Church Of The Fisherman © Surazeus 2024 06 25 Although my heart is the lightbulb of faith we think we are but laughter of the sea so someone on the street corner decides to paint the face of the goddess of love with blood of pears on glass door of the bank because we overhear what the ghost says. The red car that cannot control the sky gives tattered paperback novels of crime to poor people always standing in line to ask for currants from the fisher king who hides, in air-conditioned office, time that falls in snowflakes from the mask of death. Worshipped by agents of the mystery cult, gray-stone idol of Janus rides the swan in solemn pageant on the boulevard where thousands of nameless princesses died while waiting for the turtle god to laugh as the handless king plays the mandolin. This music creeps by me on water flash with symbolic value of the sea change my heart undergoes with exploding words that helps me glimpse another better world not debased by doctrine of the mad fool who climbs telephone poles to steal our dreams. When I enter church of the fisherman I hear riddles in what the thunder says to translate murmur of the evening mist to maternal lamentation for how our souls vanish in ether of the mind beneath the burning tower of the saint. I will marry the Lady of the Rocks who gives plates of food to the homeless souls dwelling in subway tunnels underground where Persephone gives them telephones so they can call God in the afternoon when the drowned Phoenician sailor drives home. To find deserted cabin on the beach that shines white with ancestral theme of faith I follow darting sparrow from my tomb, intent on learning how the seasons change when cold wind chills the water-sparkling sand in empty darkness of the pulsing brain. Though whiteness grows more vivid on the wall where travelers write their true names with blood I cherish solitude of signless roads that lead forever onward to the past through revolutions when all monarchs fall with my hand pointing to the labyrinth.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Tuesday, June 25, 2024
Church Of The Fisherman
Chemical Passion Of Life
Chemical Passion Of Life © Surazeus 2024 06 25 Vibrant with chemical passion of life, I feel electric spirit of our Earth buzz in body of every conscious soul that glows with bright energy of desire who dreams awake this timeless hour of hope in pulsing swirl of our atomic globe. Emerging from mud of the river shore, first mother of humanity stands tall to stretch her arms toward blue infinity as she breathes deep ethereal thought of love that swells her body with sparkles of fear, so she shrinks safe in alert shell of hope. Caressing her belly with calloused hand, first mother peers in mist of dawn-blue rain till fuzzy shadow of the apple tree glows suddenly divine with golden flame, so she walks slowly over rugged heath toward tree of truth that rustles in the wind. Face of her mother smiling from the sky becomes soft roundness of the shifting tree, eyes silver as the moon above sharp peaks, voice soft as soothing rustle of green leaves that whisper firm encouragement of hope to shelter in warm embrace of her breast. Embracing rough breast of the apple tree, first mother sobs with anguish of despair when warm ghost of her mother vanishes, then she grasps long branch with both hands curled tight and swings with agony of hopeless joy till she twirls up into the spiral sky. Nestled inside canopy of the tree, first mother of humanity breathes deep with angry inspiration of cold faith, then grasps green fruit that contains beams of light and eats bitter-sweet wisdom of the rain as the tree whispers music in her ears. One million years flash in dream of my mind since first mother of my electric soul climbed tree of life to eat fruit of desire, so I see empires rise and fall in tides of human tribes that swirl around the Earth in her memories that program how I see. Primal loneliness of the apple tree vibrates still in sweet music of my heart because I feel wild passion of her hope express compassion in her hymn of faith that she sang with ache of love in that tree whose wind-voice always wants to sing as me.
Monday, June 24, 2024
Tower Of Fake Truth
Tower Of Fake Truth © Surazeus 2024 06 24 I cannot tell the lights in the night sky apart from each other, planet or star or angel falling wingless through the void with endless scream of terror from despair at getting cast from paradise of faith so I have to create Heaven from Hell. I will never confess the pain I feel, nor reveal the most intimate details of agony that writhes inside my heart in futile attempt to explore the self that hides in shadows of weird images to misdirect attention of your heart. When starless night freezes steel cement streets with bemused horror of apocalypse, I lie in bed and listen to fast trains rattle rails all night in maze of brick towers, ignoring nuclear missiles in corn fields aimed at cities where our enemies plot. Walking desolate waste land of strip malls, amusement parks, and factories, I break green door to Theater of the Absurd where Robert Lowell dressed as Jupiter makes love with Sylvia Plath dressed as Sibyl who prophecies fall of our world empire. Lights of passing cars flash in sheets of rain that streak rainbow oil down cracked window glass while I eat cheeseburger with root beer float, and scribble lyrics of my dire folk song on torn envelope with evidence files for the murder mystery I cannot solve. Loud clank of someone bumping metal bin and shriek of the black cat that leaps away alerts my hypervigilant concern, so I chase shadow of the devil through maze of dirty back alleys, boots splashing pools that gleam red as blood in glare of the moon. Tense on edge of the cement river dock, the devil in blue suit with silver tie faces me with grin of superior snark to mock me with the weakness of my heart that I care about human beings too much, so I fire bullet of justice at pride. Reduced to I that hides behind my face, I deconstruct world empire state of mind based on the grim colonial patriarchy my ancestors built with bones of their souls to protect paradise with walls of fear, while I keep watch in tower of fake truth.
Sunday, June 23, 2024
Spell Of The Golden Oriole
Spell Of The Golden Oriole © Surazeus 2024 06 23 One tiny atom in my fingernail is not one whole universe in itself, so I sit on the back deck of my house and watch the deer herd of our neighborhood eat leaves from the apple tree of my heart while the golden oriole hears me think. Every star that twinkles in the night sky has already burned out millennia ago, so I close my eyes in the evening glow and listen to the golden oriole explain the formula for love-winged flight as power equals force times speed of thought. All civilizations of humans thrive with ancient heartbeat of the river flow, so I row my boat for thousands of miles while the pair of golden orioles sing in the green willow on the lonely shore where Death watches me from her harbor door. Mountain peaks with ten thousand years of ice gleam within the window frame of my home, so I construct another river boat from cedar wood that scents the morning breeze while the golden oriole on thin branch of the apple tree sings my elegy. Wherever I roam on the signless road my heart is my home for pilgrims of truth, so I build new house on the river shore when men chase me from house my father built, for even the lithe golden oriole has built a nest as a home for herself. We become dust as shadow of the Earth when we descend to the dark underworld, so I mold new body from river mud and breathe in its nostrils the breath of life, then teach my child to sing in harmony with love song of the golden oriole. Every temple that honors some dead god was built on the field of a humble farm, so I play tunes on lyre of Mercury while sitting on streets in a thousand towns to translate religious theology from the spell of the golden oriole. Happy are they with empirical eyes who can recognize the causes of things, so I measure the time-spiraling curves that atoms plot in matrix of the mind when I watch the golden oriole fly as ghost that brings me wisdom of the light.
