expression of desire so they keep going on their chosen path to write the destiny they would avoid. The hill we climb on journey of desire defines hard struggle to overcome fate that stronger people impose on the weak till we are strong enough to fight back well against oppression of the soul elite who praise their noble god in human form. So I stop in the middle of the street and start to sing about divine insight that flashes bright before my gazing eyes to prophesy how the good will triumph after great sacrifice to hate of greed till we establish peace on selfless love. Then sliding in leather seat of the car, designed by Ezekiel for God to drive, I drive the swift time-machine of the mind, powered by piston engine of Barsanti, to fly on Pegasus wings of desire across the multiverse of my One Mind. Naked in glow of the afternoon sun, I roll on cushy bed of flower petals with pleasant passion of the tingling ghost, but flee when monsters with sharp teeth attack to hide in cave of shadows where I dream whole history of life from first flash of love. Then just about the time I fall asleep, leaning on my hand in library gloom, I see grand vision of the multiverse play every possibility of fate that unspools existence of my gene-soul till I become the nothing of the mind.
Child Of The Gypsy Jester
Child Of The Gypsy Jester © Surazeus 2023 05 26 When nobody opens the door of hope I turn to gaze out the window of thought to review my journey on path of faith forever lost in dark forest of fear till I stop and wonder if anything is real beyond blurred vision of my eyes. I sit at round table of family life to gaze at faceless ghosts of those I love and wonder when they all had disappeared as I eat buttered bread with poisoned honey to taste bronze sorrow of the universe that flashes lightning in blood veins of rage. Yet on dusty stairs in musty bookstore I meet blue-eyed woman who never smiles so she explains concept of wordless books while my uncle erects satellite dish to channel zeitgeist of the global mind while I build homes in Pandaemonium. Strange vision of psychological tropes bloom from hands of Dream Herald in the field where cows discuss philosophy of nature while milkmaids attend the music concert where Aphrodite sings about false love though I wander in eerie clockless woods. Grim trees that walk verdant hills of Arcadia explain why beautiful Swan of Tuonela never sings till last hour before her death so I search endless maze of social myths to find the living girl with silver eyes who remembers why our grandmother weeps. Pregnant with blind child of the gypsy jester, who seduced her with sweet songs of the lute on wet grass beneath weeping apple trees, Brigit boards ship with billowed sails of hope and sails west to enchanted Land of Zartha where fairies dance in misty apple groves. Giving birth to her child on fragile ship, while storm winds toss them into the abyss, the silver-eyed fairy of Avalon bleeds to death on the fractured wooden floor, so the woman who sings the Psalms of David cradles the black-eyed boy in gentle arms. Born on the wild ocean between the worlds, I walk into bright woods of Tennessee to dwell in cool grotto of Cummins Falls where star-winged Baltimore Orioles sing about why passion generates our bodies from seething chemicals of mindless stars.
Thursday, May 25, 2023
Transient Bridge Of Poetry
Transient Bridge Of Poetry © Surazeus 2023 05 25 Grim trees always tell me about the time the owl-eyed professor of poetry stands on the iced bridge of forgetfulness and transforms the world of objective truth with serpentine words writhing from their mouth, so I search the whole world for that same bridge. Still lost in verdant forest of Arcadia where mothers weave tapestries of dead heroes while their children play war on the lake shore, I ponder why the horse pretends to fly across the stone bridge of aggressive hope that still stands strong after four thousand years. Bored of how summer wind whispers in trees, I wander in ruins of ancient temples with timeless stillness of sunlight on stone, then read words carved on tablets in the dirt which spark strange dreams hypnotizing my mind so I build glass bridge of attentiveness. Glancing up from my image in the pool, startled by echo of grief in some voice, I see young woman with long shining hair who weeps with eerie sorrow of lost love while staring at the dead owl in her hands which she found on the bridge of destiny. Caressing her tear-wet cheeks with close care, I listen to her heart-breaking lament that deep songs about our beautiful world no longer flow from anguish of her soul, but I feel ancient passion in her voice weave bridge of empathy between our hearts. With every word of transcendental vision that she expresses from depths of her heart I see our world transform from cluttered ruin to elaborate cathedral of weird truth as she creates the bridge of understanding that links our bodies to the visceral cosmos. Though she fears ancient voice of inner sight deserts her body in waste land of truth she glows with animating soul of love that gleams from center of the universe through heart-enchanting song of her sad cry that invents transient bridge of poetry. Though I seem almost dead from grind of time, the sight of her eyes flashing with fierce hope, the sound of her voice crackling in the void, and the spell of her words designing love, inspire my heart with passion to embrace bridge of nothing that binds us to the All.
Monday, May 22, 2023
Spirit In The Earth
Spirit In The Earth © Surazeus 2023 05 22 Everywhere I have been on road of life has lead me to this place where I am now so I become the shining breath of being which beams from spinning core of ardent hope to light my way through darkness of despair though death will plant my spirit in the Earth. Double to presence of opening time with arrogant flow of thought-spirit climb, we search for paradise our minds invent based on clutter of memorial content that renders beauty true as honest dare since death will plant my spirit in the Earth. Still moving forward on the signless road past countless houses bright with inner light, I wonder who dwells in each frame of thought since they must feel as conscious as I feel which inspires me to map the Everywhere till death will plant my spirit in the Earth. Every ancestor who invented me through passionate play of forgotten lives writhes in my nerves with serpentine desire to transcend nothingness of passing time yet still we lose everyone we adore as death will plant my spirit in the Earth. Through static entropy of dream decay we store our visions of future events in unlocked cabinet above the stove while seeking closure from traumatic play as we sing with the sympathetic void when death will plant my spirit in the Earth. Now I die fluent in the silent tongue while steering frail boat on river of tears, transforming into flow of endless truth that smells pungent as timeless innocence, lacquered with blood fountaining from my heart for death will plant my spirit in the Earth. Everything that happens in history happens to me each time my soul is born as genes evolving from light of the sun when I record exploits of manic gods who crumble into shadows of Blue Sky, yet death will plant my spirit in the Earth. Eerie cries of angst bursting from my heart transform into ravens with lightning eyes who explain what options I have to choose how I will live my one wild precious life till I compose new scriptures that reveal why death will plant my spirit in the Earth.