Saturday, June 22, 2024
Jonah And The Whale
Jonah And The Whale © Surazeus 2024 06 22 Sorrow is not easy to give away so I will buy bright water of the sun since nothing happens even though I pray to solve problems with laughter, not the gun, yet innocent children of the gray land shout at the robot with the bloody hand. She says it would be better to deceive than be deceived in the fierce game of life, for every day we have someone to grieve as we savor pleasure that grows from strife, despite how old the mountain seems to be that knows nothing but rhythm of the sea. Despair is free at every corner store where oldest woman in the world sells love to those who steal apples from tree of lore to bake pies on the hotel kitchen stove, since travelers seeking the Holy Grail pose for photos with Jonah and the Whale. Wisdom hidden in stories of the book cannot enlighten people blind with pride so I choose career as restaurant cook to prepare meals for the princess who cried when her horse escaped the rodeo pen to find favorite tree of the gold-winged wren. Friendship can be found in the photograph that dances nowhere in the summer wind with absolute assurance of her laugh long treasured by her best forever friend who stands alone on bridge of aching hearts, weeping still for the hour her train departs. No chimes of freedom ring across the land where ships collide with swirling clouds of hate in war that never affects Wonderland, so everyone decides to challenge Fate who laughs at frantic naivete when messiah sleuth maps the Golden Way. Through stoic passion for democracy nurtured by United Nations of Earth, I will fight for Justice and Liberty against tyranny where nothing has worth, willing to die to set my people free from harsh oppression of cruel monarchy. Justice equal for every conscious soul inspires my heart with patriotic faith to perform my Heaven-commissioned role with courage expressed by the cosmic wraith, for even the strongest tyrant will fall as nothing more than shadow on the wall.
Friday, June 21, 2024
Voice Of God In The Cave
Voice Of God In The Cave © Surazeus 2024 06 21 The ghost that sits in the green velvet chair, who prays to sunlight in the window glass, recites the riddle for one thousand names to honor souls of pilgrims who have died while circling the Kaaba in radiant heat on hajj to hear voice of God in the cave. After running back and forth seven times to find water well between rocky hills, I scuff hot sand with the heel of my foot till water fountain springs from heart of hope, so I kneel and drink spirit of the Earth that whispers with voice of God in the cave. I cradle in cupping palm of my hand the last apple seed from paradise lost to plant on shore by the river of tears so lush garden of tall fruit trees may sprout from desolate waste land of brutal heat, wind-blasted by voice of God in the cave. Donning clean white robe of angelic faith, I circle black house of the faceless mind who dreams awake in every human brain, then stand on mountain under empty sky to throw stones at the devil of my fear who tries to mute voice of God in the cave. Camping under silver eye of the moon, I sacrifice playful goat of desire, roast succulent meat on flames of insight, then feast on spirit of the two-horned ghoul while drinking water from Well of Zamzam so I can hear voice of God in the cave. Dull roar of thunder in blue cloudless sky hums in harmony with abundant flow of water swirling in heart of the globe when pilgrims chant prayers from scripture of sand in droning hiss of words from twinkling stars that replicate voice of God in the cave. As I meditate in shadow of thought I see flash of light open in the sky when Gabriel steps through portal of time and stands before me with ten thousand eyes so I transcribe his words in shifting sand while I translate voice of God in the cave. I gaze in gold flame of eternity that flickers in diamond god-eye of truth as bright beacon on pyramid of faith to interpret spells of the singing skull preserved in spiral of the desert wind that amplifies voice of God in the cave.
Key To Lost Camelot
Key To Lost Camelot © Surazeus 2024 06 21 Because I think I found the secret tree where lithe fairies dance on midsummer night I vow to return the energy key that angels use to open door of light so we can share peace through democracy, but angry humans still form gangs to fight. Once I find origin of the brain root that curls into globe from galactic stone I will give everyone on Earth free fruit, though we find ourselves stuck in the war zone without dream map showing alternate route that leads us to safe cave of the sad crone. Excited to discover mountain lake far from the crowded maze of city streets, we seek our fortune from the three-eyed snake who demands we present spirit receipts that prove our celestial souls are not fake, then shows us to the best theater seats. Trapped ten thousand years in the picture show, that presents how humanity transformed from hunting tribes wearing fur robes in snow to empire states ruled by tyrants deformed by greed for power, we ask the white crow to help our children stay better informed. Wearing black suit as grim prophet of doom, commissioned by Zeus to reveal the truth, I stand before students in the classroom to reveal nature of messiah sleuth who will resurrect from cathedral tomb to sell hero masks in the ticket booth. The Hidden Dragon, who will rule the world as Seer for United Nations of Earth, waits behind stage curtain while cosmic herald proclaims revolution of second birth, then appears in the spotlight yet unlaureled to calculate what everything is worth. First Mother, from whom all religions spread, on god-eye pyramid of Babylon, places jeweled crown on my humble head and sends me to rule Isle of Avalon, but I get lost in America instead where I dwell in mountains of Oregon. Still bearing Scepter of Zambor in hand, I bring secret key to lost Camelot, and guide wagon train to the Promised Land, where no one knows I am the Argonaut, to run amusement park of Wonderland surrounded by the treeless parking lot.
Thursday, June 20, 2024
Taut Harp Of Hope
Taut Harp Of Hope © Surazeus 2024 06 20 How you might see, with dream-expanding eyes, forsaken ghost of mind complexity contained by silver light, or never know strange flashing scenes of sorrows undisclosed by mute death, yet step forth to claim with pride contentious passion through soul liberty. I think of ancient tales, unwritten code concealed by letters mothers never write to children searching for the weeping tree of timeless love, which the motionless sun embraces close with breathless energy of faith, to understand why we must die. Not quite obscure as Heaven I create from fairy tales, through eggs hidden in grass that nurture serpents with prophetic pledge of altered truth, my simple home preserves prayerless memories of slow afternoons while children chase their nameless ghosts of fear. Taut harp of hope, that supports river bridge of bold ambition, unpardoned by greed bestowed by laughter on our unbowed heads, aligns our spirits flush along choir strings connecting countless minds in city maze with soft electric flow, if we should cry. Awake in shadow, parceled by glass doors condensing fraught eternity with words invented by sad birds, my heart descends on curveless myth of tense divinity, undone by laughter children sell for faith, so we can hold hands with calm quietude. Unsettled anxiousness of placid trust confounds serene complacency we share for irksome interchange, bound cheerfulness confining sorrow mute in virtuous gloom, yet grim elation blesses hours we wait for shards of comfort to fall from the sky. Fragile contentment, cementing our hearts with tranquil shock of disadvantaged hope for evasive peace, blames my hungry bliss unsatisfied by failed attempts to fly home, since honesty wounds our naked hearts with bitterness concealed in ancient rocks. Each unspent motion, pacing us from home through explicit speech of our caravan, conserves faint progress, slowly sinking deep in wordless water of forgetful dream, because we share desire to savor life that slips away just as we understand.
Voice In The Wilderness
Voice In The Wilderness © Surazeus 2024 06 20 I am the small voice in the wilderness that ministers, judges, and senators cannot hear behind sweet angelic song they chant to cast spell of obedience on people searching for the Promised Land soaked with the blood of people they have killed. Weird prophecies I chant in riddling code foretell strange future no one wants to see so they gaze into bright computer screens to see messiah they believe has come enforce their way of life on everyone through cruel theocracy of thought control. Strange proclamation of the cosmic herald that highlights coming of messiah sleuth distorts vibe of our reality field so zombies worship evil vampire ghoul who wears mask of King Midas when he struts to play tyrant clown on the global stage. When Jovian bloodline of the Holy Grail incarnates in sons of the crownless king who rules Christendom for two thousand years, we vote for him as honest president who wields nuclear sword of Excalibur to build new world order from fractured states. Since sons of Jesus rule America, child of Britannia, and grandchild of Roma, as spirit of Odin burns in their eyes, we rally around Flag of Liberty and fight to support strong democracy against tyranny of stale monarchy. Based on simple message which Jesus taught, that every soul is born with equal rights, we construct progress of society on foundation of universal truth that no human being is above the law, for we do what we will, if we harm none. When the false messiah wearing gold mask deceives kind people of the Promised Land with martial rhetoric of the spiteful king, the real messiah wielding wand of wisdom exposes greed of his hypocrisy with revelation of the honest word. I am the small voice in the wilderness with spirit of Cassandra in my heart, so I laugh to watch empires rise and fall when world war transforms stale ways of the past to cleanse our souls with universal love as we build United Nations of Earth.
Mad Prophet Clown
Mad Prophet Clown © Surazeus 2024 06 20 Mad prophet clown born in the cabbage patch grasps serpents from dream well where Odin drowns and twists them into modern alphabet that singers scream with electric guitars which shake steel-girdered walls of Jericho so angels can escape from paradise. Mad prophet clown who constructs from his tongue tower of anger to control the sky steals cell phone of God from the burning bush to rule lacustrine cities of despair which grow from loathing of the horrible, designed by angelic wings of the swan. Mad prophet clown on television screen gives us all New Idea of the Self based on ascending emptiness of light that flashes green as go, and red as stop, for us who race down the highway to Hell where Charon sleeps in the boat of lost souls. Mad prophet clown draws all-inclusive plans for arrogant children of Liberty who search bleak waste land for weird book of jokes which teach salvation of the ocean breeze though we wander stuck in the past we paint for private project of the patriarch. Mad prophet clown stuck in the nursing home gives seedless eyes to Bacchus on his mule to study logic of kaleidoscopes so we can build new monument to grace that throws our disappointment in the trash where it fractures into rainbow of tears. Mad prophet clown maps city of the mind where no buildings entomb our naked souls like London, Paris, or Byzantium that gleam under fog of cold winter noon, our unreal city where King Midas rules as fake messiah of the new world order. Mad prophet clown born in the violent sea assembles symbols of the broken world in global puzzle of the crazy king who shines as beacon for wise sentinels running to the past that never arrives which invents causality we evade. Mad prophet clown sitting in the rowboat sails across the open field of singing skulls beyond narrative possibilities based on our painful childhood memories, then rides steam train to Nantahala Gorge where Madame Sosostris rewrites our fate.
Wednesday, June 19, 2024
Geography Of Our Hearts
Geography Of Our Hearts © Surazeus 2024 06 19 Wrinkled like old rolled-up map of our world, my face savors harsh kiss of wind and rain to model geography of our hearts woven by roads where our ancestors walked, feet muddied by the endless miles of hope which leave us stranded in the strangest land. Whether we dwell in this house of our hearts just for one day, or for ten thousand years, we shall prepare food we find with our hands and share tales, tragic and comic, that show how people fail or succeed to make life, for the young bury the old in the yard. While I record long history of the world to preserve memories of my mind in tales depicting how every king always dies, you water plants in garden of our home till rivers overflow and flood my books so ghosts of heroes and villains are merged. Though bard of strange valley finds where we live far off the sign-marked roads of travelers, he codes our secret in weird fairy tale about weaver girl and carpenter boy who meet each full moon on the river bridge to share love letters about long-dead stars. Beneath the spreading chestnut tree of pride the brawny smith smites metal of the Earth with hammer of his heart to shape with flame sword of the warrior who defends the land, and plow of the farmer who seeds the land, so kings build empires with tools he designs. As shy Endymion, drowsing by the pool that waters fruit trees glowing in moonlight, I sense Diana, with long silver bow, gaze down at me with aching eyes of love, yet when I wake to hold her in my arms she hides in shadow of unspoken hope. If sly Hesperus, searching for her soul that gleams in sea cave ringing loud with waves, asserts ownership of her body-land, I block his cruel program of mind control to support principle of liberty for every conscious creature of our world. Gray-haired like Saturn on lush river shore, I claim no land except where I may rest this hour I pause on journey to the west with wife and children sheltered by my heart, who laugh with pleasure of our company for all roads of the world our feet have blazed.
Bodies On Sugary Sand
Bodies On Sugary Sand © Surazeus 2024 06 19 The listless rain that drinks words from my lips scatters my thoughts on barren hills of hope, which formulate concepts I lost in codes that breed bodies in shimmer of rain-blur where Eros drowns in tears he sheds for us, for motion generates life through our souls. I call out to regina of the clouds for her to shake her scepter at the sun because I dare not mock magnificence that she radiates from core of her womb in wild waves that caress rocks of my heart so love fountains from deep inside my soul. Though I believe that I have known them all as searing light of strict celestial spheres, which I measure with each swipe of my hand, I find new vistas on strange mountain slopes where I can sense the goddess of the world ahead as glow of light in shadowed woods. Since tree-strong pillars of temples still stand, I linger where their roofs once shadowed time to ask proud Sicheus if he knows the way past city walls to lakes of clarity, but honey bees with pollen of our hearts swirl from his mouth in whirlwinds of war. Where golden orioles in maple trees discuss cruel politics of human states I find wild Zagreus in mountain vale whose grin dispels my fear of brutal war when he gives me smooth amber that preserves first queen bee who reigned in the Tree of Life. When I follow suavity of the rock along green cliffs of arrogant despair, I trail my hand in clear blue ocean waves, not caring if I land on sandy beach, then lie in cool shade of the dripping cave where Nerea gives me honey wine to drink. Old rusty ship, crowded with refugees, capsizes in wild rocky waves of hope, and cries of grim despair drift on the breeze as faint echoes from voices of sweet nymphs who drag drowned bodies on sugary sand where no one prays over the nameless dead. Affection carves its traces in my mind as I give each drowned refugee new name, and write tale of their futile quest in sand, how they chased rainbows to the Promised Land where empty houses open doors of sorrow, and welcome ghosts to hearth of fellowship.
Tuesday, June 18, 2024
Fruit Instead Of Tears
Fruit Instead Of Tears © Surazeus 2024 06 18 These days of languid ennui hid in books, that I spend lounging in cathedral ruins, may nourish passion buried in my heart long enough for me to find bright in gloom noble cause for which I would fight and die, protecting people of our land from thieves. Sweet loneliness of water in my blood revives strange music of the silent moon that proves this world cares nothing for my life, so I ally my heart with Liberty to fight against aggressive tyranny of thieves who steal with promises of love. To stand against monstrous bully of greed, that writhes with hunger in foul hearts of men, I must dive deep in swirling lake of rage to wake berserker hidden in my heart so I have strength to fight for Liberty though I may die so my people will live. I speak to you with language of the wind so we can understand the hearts of trees who stand with us against oppressive hate for if we can endure the brutal pain we will gain strength of faith from naked rocks to give our children fruit instead of tears. Encased inside strange words I never speak, hot seeds of star-souls writhe in ecstasy through algorithm written by the sea that fills abysmal darkness with love songs which shine with bright affinity of trust to guide our way back to the Promised Land. Since plants and animals with fluid souls rotate through perpetual cycle of life with constant flowing of bright molecules in rhythm with rivers and winds of hope, the cosmic herald, bearing book of truth, appears when people of Earth need his light. Shining clear with wisdom of timeless truth, he strides on road of progress toward the right, enforcing equal justice for all souls to adjust our world view with magic wand, then vanishes in vast silence of change while we continue to sing to his tune. Though our existence is impermanent, we strive to create, rather than destroy, social system where every human being is free to live and love as they desire, performing deeds that need no fame to glow, for Earth transforms our souls into new souls.