Sunday, May 21, 2023
How We Survive World Wars
How We Survive World Wars © Surazeus 2023 05 21 When I spring from my American life, after being nailed to the train boxcar where I hang for ninety-seven years, I will sing about everything I see while traveling mute from sea to shining sea so you can dream how we survive world wars. I chant my sick country from its deathbed while plucking strings of my sun-warped guitar to mock tyranny of the bitter king who leads gangs of angry men with hot guns to oppose justice of democracy while I sing folk songs on the network show. With dull tongues of Cerberus I expose tyrants wearing business suits and red ties who impose system of plutocracy to implement authoritarian state that hands the wealthy reins to subjugate we the people who labor for their greed. With wings of devils tangled in my heart I leap into bright mirror of world mind to fly with flashing eyes in maze of myths so I can find the laughing skull of Zeus whose spirit wakes in anguish of my heart as fierce warrior who rules my tribe with love. I start weird alchemy of melting clocks to program visions of subjective brains with universal truths of psychic laws defined by scientists through formulas that describe physical functions of love which operate our life chemical machine. Conceived through grief of my arrogant faith, I rise in monstrous form of swirling smoke from bright explosion of Plutonian ghosts which measure slow decay of endless time in terms of sea waves swirling in my eyes that open bright in moon sphere of my brain. We lie embraced in flashing rays of light that flicker through reticulated leaves connecting topology of our dreams in clustered ethernet of angel brains that weave our bodies with genetic coils so we become the other beyond death. Though my heart beats inside stone of the land with swirling shadow of the glorious face I peer into heart of darkness that glows with heart-aching passion to dominate crowded stage on the ziggurat of power where Ishtar teaches us how to sing truth.
Saturday, May 20, 2023
I Act To Change Fates
I Act To Change Fates © Surazeus 2023 05 20 Since I like to celebrate being alive as voiceless god who stares down from glow cloud I calculate karma debt I still owe to innocent people killed by the gun as if I am neurons blasting in space while watching sheep in misty mountain vale. The sky above the city of desire is always blue as eyes Narcissus wears when angry men with automatic rifles kill innocent people to sate their rage because they are offended at the truth that Nature is indifferent to our lives. The yellow voices of the faceless men who sit around the table of gold lies ring bright as sleigh bells in the silver dawn that pulse as stars beneath elastic skin with supple arrogance of naked gods who demand respect with the loudest shout. Translucent clarity of midnight wine reflects strange darkness of the lonely girls who call each other in windows of time to sing in tune with invisible seas regardless of the way the moon explodes because I want to interview the wind. She always knows how I refuse to feel when gang of angry men attack her garden because she will not sell them apple pies unless they build the river boat of death in which we sail across forgetful lake to climb the mountain of nine ringing stones. When fascists overthrow democracy and crown the Son of Jesus King of Earth I choose to face hard truth about myself reflected clear in Mirror of Desire which shows I am the one who caused the fire that burns cathedrals of vampires to ash. I write the new grand narrative of truth from isolated facts of world events explaining cosmic flow of cultural trends which analyze how humans interact based on material needs our bodies code through mythic energy of psychic war. For I transform through spark of alchemy transcendent state of mental fortitude through which I program how my brain perceives conceptual nature weaving soul of Earth so when I wake from precognitive dream I act to change fates of people I love.
Friday, May 19, 2023
Void Of Everywhere
Void Of Everywhere © Surazeus 2023 05 19 I walk into clear mirror of my mind to become each ancestor of my genes whose psychic energy fuels my weird quest to grow beyond strict mindset of their fear which enforces blind obedience of faith as I leap into void of everywhere. Lost people who wander in silent woods, escaping fierce attacks of greedy men, assemble in ring of stones on high hill to organize resistance of bold hearts so they can fight back against tyranny as we leap into void of everywhere. When I stand on firm ground in pouring rain, gripping sword of truth my grandfather forged from divine stone that fell blazing from Heaven, I feel spirit of my father possess my body with courage to defend freedom as I leap into void of everywhere. Awake in anguish of my hopeful heart, immortal spirit of Robert the Bruce observes small spider on wall of the cave, that hangs by silver thread of solitude, persist in weaving web of fortitude as I leap into void of everywhere. When immortal Spirit of Liberty, that once possessed John Brown with bold desire, inspires my heart to oppose tyranny I emerge reborn from dark spider cave to bear bright lamp of truth as Lucifer when I leap into void of everywhere. Though fearful men clutching guns of despair attempt to conserve their weak privilege by imposing theocratic law of hate we follow sword of Spartacus to fight against Christian nationalists of cruel greed as we leap into void of everywhere. When blind emperor in tower of gold operates global food-production machine sprawling factories of his hunger pollute ethereal winds of paradise with lust that inflates thermal fervor of hot weather as we leap into void of everywhere. When corporations of capitalist greed collapse from operations of deceit we construct new state based on equal rights so every person thrives within just law to walk into clear mirror of our mind as we leap into void of everywhere.