Goal I Set My Heart
Goal I Set My Heart © Surazeus 2024 06 18 Though often racing down dead ends of hope that lead me lost in tangled fears of death, I always find again the proper road that leads me toward the goal I set my heart so I overcome obstacles of pain to lounge safe in apple grove by the lake. To lie at ease beneath broad canopy of frilly leaves that flutter in cool breeze, and watch young children of our tribe play free with voices ringing in still forest gloom, inspires my heart with love for everything that blooms from bounty of this fertile vale. When I was still young, with heart full of verve for vigorous passion to explore the world, I sailed to Colchis in swift Argo, far from cozy haven where my mother dwells, with gang of friends to capture herd of sheep in quest that now fills my afternoon dreams. Intense moments of danger, when we faced monsters in both forests and palaces, flash bright with fraught anxiety of hope that blinds my eyes to beauty of this hour, which often startles me awake with dream in sultry evening buzzed with cricket song. When darkness shrouds lake grove in eerie gloom, the gentle people of my tribe return to gather round the shining hearth I tend with baskets of food they plucked in the woods, and cook grand feast for everyone to eat, faces flush with joy in glow of the fire. After they finish eating feast of hope, just as the full moon rises in black sky to gleam over distant hills thick with trees, young woman with owl eyes asks me to sing tale relating adventures of my youth, so I pluck strings of my turtle-shell lyre. I told you how the swift Argo was built, and name of each hero who joined our crew, so now I will relate how we arrived on rocky shore of Lemnos where we found daughter of Dionysus bearing wand wound with vines of grapes that dazed us with joy. Enchanting their attentive hearts with song, I recount how the women killed the men for sleeping with girls they kidnapped in raids, finish with moral that men should respect women who trust them to guard them with love, then they sleep as I hum soft lullabies.
Monday, June 17, 2024
Chaos Of Ambivalence
Chaos Of Ambivalence © Surazeus 2024 06 17 Alongside strangers on the road of life, together in comfortable solitude, I stretch my soul around the bulging world through multivalent forces of desire on shifting sand dunes of ambivalence to meet lonely nemesis of my heart. For every road I choose on quest of life I never walk ten thousand other roads where I will always meet success and doom, for where I fall on journey of my hope to ponder fortune of ambivalence makes no difference to the mindless sun. Hesitant to declare what fate I choose, I weigh options of grim indifference through performance my nature must express based on consequence from cause and effect because I protect my ambivalence when I interrogate the changing world. To inhabit contradictions of being, reflected in fluid mirror of love that flows from darkness of my psychic well, effaced by hand of mind-transforming wind, I unspool my faith through ambivalence which reconstitutes dream of my world view. With change my soul will crystallize in time by weaving memories of timeless hours in vibrant tapestry of wordless fear, revealed by dramatic scenes of intent that balance opposing ambivalence through state of simultaneous desires. Concealed by my intertwined double self, as creator and consumer of dreams, while forever searching Uncertainty for truth beyond knowledge I can perceive, I remain content with ambivalence that leads me into weird valley of ghosts. Because I cannot choose not to be me, assimilating truth with hungry eyes that devour darkness of sun-blazing love, I assert negation of why I am that buzzes my brain with ambivalence alive through shock of electric insight. To be or not to be is my true quest for, as I slog in quicksand of my heart through existential angst of honest faith, I dredge insight from murk of secret lust to answer chaos of ambivalence with quirky dance of wistful elegance.
Sunday, June 16, 2024
Specter Of Wealth
Specter Of Wealth © Surazeus 2024 06 16 I cannot stay in this house anymore, the old woman shouts at crows on phonelines, then tears pages from the Bible, and flings their hopes and lies at the dumpster of trash, eyes blazing with holy vision of death while families pass to eat in restaurants. Old man in short jeans and tattered blue shirt explains to ash tree outside the art store, I am great Tithonus, grandson of Ilus who founded fabulous city of Troy, then fishes crushed takeout tray from the trash to eat spaghetti while the river gleams. We can get married now in the white church, and raise three kids while you work at the bank, Eurydice hisses behind cupped hand at the old man who refuses to share spaghetti that splatters on hot cement when she grabs his arm till he stalks away. Shaking the Dead End sign with her left hand, Eurydice growls at the passing truck, my stuff keeps disappearing through the years, so I cannot remember who you are, then stomps across the street at the red light, asking no one, so which side are you on. Rocking back and forth as he swings his arms outside dirt-smudged window of First State Bank, that during the pandemic went bankrupt, Tithonus mutters at specter of wealth, I cannot save you from choices you make so give poisoned apple back to the snake. Trembling at sudden sight from door of time of the six-winged seraph with golden eyes, Eurydice sneers at the glorious light that radiates from Eye of Eternity while tearing concert poster off brick wall that shows her doppelganger Taylor Swift. Picking flowers in front of city hall, while singing snatches of old Beatles songs, Eurydice climbs over metal rail, and scrambles down steep bank of muddy rocks to wade in passion of the swirling flow, floating past people at the river park. Bearing drowned body of Eurydice from Oconee River with caring arms, Tithonus lays her under willow tree and tries to breathe breath of life in her mouth, but stares mute as she crumbles back to dust, then he falls asleep in alley by the church.
Familiar Spirit Of You
Familiar Spirit Of You © Surazeus 2024 06 16 Faint ghost I sense is slight trick of my brain which longs for presence of your absent soul whose vibrant energy signature glows as record programmed in my memory so I feel you approach as radiant form just outside perceptive range of my eyes. When long afternoon stretches in slow ache of sultry languidness through heavy hours, my conscious attention fades in dull haze that opens vistas of forgotten days decades gone now in our vanished world view, so I feel your ghost haunt my drowsy dream. My heart glows soft with sweet sorrow of joy to sense your presence in my wistful world, so I turn toward gleam of your eidolon with sudden flashing smile of smitten hope to embrace you again with empty arms, yet you vanish when I open my eyes. Startled by specter of your vanished being that radiates familiar spirit of you, I groan with sorrow when my open eyes dispel your ghost back to the underworld, which followed thrumming of Orphean lyre and leaves me alone in thick summer heat. Attempting once again to lure from Hell faceless phantom of your death-scattered soul, I fix fierce gaze of my compulsive cause to lead your soul with song of our desire, but when I turn around to see your face you dissipate at cry of my distrust. Closing my eyes again to find your soul, I float in undulating waves of heat that stretches me across ten million years so I become every ancestral soul who longed with heartache of nostalgic pain for apparition of the soul we love. Countless moments of longing for the dead, my ancestors performed with aching hearts in timeless afternoons of lonely faith, all merge in one scene on eternal stage where I play role commissioned by my muse to conjure your wraith with tale of our love. Spooked by beautiful ghost of your lost soul, which radiated from your body shell through emanation forged by chemicals, I play lyre of Orpheus with sore hands for each melodious verse of my song keeps you alive in vision of my mind.
Saturday, June 15, 2024
Puzzles Of Timeless Thought
Puzzles Of Timeless Thought © Surazeus 2024 06 15 Returning from underworld of my heart, I look at the upperworld of strange things without names that signify what they are from different angles of the curving light that turns me into the other I know, formed by geometry of timeless thought. Though sadness is the only boat I sail along frozen river of formless light where butterflies never move beyond fear, sense of displacement might soon separate my body from hour of conceptual death, measured by compassion of timeless thought. Snowflakes of random memories descend from faceless mirror of the silver sky to sparkle in hair of strangers I meet as they appear and disappear in dream of this real world where I shall wave and smile, discounted by reason of timeless thought. If I walk far enough on signless road, that always loops back to forgotten home, I will step outside great mask of my being to become all my ancestors who lived in houses they built, now vanished in dust, contrived by arrogance of timeless thought. Resilient purpose of my unplanned quest scatters nameless children in river vales who spring from my bones buried by the road that always leads them to the sea of words, because I choose to walk my secret way, aborted by despair of timeless thought. I never ask why roots sprout from my feet while I shroud ruins of cathedral halls where skeletons dance with crucified wings because I realize no gods live here in stone valley of hungry refugees, discarded by false hope of timeless thought. I tally every object I dream real in catalogs of fertile humanhood with rapturous wisdom of sad solitude that culminates in portrait of the mind more intimate than life stories we share, defined by mother tongue of timeless thought. I chart distant orb of the silver mask through which moon mother of the universe dreams our bodies awake in florid woods where we track footprints of our favorite ghosts in game of hide and seek we ever play, recorded by puzzles of timeless thought.
Friday, June 14, 2024
Safe In My World View
Safe In My World View © Surazeus 2024 06 14 The world view you are trying to present by pouring water in the fractured glass, that leaks fraught energy of sultry hope, accounts for nothing our brains comprehend through twisted logic of conceptual jazz that wails on hottest evening of the globe. Domestic problems of your daily life, composed of cutouts from old magazines, collage museum walls of modern art beyond sweet irony jokes could contrive to highlight idols lost in labyrinth who play as heroes of the avant-garde. Young boy and girl on ladder of the mind pretend to kiss in swirl of rainbow doors while no one watches from window of faith, so I crown Stella as my favorite saint who guides my soul to dark underworld source for fountains of vision where singers bathe. Since atoms form objective fact of things in random swirls of accidental shape, as temporary souls with conscious thought bound by frail flash of molecular links, I navigate with psychic astrolabe weird riddles of my World Upanishad. Assembled structure of this spinning sphere transforms in seething waves of constant change as we evolve from fish to mortal god so all we know will disappear from real through echoed mirrors of transcendent planes which I explore as verbal astronaut. So with snarky smirk of the Argonaut I give fruit of the serpent to Mad King who thinks his touch turns everything to gold, yet poison of his pride, he stole from God, will cause his ship of ambition to sink when I play Zeus to hurl just lightning bolt. Lounging on my porch, eating apricot that Kwan Yin gave me in her mountain grove, I ask the White Snake, princess of my heart, why nothing in this world is permanent, so she speaks to me as the ocean wave when she asks me to be the world lifeguard. I stand on Pyramid of the God-Eye and promise to all people of the Earth to make land of Camelot great again if they will vote for me as their Sky God, then invite them to shelter by my hearth, safe in my world view of the Atom Game.
Search For The Secret Code
Search For The Secret Code © Surazeus 2024 06 14 When you say all good things come to an end I fear falling rocks just around the bend, so I park my car by side of the road and search trees on hills for the secret code that might reveal the truth of love I fear till with breath of the sky my mind is clear. Because you are no longer by my side I have no reason now to try and hide heart-flashing rainbows after bitter rain that declare I have nothing more to gain, so I drive my car alone on country road, searching golden clouds for the secret code. Each red brick building in the city maze must be sign I approach my next life phase, but every window gleaming with the sun might hide the beautiful face of the one who understands strange mystery of the road I drive in my search for the secret code. With melancholy tune of simple folk, I sing to express concept of the woke, which lights the golden way to happiness, I accept fact that more is always less which makes no sense out on the lonely road where birds express faith of the secret code. Since I want to believe in something more sparking warmth of love from the iron core, I sit under oak tree on windy hill to meditate on passion of the will that conjures luck from fortune of the road while I compose book of the secret code. Orange butterflies that flutter from the moon explain to me why nothing is too soon because the same sun always rises gold with warning signs that urge me to be bold while driving anywhere on signless road since I may never find the secret code. I translate ancient songs of ocean waves to spells I carve on stones of hidden graves because most people live and die unknown though each spirit may animate their clone, so I scatter apple seeds by the road for the yet-born to find my secret code. Remember, even on the darkest days our open hearts will radiate loving rays as lamps of truth that glow for you to find when you search for world in dreams of your mind that shimmers somewhere on the open road with fruit gardens built from our secret code.
Thursday, June 13, 2024
I Want To Declare
I Want To Declare © Surazeus 2024 06 13 I want to declare the joy of my heart, but I forgot it on the apple cart that crumbles broken on the river shore along with old books of forgotten lore that keep no secrets I can buy in church, so I leave home on my desperate search. I want to declare the sorrow of rain that splashes in strange ocean of my brain when I stand casually on the steep cliff to translate stories of the hieroglyph that I once painted on the temple wall depicting god as grim majestic doll. I want to declare the angst of new faith that dispels haunting shadow of the wraith, so I live freely on this spinning globe, dressed in regal pride of my humble robe when I return to the vast city maze as prophet who rules the next social phase. I want to declare the grief of sunlight that gleams on grass at Eleusinian rite when sweet Persephone gives me her fruit while I play haunting tune on wolf-bone flute to prove why there is no life after death since all we can do is savor each breath. I want to declare the thrill of despair when I write hymn for each unanswered prayer programming how my brain perceives the real as if, when I dance long enough, I feel passion of hope electrify my soul with urgency to play the prophet role. I want to declare the mirth of respect, earned well when I define what to expect the hour my ship with tattooed sails comes in, laden with treasures I will need to win campaign to rule castle of singing skulls when I go mad and chat with hungry gulls. I want to declare the bliss of belief that fractures truth into puzzle of grief which I confuse for credibility, foolish enough to trust authority who runs the global religion cartel by selling lies to save our souls from Hell. I want to declare the true love we share when we journey home to Scarborough Fair by driving loan sharks from the temple bank when Odin tries to block the army tank in revolution that starts world war three in home of the brave and land of the free.