Thursday, May 18, 2023
Beautiful Horror Of Death
Beautiful Horror Of Death © Surazeus 2023 05 18 Charlotte stops on the wagon-rutted road in the wheatfield west of low pine-spiked hills, and watches sunlight gleam gold in thin puddles splattered by raindrops after thunderstorm explains that nothing matters in her heart, then smiles at beautiful horror of death. Long strands of her gold hair sinuate in wind in curving tandem with thin stalks of wheat that undulate through flash of her gray eyes reflecting somber clouds that spiral bright thick as her mane over hills of her breasts that heave at beautiful horror of death. Turning back at thin wail of desperate hope with mercurial angst of the wounded wolf, Charlotte asserts her eyes to verify terrible sight that pierced her heart with fear, her love Wulfstan shot by arrows of hate that bleed at beautiful horror of death. Bare feet sucked by soul-hungry muck of Earth, Charlotte runs back against steel gusts of wind to tend her wounded wolf with trembling hands, shot by arrows her father fired in rage as they flee to marry far from his sword that rings at beautiful horror of death. Shivering as she kneels by wounded Wulf, Charlotte gasps for breath with dizzy surprise while gazing in green eyes of fierce desire, then touches arrow that pierces his heart, shocked that she may lose the good man she loves, then weeps at beautiful horror of death. When you let go my hand as we escaped, running down rain-soaked road of eager faith, I felt the unseen bond between our hearts break at the severance of your trust in me, so we fall lost in cold indifferent rain that glows at beautiful horror of death. When her father grasps her delicate hand and drags her away from her wounded wolf, Charlotte screams and stumbles on slippery road, yet tries to look back at his hopeless eyes that flicker blank in sleet of careless rain that howls at beautiful horror of death. Slouched by crackling flames in warm glowing hearth, Charlotte stares down at the half-eaten pear, that rots in her hand, with forlorn despair, heart numb from enduring pain of his loss, then starts at sudden sweet song of the sparrow that tweets at beautiful horror of death.
Our Red-Haired King
Our Red-Haired King © Surazeus 2023 05 18 Because I go to see our red-haired king who rules America now in exile, the cow in the meadow where sparrows sing asks me to conceal her nuclear stockpile, so I ride blind mule to Jerusalem to confiscate the jeweled diadem. Supreme powerlessness of nuclear waste wakes eunuch of time from his pleasant dream that he builds paradise for the displaced where Clementine swims the Mexican stream to dance with joy the morning after woe, surpassing mute despair with starless glow. Though birds declaim sad tunes in naked trees and hammers ring clear litany of wealth we scratch dry dirt for lost celestial keys that open gates of Heaven with cruel stealth to break free from this state of victimhood glorified by moguls of Hollywood. With glee from horror of considerate Death we sing with birds that weep hot tears of oil till we invent new god from divine breath who springs full-grown from corpses in foul soil at dance macabre on resurrection day that never comes though we cease not to pray. When fascists clutching guns decide to fight to impose martial law on Liberty we shatter their illusions with the light that glows pure from heart of democracy though blood of innocence will soak the land to transform waste land into Wonderland. Human grief finds no sympathy in Nature for she cares not about our fights for power except how she nurtures soul of the creature who sings with joy at vision of the flower that blossoms into fruit on Tree of Life with energy we rein to control strife. Sweet nonsense of the joke we find not funny wakes ancient sorrow in our hopeful hearts to fight for liberty when times are sunny since our red-haired king sells apples from carts, so we hail coming of messiah sleuth whose comic riddles encode bitter truth. I chase our red-haired king on motorbike to paparazzi photos of his bride whose Kali-flashing eyes are always like gaze of Liberty for the countryside where children fight to survive global war as wizards shop the late-night grocery store.
Preserve Our World View
Preserve Our World View © Surazeus 2023 05 18 Though we cannot preserve our consciousness we can preserve our flesh bodies with genes, and we can preserve our world view with words so something of us lives after our death, our children who have their own consciousness and poems that record how we perceive life. From birth our brains record experiences then organize our memories of each day to narrate story for our right to live based on how we evade death to seek joy as we gather food from indifferent Earth, surprised we wake at dawn another day. Thus I define myself with name I choose that captures in expressive verse of song moment of terror when I survive death and stare astonished at the shining sky where global mother gazes down at me from transient consciousness of the Glow Cloud. Inventing concept of the cosmic god who guides my journey across Wonderland, I organize chaos of daily events in grand narrative of my whole world view which I design to explain why things happen to generate children before I die. Death will destroy my body one fine day so I find mate to generate new children and build paradise of surrounding walls to guard lush garden of fruit trees and crops where my family can thrive well, safe from harm, while I keep watch in tower of my hope. Ten thousand years I build strong garden walls, expanding farms into vast empire states to manage world food-production machine so we can teach our children how to live creative lives with bold productive hands that preserve democracy against fear. Grand narrative of material production, controlled by institutions we design to preserve way of life where every person performs preprogrammed role in game of faith, becomes religious scripture of state myth that traps our bodies within thought control. My brain designs world view as consciousness which I record in verses of weird words when I stand mute under sky of bright stars, entranced by timeless vision of world history, but I will vanish in nothing of death, leaving only my children and my poems.
Wednesday, May 17, 2023
Nowhere In America
Nowhere In America © Surazeus 2023 05 17 I belong nowhere in America for my ancestors came to this land four hundred years ago on sailing ships to escape attack of the fascist crown enforcing strict rules of religious hate so I can live free from their thought control. I wander nowhere in America on endless journey of the Happy Fool to play guitar and sing romantic tales for satyrs and nymphs of the Rainbow Tribe who dance with the grateful dead in the rain while I search for code of the Holy Grail. I was born nowhere in America where many of my ancestors once lived for they would journey west from Babylon each generation to find Avalon but settle down to live on stolen land where they lie buried in the fertile soil. I settle nowhere in America for I have lived from sea to shining sea in countless cities on lush river shores as ghost who comes and goes with dust in wind to find lost homeland of my aching heart that shimmers always just beyond those hills. I seek home nowhere in America from misty Oregon, land of my birth, back eastward on road my ancestors blazed to find the primal homeland of my tribe who traveled westward for ten thousand years from Scythia through Scotland to Idaho. I find you nowhere in America where tribes form nation-states of hungry fear to fight in civil wars for right to live till we crown Son of Jesus King of Fools who rules democracy with iron fist while I seek liberty across the sea. I seek truth nowhere in America, awake with conscious vision of One World where we live as we will, if we harm none, free from nationalist fervor of despair, so I will fight to defend sacred right for each person to live as they desire. I am me nowhere in America, lost wingless angel on the signless road still roaming in vast maze of ancient myths to find the homeland where my heart was born till I lie down on lone tree hill at death and become the land where I have no home.
Thought Criminals
Thought Criminals © Surazeus 2023 05 17 I want to hang out in Elysium to talk about life with Thought Criminals who want to redefine strict social norms that control how people choose to behave as we dance with Lucifer in the rain because civilization will collapse. When bright atoms spiral from the first flash they pulse with electrons in spinning rings so carbon links molecules in gene chains which form bodies to sustain conscious minds that generate new bodies from desire as we evolve from fish to wingless angel. I am the product of successful sex between males and females who copulate with passionate intensity of hope four hundred million years of swirling change, fish to lizard to mouse to cat to ape till I become human mimicking God. I want to generate offspring with love so I choose through expression of free will to create children with my loving mate who will preserve immortal soul of genes in lifestyle I wish only for myself, guarding my family in space of our home. Everybody else on this spinning world will choose whether they want children or not and build what private lifestyle they prefer, so I live as I will, while I harm none, in liberal commune of our global state that supports free will of each human being. I live as I want in walls of the law that protects civil rights of every soul providing space for everyone to live what lifestyle they desire, free from attack by losers threatened by freedom of will, for we live happy in our private homes. I care not whether anyone on Earth has children or not to preserve their genes for they are free to live as they desire, because each person alive with soul breath wields inalienable right to pursue dreams that beam their hearts with happiness till death. However each person alive on Earth chooses to live their most creative life, and whether we birth new children or not, we all will die with constant flow of time till hot expanding sun consumes our world and we return to sparks of atom rings.
Tuesday, May 16, 2023
Fish In Dark Lake
Fish In Dark Lake © Surazeus 2023 05 16 Whatever you choose to think about me still happens entirely inside your head like fish in dark lake where I never swim. Dull sorrow of silverware in dry grass relinquishes compassion on torn wings across confusing plains of Idaho. Cold waves of sweet indifferent attitude reluctantly crawl over rancid mud to calculate distance between mind states. They look away from faceless ghost of who shot by stray bullet in blue evening light while driving to the grocery store of faith. She smiles with beauty for the photograph that captures essence of elusive faith at falling of the devil from his tower. I have no country but the open book that floats in water of abandoned tub still sailing homeward on the anguished sea. I turn down rubbled street in search for bread while angels born from lust of nevermore watch me behind thin curtains of contempt. I shovel sorrow of the eglantine with red dirt in the gaping mouth of time to engineer how language defines fate. Detribalized by bankers charging tax, I journey nowhere to the Promised Land while singing in the bleak Missouri rain. I wait outside the empty church of fear to pray for salvation from the blind god who disappears in words of bleeding books. Soft velvet cover for the book of poems elides efficient truths of holy wars so slaves become acquainted with the night. Still lonely on stark crag of Scottish hills, she watches me with eyes of glowing moss so green beneath the silver fairy pool. The laughing puppet of authority declares we shall not talk about the weather so we talk about crimes of the proud tyrant. She lowers bucket in the wishing well but finds no treasure, except bleeding star which silences loud voice of the mad seer. The last tomato of the third world war flies toward cracked windshield of the racing car which transforms into the arrogant horse. Whatever I choose to think about you still happens entirely inside my head like fish in dark lake where you always swim.
Lovers On The Shore
Lovers On The Shore © Surazeus 2023 05 16 Shifting flock of delicate butterflies, wings glowing bright as rainbows after rain, flutter in chaos of cool swirling breeze to follow pungent scent of pink plum blossoms stirred up by herd of horses galloping past so fast they blur into sorrow of time. Thin boy perched on gnarled branch of a peach tree extends forked stick toward shimmering blue sky to dislodge juicy velvet globes that fall bouncing on yellow grass of eager hope where grinning girl plops them into straw basket as butterflies flutter around her hair. Full silver moon of nothingness glows soft behind transparent veil of scarlet mist, pierced by straight branch of a silent plum tree that shivers from cold sorrow of mute faith on tangled hair of the hungry blind girl who listens to white laughter of the stream. High jagged mountain, black from drenching rain, casts eerie shadow on deep river vale where slender flummoxed boy with a forked stick runs with the ethereal butterfly girl in grove of gnarled peach trees, gasping for breath as they flee the indignant gardener. Sitting close together on verdant shore beneath majestic willow tree at night, the boy and girl, hearts beating with elation, eat juicy peaches dripping down their chins, and gaze at merry stars that twinkle bright in transient beauty of the serene lake. Hearts bound by scarlet thread of loyal love, delicate as steel gossamer of trust, the boy and girl gaze up at the vast sky lambent with never-moving points of light that radiate timeless fortune of free will, forever young on iridescent shore. Though they go on to live long fruitful lives, raising children born from their radiant hearts with grim struggle against soul-carving pain, their spirits shine still on florescent shore as transient figures on the painting canvas defined by brushstrokes of her skillful hand. As their skeletons glow inside their graves, descendants of their children kneel and bow before portrait of lovers on the shore, boy and girl eating peaches by starlight, while butterflies among gnarled branches glide so slow they blend into sorrow of time.
Monday, May 15, 2023
Soul Starway
Soul Starway © Surazeus 2023 05 15 I wonder if the moon is Dream Doorway through which I can fly on wings of desire to invade secret haven of pure joy by shooting cruel devils who guard its gates when I seek to find the true Holy Grail that shimmers under surface of the lake. I dance with blind angels on Soul Starway to Cave of Illusions where gods conspire to play with our world as their little toy though we live based on how we defy fates calculated by balance of the scale we measure to analyze real from fake. While strolling lonely on the moonlit beach I see young fragile woman in black dress, enshrouded in vapor of fiery mist, who dances shyly with dark swirling waves that leave sparkling pearls in her silken shoes while mermaids watch her with envious eyes. Though her frail beauty is just out of reach, as arcane harbinger of happiness, I love this goddess of the atheist who never waits for Death in star-bright caves for she remains the American Muse long after she disappears in blue skies. This world is Conclusion of every soul who exists in visible form of thought to express Riddle of Sagacity with positive sound of music we breathe as true love puzzles both scholars and fools who walk together on the signless road. Atoms of our souls beam from the White Whole as conscious brains no deity has wrought to sing through passion of vivacity with genius of truth no laurel can wreathe though we stare at our faces in star pools as loyal companions of the God Toad. The Weeping Mother on the ocean shore teaches me how to sing beautiful verse which translates heart-breaking horror of death to holy hymns that beam cathedral glass so light of wisdom may slant through my mind with divine spirit of audacity. The Singing Dragon inside Terran core encourages me to defy the faith curse with rhythmic cycle of harmonic breath that pulses bright with energy of mass through chemicals of the Force love designed to fuel my body with vorticity.