New Temple Of Pegasus
New Temple Of Pegasus © Surazeus 2024 06 13 When words collapse in shadows of my thoughts I search for Sibylla in golden cage who asks me to help save Jerusalem by building new Temple of Pegasus, but as we ride across the Rainbow Bridge her crystal tower crumbles into sand. As secret grandson of Remus the Shy, I am the werewolf everybody loves, so I sit with Juturna by her well and sing clever tales in Saturnian verse while women stand in line with water jars and gossip about the boy on the bridge. Silent in darkness of truth before dawn, I touch the stillness I can never touch till ghosts of all the mothers of my mothers, back thirty thousand years, teach me to sing with honest voice of the bottomless sea that shimmers as the blood cells in my veins. While people of today work at their jobs, plotting revolution in how they spend money on treasures found in ancient caves, I study the silver spoon in my hand which I received from sweet Armenian queen who calls my name for seven hundred years. In uncracked mirror shining on the wall I see face of Thamar gaze back at me, so I go swimming in the Caspian Sea where my ancestors lived in wagon trains forty thousand years of the last ice age, forever searching for the Promised Land. Adventists gather in the river park in Oregon in nineteen sixty-eight to sing hymns of worship to the Dream Ghost who sits on throne of light in apple grove and gives me quill to compose chronicle that details how he builds world empire state. Ancient empires that collapsed long ago still glow in hearts of their lost citizens who build on ruins of sweet memories global empire based on their fruitful faith when the cosmic herald maps their journey home to base new temple on the hill of skulls. The Scepter of Zambor, which I still hide behind the old guitar I used to play, vibrates with wordless energy of hope to defend this land where I make my home against invading hordes of angry men lead by the monarch hiding in my heart.
Wednesday, June 12, 2024
Killing People For Truth
Killing People For Truth © Surazeus 2024 06 12 Though my refrigerator does not know when the white-crowned sparrow of liberty will fly over Miluo River at dawn where weeping women throw handfuls of rice to honor Qu Yuan after he drowned, I will drink grape juice from valley of ghosts. If I vacation on the dark seashore this summer while wars are still going on, I might bring watermelons from sad fields where horses dream about the joyful wind before I decide on my next crusade to change how people perceive what is real. Since nobody else wants to compromise over who gets to eat fruit of the tree, I will climb up the last telephone pole to eat sourdough bread with strawberry jam while people talk about philosophy that provides guidelines for whom they may kill. Not scared about futility of life, I walk around the crowded theater to steal secret thoughts from minds of the blind who believe what the preacher says is real though nothing they say matches world I see which I assemble in puzzle of tales. Because the secretive river-gouged vales of the Grand Canyon plumb depths of my heart when I see it from the airplane of faith, I rend rocks into fissures with lament for fragile beauty of the lonely girl who vanished in clouds of the Upperworld. More enigmatic than the humming lute that wants to explain star intelligence, the moon-eyed owl on wall of paradise watches me perform role of the mad king who dances wildly on the windy plain to wake spirit of the stone in his heart. While our memories of the unseen past are preserved in paintings and photographs, we decide the end justifies the means, trapped by death wish of the apocalypse that never happens in two thousand years despite caws of crows on telephone lines. The same old stories in the news each day describe people killing people for truth, or nature killing with indifference, so I talk to the deer in my backyard about language the sea still teaches me when I choose not to invent reasons why.
Hymn Of World Peace
Hymn Of World Peace © Surazeus 2024 06 12 High on ruin-cluttered Palatine Hill, where Temple of Apollo once shown bright with sacrificial fires in moon-lit night, now cattle of Evander graze again as if wise son of Pythia never stood in columned hall to prophesy our fate. While strolling lawn of the National Mall, gazing at white dome of the Capitol, I see through mists of time centuries ago when honest leaders of Monacan tribes gathered in council on high flowered hill, discussing how to help their people thrive. Though senators and representatives, elected by people of fifty states, gather in sacred chambers of the law, they cannot hear the ancient prophesies that wise Apollo speaks through Pythia, deafened by sweet hiss of the Eden Snake. Though I have wandered far across this land on nameless roads from sea to shining sea, forever searching for the Promised Land, which my ancestors wagoned west to find, I keep the Holy Grail hidden in my heart that gleams in god-eye on the pyramid. Since sons of Jesus and Odin still reign as Plantagenet Presidents of America through Lion King William the Conqueror, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and Charlemagne, old empire of Romulus in new form shines bright from heartland of Gothinia. Commissioned by Minerva Liberty, who stands guard on top the Capitol dome to ensure all live free from slavery, cosmic herald walks across fruited plains to proclaim coming of messiah sleuth who maintains power of democracy. While wandering lost in Appalachian hills, far from Mount Takoma by Salish Sea where Ishtar gave me Quill of Prophecy, I hear enchanting voice of Onatah whose song beams bright before my hopeful eyes vision for United Nations of Earth. People walking to work in busy streets in every crowded city in the world stare annoyed at the old bearded madman who bangs rusty strings on broken guitar and howls in language no one understands hymn of world peace in cold indifferent rain.
Tuesday, June 11, 2024
Safe Home I Build
Safe Home I Build © Surazeus 2024 06 11 When Hector, fleet-footed hero of Troy, had the choice to hide behind high stone walls to protect his family and tribe from harm, he chose instead to fight bully of Greece and die with personal glory of pride, earning fame of triumph at hour of death. When Aeneas wore his armor and helmet, grasping sharp sword to fight invading horde, he chose instead to save his family by guiding them away from burning towers to sail across the Neptune-storming sea and build new home on lush Tiberian hills. When Turnus, bold-hearted hero of Latium, found out Lavinia, his childhood sweetheart, was promised as bride to the pirate thief, he chose to fight the invaders from Troy and die with personal glory of pride, earning fame of triumph at hour of death. Though Adam fled stone walls of Paradise when Eloh drove him out with flaming sword, instigated by Lilith, his new queen, he chose to explore the lush river shore and build new garden in the wilderness far outside empire where his father ruled. I feel ambitious spirit in my heart, programmed in my genes by victorious quests of my ancestors to crown themselves kings, urge me to campaign with justice for truth in bid to control functions of the state, yet I choose to stay home and draw world map. Instead of organizing noble gangs of brave warriors to oppose tyranny by killing bullies, enslavers, and thieves, to crown myself arbiter of good laws that manage empire of commercial peace, I choose to chronicle events of fate. Aeneas chose to build empire of law that maintains organized society where public citizens who create goods earn right to share communal wealth of love for glory of the nation they protect instead of personal glory at death. Alone on highway under silver clouds deep in the rocky Rainbow Mountain range, I travel east to find lost Roman home on the same road my fathers traveled west, because there is no Promised Land on Earth other than safe home I build for my family.
Monday, June 10, 2024
Sing To Unlearn Time
Sing To Unlearn Time © Surazeus 2024 06 10 Each day I wake I sing to unlearn time that blooms as flowers from my rotting corpse, so I drive my car on the country road that winds among fields of sun-golden wheat where ghosts of farmers wave as I drive by on my way to Heaven beyond the stars. I lie by the hearth of warm crackling flames and listen to sparrows in maple trees imitate love songs on the radio which always make tears flow out of my eyes to water fields where wheat sways in the wind that leads me down to the river of stars. Though my heart trembles with leaves in the trees I search everywhere and ask everyone where my beloved would go without me, but no one understands code words I slur, so I climb high mountains and swim deep seas, and fly to find them somewhere in the stars. Three graces in the temple by the sea spin sinews of my body from dark light so I become fraught landscape of my mind by dancing with illusion of the truth while holding thread of my existing soul till I become our planet among stars. Though I was born with happiness of faith that we are specks of dust in wind of time, I reach out to touch the eye-swirling moon, but all I grasp is ripe fruit in the tree that remains as evidence of my crime while I sort through words that fall from the stars. When I record the bitter consequence that results from actions my hands commit, strangers snatch words of sorrow from my mouth so I invent new language to express mysterious happiness searing my heart with eerie music from forgotten stars. I swim in suffering of forbidden lakes to catch fish of centuries as they pass while you spark warm fire inside ring of stones so we can roast rich wisdom of sad ghosts who hide our stories in unbroken stones that wait billions of years by sea of stars. With rhythm of triangulated thought I count birds on statues of long-dead gods to understand the secret of true love stolen by crows on telephone lines, determined to assert their right to live as souls generated by eyeless stars.