Icarian Wings Of Hope
Icarian Wings Of Hope © Surazeus 2023 05 14 The internet is wild information ocean where we drift on ideology ships forever seeking Island of the Blessed where wingless angels strum old tuneless lyres to sing about anti-heroes who wrestle faceless gods trapped in our imagination. I see the ghost of every human being who ever lived in history of the Earth drift through vast mirror maze of cyberspace as character described by spirit dreams that spreads pages of books as angel wings to fly on power of words across my mind. Because they emanate from mythic tales as lithe demons that glow in skeletons, old nameless characters of story books haunt my heart with anguish of desire so when the pretty girl falls in my arms I transform into monster with red eyes. Thus I will weave Icarian wings of hope from toxic masculinity of rage to transform lust into honest respect that energizes passion of my heart to protect her soul from terrible harm so she can live according to free will.
Sunday, May 14, 2023
Haunted Walls Of Troy
Haunted Walls Of Troy © Surazeus 2023 05 14 I hear sad moans of shades in epic verse echo rhythmic cadence of ocean waves that bear brave warriors to Hadean caves who lament harsh fate of the Beauty Curse, so I stand blind on haunted walls of Troy to encode weird truth from terrible joy. When children of great heroes play fun games of war around high ancient city walls they choose their final fate that Fortune calls through lottery of class, wealth, and family names, then fight to the death for who rules the world till no one is left but the cosmic herald. Madness of Achilles burns hearts of men with arrogant pride to dominate stage where death destroys the warrior blind with rage till Jesus dares redeem him from his sin, because Odysseus and Hamlet play chess to measure our political progress. Alone in cave of Plato with weird dreams, I chant whole history of the human race fighting global wars to overcome grace where winners are the most efficient teams organized by Wise Team Leader as God who leads most collaborative justice squad. While roaming spiral mountain of star spooks, where souls of seekers are purged with hard truth, I wear fake mask of the messiah sleuth to meet ghosts of characters from old books who cry for justice to the empty sky where the sun is not some omniscient eye. Since roots of Irminsul, our tribal tree, chart vast underworld maze of social myths, carved as statues of gods on monoliths, I map struggle of mankind to live free in tales of heroes who succeed or fail which measures mental worth on moral scale. So we construct vast fleet of sailing ships to colonize productive lands of Earth with enterprise that calculates our worth according to laws of religious scripts which runs global food-production machine to nurture Library of Melusine. Ghosts of heroes haunt ruined walls of Troy so through riddles of fate I pantomime new world cosmological paradigm with rule that we create and not destroy structures of atoms that compose all things which I define with quills from angel wings.
Saturday, May 13, 2023
Together By The Lake
Together By The Lake © Surazeus 2023 05 13 Because we walk together by the lake that still reflects stark light of the blind sun we feel strange beauty of the spinning world beam illogical honesty of love we share on journey of our lonely life with children who spring from our dreaming eyes. Though I am deaf and cancer eats your heart we walk the signless road of nevermore with tangled wings of angels long unseen to find the Promised Land that is not real except in songs the foolish faithful sing while living in simple homes by the sea. So I will light your candle in the dark which should illuminate our cave of dreams, dispelling monstrous fear of hungry death as we survive harsh trauma of attack when tyrants send loyal soldiers of war to slaughter lovers of soul liberty. All children should run free on sunlit hills and share sweet fruit of trees they tend with care, yet sons of men who survived holocausts shoot missiles at demons that haunt their dreams but kill instead the frightened innocent whose blood cries out to our hearts from the ground. The safe world of their homes, shattered by blasts of fearful arrogance, cannot protect fragile beauty of our glass skeletons though we dance in eternity of hope and sing ancestral hymns to holy saints martyred by tyrants in castles of gold. Somewhere on Earth in every faithless age fierce gangs of men with weapons of despair fight over who eats fruit from Tree of Life, killing each other to live safe and free by building empires on their privilege till Earth is strewn with singing skulls of gods. So I will fight to make this land my own, declares the frightened child who grips the stick while staring into nothingness of night to defend the land that becomes his grave while Earth keeps spinning in the starless void till I rise laughing from womb of the sea. Though I am deaf I hear song of your voice express hidden thoughts of the multitude who walk streets of vast world metropolis that mushrooms from fear sea to shining sea till our brains are wired in the world wide web because we walk together by the lake.
Thursday, May 11, 2023
Nothing But Wordless Light
Nothing But Wordless Light © Surazeus 2023 05 11 I prefer not to write a poem tonight because I am nothing but wordless light gleaming on dark water of inner sight.
Wednesday, May 10, 2023
Running In The Pouring Rain
Running In The Pouring Rain © Surazeus 2023 05 10 My soul swirls down inside the ancient book as I become the vapid thoughts of fools who stare at glowing television screens which hypnotize their minds with hollow tales of anti-heroes struggling to fit in for we are freaks in tragic comedies. My dream job in the third grade was and still is Archivist in Globe Library of books, maps, and paintings that record human tales detailing how we struggle against death just long enough to generate our children before we vanish from memory of Earth. Like brave Cambodian woman Bou Samnang, who keeps on running in the pouring rain to finish the five thousand meter race after all others are done, I breathe deep spirit of courage to continue on singing about strange beauty of our world. While sipping hot ginger mocha at dawn, and reading all the latest tragic news, I comprehend with critical insight how Ovid wrote the Metamorphoses based on sad stories of current events that memorialize victims of abuse. So Ares, the bitter, cold-hearted warrior, enraged that the beauty queen Aphrodite loves the craftsman Hephaestus more than him, invades homes, churches, schools, and shopping malls to shoot bullets of hate at innocence, killing millions of people with contempt. You will win admiring hearts of the world though you finish the race last in the rain if you keep on running against all odds to overcome despair with steady love by giving without asking in return for you will inherit treasure of truth. Wearing cloak handmade for a Gilead slave, Heather Hamilton, the blonde Sibyl menace, plucks ripe gold lemon from the Tree of Life, then strides with leaping wolf on misty heath to stab the haughty knight in shining armor with pen of satire and sly cocky grin. With Bou Samnang I run in pouring rain, inspired by strength of her enduring spirit, till millions of people around the world emerge from lethal prisons of our fears and run beside her to the Promised Land where she sits under the fruit tree and sings.
Tuesday, May 9, 2023
Marble Statues Of Beauty
Marble Statues Of Beauty © Surazeus 2023 05 09 The only thing I care about is Truth so I keep groping through thick fog of lies flashing from words dispersed from open mouths that blind my eyes with illusions of faith till I can measure with discerning hands nature of things beamed from atoms of light. Billions of people around the whole world believe fake cosmologies of religions that describe some divine being in the sky who creates the universe with his thoughts but indifferent Earth spins in starless void, caring not whether we survive or not. I cannot offer some clear moral code as tonic for fevers that haunt our souls, nor document social ills of society to diagnose deep causes of our failures, then prescribe solutions to build Utopia, for we are all perpetrators and victims. I will not aim my rhetorical cannon to attack cruel perpetrators in power for I cannot protect the numerous victims who suffer injustice at hands of tyrants, nor offer sweet solace for the elect without authority outside the system. To celebrate apocalypse of Nature, and metabolize stories of mass death, I document survival of the foolish who stumble lost on signless road of love to join in danse macabre on moonlit hill where we memorialize escape from pain. Transcending mirage of religious lies to extricate ourselves from social systems that still privilege the special elite, we dance with Death to celebrate brief life, for nothingness, before our birth from hope, and after death from lust, is absolute. Forever walking toward event horizon, which delineates the black hole of death, to proclaim proud victory over decay, I mold bodies with immortal genes, fish to newt to mouse to cat to ape to human, which decay after we generate children. Beyond the endless endlessness of life we disappear into our social names till bodies of flesh with frail skeletons transform into marble statues of beauty that stand blind and mute for billions of years after we swirl away as dust in wind.
Monday, May 8, 2023
Rebirth Of Our Nation
Rebirth Of Our Nation © Surazeus 2023 05 08 More than beautiful for the wheel of being, that spins our nothing into the will-be with great determination to compose strange art out of our painful awkwardness, we succeed in singing what our heart wants though indifferent Nature ignores our faith. Since we continue to fail to transcend fraught limitations of this clumsy body, we settle into creative routine where we reshape the dreamscape with our words building wheels from material of faith to bear burdens of wealth on our vain quest. If only the wheel of fortune endures when fate determines who will live and die during each new scene in the social play, then I will exit stage of grand success, refusing to compete for any prize that would but chain my spirit to the game. When I achieve grand style of expertise through fashionable manner of the mindset designed to strategize infamous pride, I find myself trapped in my own success that blocks ascension of my shining soul to higher realms of artistic expression. Awake on highest hill of the Nowhere, where ancient stones hum timeless melodies, I measure anonymity with rule forged from flames of arrogance by the god who transforms me into monster of truth because my heart aches at loss of my friend. Still hiding my true self with false disguise reflected in mirror of social media, encoding memories of childhood in jokes, I play role of the mad king on the heath who writes riddles with crow quill dipped in blood to chronicle the rebirth of our nation. The adamantine truss of our vast city, welded haphazardly from bones of angels, expands with time-traveling engine gears through fractal readjustment of brain cells to highlight how the humble shepherd kneels as Goddess of Love crowns him Garden Guard. Too beautiful now for the wheel of fate, that preserves immortal spirit of genes in naked mausoleum of her heart, the World Mother on the lush river shore gives each human being our true demon name so we can enroll in the Rite of Marriage.
Sunday, May 7, 2023
Questions Beyond Rules
Questions Beyond Rules © Surazeus 2023 05 07 The stark disaster of my starless fate counts not another loss against my faith as I let everything happen to me, both beauty and terror, sorrow and joy, yet I keep going down the signless road for I love the questions that guide me home. Escaping crowded city of desire, with nothing but broken pen of lost hope, I stand in empty meadow by the lake and listen to bright water explain why death crushes our bodies into mute dust, then sing the questions I can never answer. I call for birds to come down from gold clouds with endless hymn of existential horror so they bring mushrooms from the cave of Plato which opens flashing door of fantasy through which I float on wings of agony to ask the questions even death avoids. Since we live with promise in cave of death, integral parts of its galactic structure, we cannot untangle our conscious minds from cosmic neurons of our flashing brains, so we reach out our hands to grasp the fruit that wakes questions in our aching hearts. We live together for so many years, exploring strange complexity of time unfolding in vast landscape of this world, till death erases you all from the Earth, so I wander lost on the roadless plain, seeking answers to questions I forget. Though I sing to excavate grief from loss of beautiful people destroyed by fate, my body remains bound to spinning Earth, yet bird of my mind flies on hopeful wings across boundless range of all time and space till I become the question the world asks. Like smiling fish trapped under river ice, I am the Other hidden in my heart so with reflecting shadow of the moon I become the Bird Rider who designs patterns of behavior that weave my fate till I trick you with questions beyond rules. The globe in the square imitates the Earth with enormous weight of flowing light rays that formulate weird function of my brain when stories people write about their lives expand my consciousness of who I am with code that programs questions I invent.