One Who Makes Us Free
One Who Makes Us Free © Surazeus 2024 06 10 Back to land of Remora I would go by slipping through door of the multiverse to live in timeline of our spinning globe where Remus, not Romulus, wins the race to determine who rules the Seven Hills where aged Ilia mourns in Pythian cage. In campaign to make America great wisdom is outwitted by greed for wealth, the one who speaks truth to power is spurned while the brute bully of rage is adored, and equal justice of objective law is wounded when the rich exploit the poor. When brothers from bloodline of Charlemagne compete to wear bright Crown of Liberty, the honest christ willing to sacrifice his life to make life good for every person is too often defeated by the traitor determined to found empire on his power. The noble institute of the good state that functions to benefit all the people requires no tyrant wearing mask of pride to maintain operations of fiscal growth, for the empire built on idol of power collapses in chaos of warring gangs. After Amulius kills Numitor to crown himself king of Albania, he forces his niece, Rhea Sylvia, to tend the sacred flame as vestal virgin to ensure she bears no threats to his power, but she escapes cold temple of his greed. Changing her name to Ilia, for Ilium, she seeks Venus in sacred grove of Mars, and asks for sanctuary from his power, so Goddess of Love leads her to safe cave where Alban princess, and her wolf-eyed son, raise twins sons who build Empire of Rome. As heir to ancient republic of Rome, that functions through votes of democracy, America hosts election campaign every four years for christ and anti-christ to balance forces of darkness and light that maintains cycle of perpetual growth. Conserving values of strong families, we progress with currents of social change to ensure equal rights for every person who works in teams to create, not destroy, so we vote for the one who makes us free against the one who would exploit our fears.
Sunday, June 9, 2024
Forth Into The Future
Forth Into The Future © Surazeus 2024 06 09 While driving along winding mountain road at midnight, headlights flashing pines bright gold, Kate brakes when white coffin for a small child appears in middle of her way, then steps from left-open door with cautious concern, alert to danger from shadows of fear. Memories of her new-born daughter, who died from heart disease before three months had passed, lying pale and lifeless in coffin bed as she was lowered in the flowered grave, flash across her eyes as she slowly leans down to touch coffin glowing in car beams. Trembling as she slowly opens its lid, painted with pastoral scene of young maid dancing as her shepherd lover plays flute under tall willow by clear sparkling stream, Kate pauses at expectation that strikes her heart with bitter hope to see her child. Beneath the lid she lifts with eager hand Kate sees bright red apple on white silk cloth, like the one Eve accepted from the Serpent, but, as one tear drops from her silver eye, that treacly fruit of temptation transforms into galaxy of atom-quick suns. Stepping backward, startled by sparkling hum of spinning disk, Kate gasps when it evolves into blue-eyed bushy-tailed fox that leaps with spritely zeal of exuberant joy three times around her on the mountain road, then stops and gazes deep into her soul. Deep in its vast cathedral abyss eyes, beyond bottomless potential for love, Kate dreams creation of the universe when the first flash of the big bang flares forth into neural network of galaxies with stars that nurture planets blooming life. After feeling her spirit expand huge as entire universe of the White Whole, that radiates from black hole of the God-Eye, Kate snaps awake inside her body shell, small flame of light that glows brief conscious hour through boundless shimmer of eternity. Amid intense glitter of icy fear, Kate feels warm flame of love flash into wings when spritely fox transforms into young girl with blue eyes and bouncing curls of red hair who smiles with joy, then whispers her true name as she turns and runs forth into the future.
Saturday, June 8, 2024
Idol Of Your Soul
Idol Of Your Soul © Surazeus 2024 06 08 Delectable contours of sensuous water define languorous shape my body seeks in placid densities of lacteal faith to transverse silence of sinuous grace with luminescent sorrow of desire, so I knock on your door and call your name. Interior flame of mental equity slithers with opal sheen of lustrous love deep in mercurial current of my heart with furtive expectation to acquire pure whiteness beaming from insurgent lust, so I open your door and whisper why. Upwelling surge of traceless arrogance buoys lascivious passion of my heart when I express amphibious agency to taste nutritious essence of wet earth based on transparent aura binding me, so I close your door and become the moon. Cadenced enchantment of my nubile mind expands from core of iridescent heart woven with silk matrices of respect through tepid pleasure piercing deathly gloom from unctuous love that reverberates, so I wrap shadow of your absent soul. Tactile concept spouting crystalline thought congeals reverberant atoms of hope in pulsing honeycomb that forms my soul as curious context of anointed goal migrating beyond boundaries names seal, so I play memories of us in my eyes. Framed fermentation of unsullied faith distills galactic light of singing souls from flustered grace binding feracious flesh that folds sensitive lubricity tight with thick atomic substance of god-light, so I reach out to touch mask of your face. Instilled with fragrant pungency of love that softens fierce anxiety I rein with fragile luster splayed in pulsing flow, my soul insists on feeling flustered fear that floats just under surface of dark lake, so I mold idol of your soul from words. Frantic as fragile butterfly of trust that clamors wordless howl of honesty, I pick ripe fruit from old black twisted tree, then pause and gaze at shimmer on the hill with hope to see flame of your soul return, so I wait by our window with lit lamp.
Butterfly Woman Of Hope
Butterfly Woman Of Hope © Surazeus 2024 06 08 With visceral agony of tangled words the woman in the television screen smokes thirty thousand cigarettes each day, but her baby never comes back to life, so she heats another bottle of milk and feeds it to the ghost who knows her name. After cold rain drenches the wind-blown hills, she steps on wood porch of her mobile home where children in swimming suits play in mud and laugh in the trash-cluttered trailer park where their parents in jean-shorts and tee-shirts barbecue hot dogs on smoke-rusty grills. Bright rainbow arching across the blue sky suffuses her senses with wordless thoughts, refreshing her soul with beautiful truth that pierces her heart with hope for the world which teems with nations of angry young men eager to kill for their Grand Fatherland. When the black butterfly of lunar light lands on back of her scarred hand in gold glow, the woman with short-cropped hair and red eyes swallows its spirit, so wings of desire writhe from her shoulders in heart-searing pain till she spreads them wide and floats off the ground. Gliding above trailer park of despair, butterfly woman of hope breathes in light that swells her heart with agony of love as she swoops and swirls among moon-white clouds above vast city maze of gleaming lights where millions of people never see Her. Spreading fingers of her hands, she extends millions of digits into beaming rays that shoot fervent needles of pious zeal to zap every evil man in the world who abuses the weak, women and children, in heart-blinding greed to control their lives. Landing on pyramid of the god-eye, butterfly woman of fanatic faith casts net of justice to capture the tyrant who dares to crown himself King of the Earth, and hurls King Midas in fire pit of Hell where he transforms into small croaking toad. With soul-shuddering horror of grim truth the woman in the television screen snaps awake from terrifying fugue state, alone in muddy field by the highway, hands and tattered dress covered with blood, so she laughs in flash of heart-cleansing rain.