Saturday, May 6, 2023
Beauty Of The Mind
Beauty Of The Mind © Surazeus 2023 05 06 The story I hide in my naked heart beats wild with energy of the swift horse that flies on wings of wind around the world to chase the butterfly of happiness while rain invents pure beauty of the mind that conceals secret crime of my hands. Ten million snowflakes bury my burned heart in pulsing web of passion that engulfs all stories of sorrow people conceal to preserve dignity of honest hope till we fools drown in beauty of the mind that transforms our bodies into fruit trees. Atoms bond by sharing valence electrons so carbon atoms weave all elements in tensile fabric of mute molecules which animate our body with the soul that composes strange beauty of the mind with vibrant energy of conscious love. Glowing with starlight of eternal truth, we run together on grim sunlit hill, then sit embraced beneath the rustling oak which takes our voices deep inside its core to express perfect beauty of the mind since only leaves of trees verbalize love. To show how much I appreciate rain, which helps my eyes interpret how you feel, I try to validate twisting pathways atoms articulate as angst of faith which evokes transient beauty of the mind so we communicate what we perceive. I fall awake in space between our hearts, too startled by song of wind in oak leaves to assert reluctant wish for your grace, so I give love without expecting love from treasure hid in beauty of the mind for we are two stones in the same bright stream. Hearts entangled by flutter of bird wings, we derive our fruitful relationship from stories of our fraught childhoods we share so we can understand how we survive competent toil from beauty of the mind based on efflorescent strength of desire. Yet alone in cabin by gushing river, flooded from tears of stark precocious storm, I wait for shadow of obscurity that swirls from bottomless well of compassion to embody new beauty of the mind with story of sorrow I dare not share.
Friday, May 5, 2023
Pain Of Happiness
Pain Of Happiness © Surazeus 2023 05 05 If spell-binding sun-glitter of weird love reveals the secret cabin of mute fear where I hide in gloomy woods of my heart will you blaze seductive path of desire to penetrate enchantment of despair where I feel safe from pain of happiness? When Earth enfolds my spirit in her breast with dazzling wonder of hypnotic hope that breathes life into cracked stone of my heart will you tear tangled roots of weeping trees to weave stars of the universe with love so we can meet by the lake face to face? If I erase my spirit from the Earth to prove emptiness of the unseen that fills our sad world with mystical love will you now signify my nothingness with possible pattern that paints the void so we become companions by the hearth? When sapphire bird in dead willow tree sings about eerie beauty of spirit flight that lifts my body above world of pain will you call out to me in gusting wind with weird immortal name that binds my heart to secure honesty of your bold heart? If shadows in my living room are ghosts who cry with anguish for justice of death and wail with voice of the terrible wind will you chop down the ancient tree of fruit so ghost of my heart will never get caught in grasping branches of arrogant faith? When faceless ghost of my abandoned mind hides behind crackless walls of empty homes to weep with furtive passion for true love will you teach the rain how to know itself so we can meet in shadow room of truth since no one waits for us after we die? If you see perfect light of my fake soul imitate stars that gnaw bones of dead gods in sacred memory of the unknown mate will you transform my withered face to stone with vulgar honesty of lonely hope while sitting with me by the singing lake? When time inflates revolving mirror mind with dubious wisdom of the screaming gem through shadow of my ghost on hungry grass will you attempt to save me from despair each time I leap into the eyeless void so we can stay together till we die?
Thursday, May 4, 2023
Soyi Ponders Why
Soyi Ponders Why © Surazeus 2023 05 04 Clasping hot cup of mocha in cold hands, Soyi huddles in old creaky wood chair, wrapped in tattered wool blanket and worn boots, and gazes out smudged window laced with frost at empty meadow by blue sparkling stream where snowflakes swirl around bare willow tree. Small brass bell tinkles over the wood door pushed open by old woman with gray hair wearing faded green coat and flower dress who browses books of stories on frail shelves while Siwoo brews coffee for the grim man who stares at open notebook with still pen. Sketching each person who comes in the store, even after they buy some books and leave, Soyi ponders why each stranger she sees becomes precious in her heart without words, satisfied they have become nameless ghosts who remain in the world of her sketchbook. Jeweled gecko in glass tank with red eyes crawls slowly up dry branch of white driftwood to gaze with longing at the empty meadow while Soyi peers close at her small white eggs and pictures when they were enormous dragons crawling huge vines under the silver moon. Peering secretly through glass of the tank, Soyi watches Siwoo hold stack of books while slipping them on shelves with precise hands, then opens book of poems by Kim Hyesoon to feel frigid vibe of the violin become small bird above the frozen river. Feeling the world become flat as the mirror, Soyi lifts both arms outward like bird wings and wonders what it would feel like to fly, but hugs herself with sudden awkward shyness when she feels as if she falls off the cliff, then hides her sweet self-deprecating grin. Closing her eyes to sight of swirling snow, Soyi remembers twelve summers ago when she walked in lush meadow by the river with the boy whose shadow has disappeared, for though moments of their love melt in rain their ghosts linger together in moonlight. Hiding her phantom pain wings in her heart, while sketching Siwoo holding stack of books, Soyi smiles shyly when he looks at her, then beams when he refills her cup with mocha, and gives her blue feather he found in weeds, so she reaches out and touches his cheek.
Wednesday, May 3, 2023
Mask Of Ariel
Mask Of Ariel © Surazeus 2023 05 03 I try to grasp flowing water with hands hungry to comprehend sparkle of hope that seethes with dangerous energy of lust urging forward motion of my frail body till I fall battered and wounded in shade, shuddering with horror at beauty of light. On buzzing wings of honorary angst I swirl taut zig-zag way of angry faith through narrow emptiness of howling trees with spritely joy of transcendental pride based on exuberant mirth of shocking bliss, shivering with terror at splendor of gloom. Trapped for ten million years of eager hope in Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, I break free from dragon egg of my brain, yet remain enslaved by prosperous sage who controls frantic passion of my heart, aching with fury at glamor of lies. Enchanted by glowing eyes of my lover who shares mind-expanding pleasure of song, I dance with wild abandon in Stonehenge till laughing wolves trap us in paradise, so I shield my soft heart with mask of Ariel, yearning with madness at grandeur of truth. I try to constrict writhing wind with coils of thought-inspiring breath to allocate fertile reserve of concept-blooming souls which designates the most productive role by which each person can express true love, manic with misery at glory of disgust. On humming lungs of ceremonial strife I stride with bold courageous fear of death through anxious aggravation of despair to evade cold body-absorbing muck of indifferent nature with blind outrage, crazed with love at opulence of desire. Extraction from soil of paralysis through aggressive teamwork of synergy enforces bound symbiosis of love with cordial integration on wild hills, so I activate rule of self-control, shocked with wisdom at purity of chaos. Diplomacy of competent control, programmed with friendship of mutual respect, veils frantic passion to generate life with proactive aspect in mask of Ariel I wear as character my soul designs, frantic with agony at grace of order.
Tuesday, May 2, 2023
Fake Consolation Prize
Fake Consolation Prize © Surazeus 2023 05 02 The man in the moon shouts at the ghost horse about how he has wasted his whole life, then swings sledgehammer high over his head to smash archaic torso of Apollo in pathetic attempt to change his life when he takes home fake consolation prize. School children in glass museum of dreams contemplate beauty of moonlight in rain while reading about the last monument depicting the proud confederate general whose uniform is smeared with blood of slaves when he sells Death fake consolation prize. Commuters on the bus in morning rain discuss philosophy with the blind owl who drops nuclear bomb on the Vatican to explain how Realm of Ideas proves material nature of our universe where no one wins fake consolation prize. The photo spread of our forgotten queen in glossy magazine of lonely gods depicts bright sunlit rooms of nameless ghosts where Cinderella searches with flashlight for doorway to inner sanctum of peace despite winning fake consolation prize. Brandishing his unfinished manuscript, which analyzes nature of the mind, the pompous professor in brown tweed suit harangues the Devil for being late to class where he discusses symbols of great poems though he hides fake consolation prize. Through standard deviation of desire based on grand narrative of supreme truth we howl with joy at the beautiful moon because art is pointless for earning cash but essential for our spirits to thrive till we receive fake consolation prize. No thought is more beneficial to us than naked energy of honest faith programming how our brains perceive the world with artificial intelligence code designed to generate beauty from truth the day we lose fake consolation prize. As ornamental cherry petals swirl past gleaming window of the quaint cafe Cinderella draws portraits in blank book that depict cute eccentric characters who populate this city where we dwell and hope to win fake consolation prize.
Mirror Of My Mind
Mirror Of My Mind © Surazeus 2023 05 02 Passing through blurry mirror of my mind I twist distorting into nameless you so I become something I cannot see and thus I vanish into nothing more than tweets of birds in trees that never sing as wind erases me from everything. Too starkly awake on paralyzed legs the you who is me walks vast cement maze as stinking garbage packaged in meat bag who sings confounding spells of angry lust in harmony with chugging engine growl to drink waste water of foul memory. Though river of my body sparkles bright with snowflakes of the lonely mountain peak I sludge into intestines of the city to cleanse foul rooms and alleys of disease till I become despair sad strangers hide as we flush our minds of traumatic fears. The grim state officer in the gray room erases every word with thick black marks in manuscripts that describe violence when fathers in uniforms wear steel masks and beat children of strangers with batons to enforce absolute law of the leader. My dreams are rainbow fairies with light wings smothered by black shadow of arrogance for seeds of revolution sprout from fear, transforming horror into honest courage so I expand from constriction of rage to fight fierce father with the burning gun. I see facts of injustice with shut eyes because I open my eyes in the dark to sing beautiful horror of mute truth and with passive resistance rise to stand against blasts of hate though they destroy me for I am walls that protect paradise. From somewhere lost in maze of paradise, as hungry rat in alleys of trashed dreams, I gaze into clear mirror of the sky to see happy souls I will never be embodied by the rider on the bird who promises freedom, and flies away. Ancient stones in rivers that sing to me pull writhing string of my body to ravel memories of my hope in tangled knots which I must weave in flexile angel wings so I can fly through mirror of my mind to twist my fake self back into real me.
Monday, May 1, 2023
Connects Our Bodies
Connects Our Bodies © Surazeus 2023 05 01 We are an empire now, so when we act we create our own new reality. If the color of your mind breaks in my hand I will try to redesign how you feel. Yet breathless laughter of our lonely hills connects our bodies across faceless miles. Desperate to escape secret point of view, I interrogate light of finity. With uncreated essence of our souls we erase our weird visibility. We graduate from symbolic concepts which connects our bodies to nameless souls. Composed from different particles of faith, we still become what we try to escape. Beyond idea of transparent color I fail to remember my childhood dream. Each butterfly that transcends silent gloom connects our bodies to the empty meadow. If the never-ticking clock opens time we should escape dank prison of the self. So when we wake in flavor of moonlight we find we are still bodies of our names. Death sprinkles raindrops of arrogant hope that connects our bodies to swirling seas. Awake in last pool of red evening light, I bury my shadow in cluttered words. Asleep in first sorrow of nevermore, I become the name everybody calls me. Trees walk the signless road to paradise since death connects our bodies to blank stars. When I wake I decide to meet the ghost who imitates the face I always wear. Lost on the signless road of refugees, I whistle melody no ghost can hear. Wind embodies itself in the torn dress which connects our bodies to long-lost hopes. Tending herbs and worts in communal gardens, we translate gossip into fairy tales. Crickets haunt twilight in the field of crops where we discuss theology of death. Tombs enclose houses on the river shore which connects our bodies to singing skulls. Persephone gives me apple of love because she is the soul of fertile Nature. We wither and bloom in cycle of lust as we generate children from our dreams. Old book of stories everybody reads connects our bodies to new fantasies.
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