Friday, June 7, 2024
Wise As Onatah
Wise As Onatah © Surazeus 2024 06 07 Casual as Lucifer strolling in Heaven, dressed in black pin-stripe suit from Italy, I transform into telescope-eyed raven to confound my opponents wittily in tense political chess game of power over who marries Princess in the Tower. Graceful as Mithra leaping on the bull, caped as crusader against tyranny, I wield Hermean wand and Orphean skull in fight to maintain world democracy against King Midas with the tiny hands who stomps around screaming selfish demands. Mad as Achilles sulking in his tent, embarrassed he had to yield to the king, I endure winter of our discontent while sewing feathers on Icarian wing so I can fly over global maze of myths to map network of fate-entangling paths. Sad as Odysseus stuck in fruit garden, trapped by doctrine for freedom of expression, I steal key of wealth from the corrupt warden to escape isle of romantic obsession, then sail across the wild Atlantic Ocean to the Holy Land where I drink love potion. Bold as Jesus in the crystal starship, crowned with Ring of Invisibility, I return to Earth to drive Sunset Strip and dance in nightclub of sterility, then walk in desert of the one-eyed snake where Death gives me slice of chocolate cake. Noble as Arthur with Excalibur, commissioned to lead new holy crusade, I shoot rockets I bought from Jupiter to bomb paradise lost in genocide so I can build Wonderland Park in Hell with magic runes Odin found in the well. Proud as Caesar leading army of ghosts, masked with the golden face of Hercules, I conquer Washington as Lord of Hosts on Hidden Dragon to rule lands and seas with nuclear sword of the atom bomb for all cruel tyrants end up in the tomb. Wise as Onatah planting fields of corn, endowed with divine beauty of the truth, I appear and blow the wall-toppling horn to announce coming of messiah sleuth prophesied by jokes of the cosmic herald who rules united nations of the world.
Thursday, June 6, 2024
Dreaming Eye-Machine
Dreaming Eye-Machine © Surazeus 2024 06 06 Though famous humans, who were loved as gods, have disappeared from hymns that people sing, their ghosts haunt stories we refuse to tell since they would traumatize our hearts again, so I stand outside locked door of the church and gaze at the moon that has never changed. Terrifying moments of shocking fear, when our ancestors barely evaded death, flash as visions in my mind all day long to energize secret morals that guide how I perform my role on stage of life each moment I wake in the farewell light. From stories that present their tragic loss I learn lessons that show cause and effect so I can avoid those mistakes they made as I navigate endless maze of myths where we all wander lost in fog of fears till I find weird secret of happiness. The gods of ancient heavens have all died, and fallen to the Earth on tattered wings, so I measure new curve of who I am that turns into the almost of my soul which I hide with mask I carve from the skull my first mother wore by the singing sea. I see all their lost faces in my face when I gaze in bright mirror of the moon that sends white raven of the midnight snow to give me mushroom from cavern of dreams which wakes every ancestor in my brain so I integrate them in One I Eye. The doorless room that frames my eager mind encloses spirals through infinity deep inside coils of countless dreaming eyes so I see what is real outside my head beyond illusion of these words I speak to buzz abundant spells of honesty. Astute conception blooming from my cells casts beams of sunlight into fluid waves so fish that change direction with one mind reflect how people in communities perform with zeitgeist of the puppeteer who paints reality as it appears. Now awake as the dreaming eye-machine, I assemble puzzle of words that weave fractal dimensions of eternity from fragments of frightening memories in global tapestry of psychic tropes which formulate how we describe the truth.
Glamorous Idol Of God
Glamorous Idol Of God © Surazeus 2024 06 05 The crowd of pilgrims in tattered white robes, who gave up all worldly goods and desires to join cult of the prophet in Dream Cave, walk circles around the dry well of skulls in dusty valley of ravens and snakes, and chant solemn hymns of faith in hot wind. Hot wind swirls down from rugged treeless hill, where lizards contemplate meaning of life, and blows black hat off head of one-eyed man who rides white horse among old temple ruins while watching shadows of ghosts in the woods whose eyes glitter gold as eye of the snake. Dismounting white horse before mountain cave where pilgrims kneel and pray in sultry heat, the one-eyed man carries large leather bag in cool shadow where the dream prophet sits and meditates like the toad on red mushroom with eyes that see beyond bright veil of stars. Opening leather bag, the one-eyed man presents the scroll, the dagger, and the grail, that he acquired from the old castle king who sits chained to his jeweled throne of power, so the prophet tosses purse of gold coins stamped with face of the dead fairy queen. After peeling orange with the dagger blade, the prophet squeezes sweet juice in the grail, then sips light of the sun that sparks his mind while he unrolls scroll with attentive care to read prophecies in Saturnian verse that Saturnus composed with dragon blood. Convinced the scroll contains in secret code location where gold and jewels are hid, which he could use to crown himself world king, the one-eyed man hurls with aggressive grunt sharp spear to kill the prophet, whose quick hand snatches the spear that quivers in the air. Gasping in panic to escape dark cave, the one-eyed man runs to his grazing horse, but the prophet leaps like elegant wolf to catch the thief who transforms into bat that flutters till he slices of its wings and throws it in abyss of nothingness. Chanting ancient spell of Saturnian verse, dream prophet expresses energy beams that reprogram how people of the world perceive play of historical events so glamorous idol of his spirit glows as god thousands of years after he dies.
Wednesday, June 5, 2024
When All Our Truths
When All Our Truths © Surazeus 2024 06 05 When all our boats have sunk into the sea and all our heroes work in factories, we rise in revolution of the gun to steal great glory of the eyeless sun so we lock our homes with computer keys and worship goddess of the honey bee. When all our planes have fallen from the sky and all our homes are blasted by your bombs, we gather in valley of broken bones to carve our names on law-forbidden stones so children pray for us in empty tombs, inventing religion to answer why. When all our holy books of truth are burned and all our gods are idols carved from stone, we sell our stories to the greedy king who feasts on our fruit while he makes us sing till I wake on Mount Takoma alone, coding riddles from secrets I have learned. When all our churches crumble into sand and all our doctrines are exposed as lies, we climb the Stairway to Heaven nowhere that leaves us hanging in the windy air, so, on leap of faith where Icarus flies, I soar high enough to map our strange land. When all our cars run out of gasoline and all our children rise up from the Earth, we climb high Pyramid of the God Eye, so, when I graduate from school as spy and find the lost Holy Grail of rebirth, I will marry daughter of Melusine. When all our horses gallop fruited plains and all our parents gamble with our fate, we name our new country for Onatah after fall of Empire America, so we enforce laws with justice we rate as equal for all when Liberty reigns. When all our bridges collapse from the weight of injustice for the rich and the poor, we fight civil war for freedom to live in commercial game based on take and give, reversing status of the psychic score to escape the trap triggered by the bait. When all our truths have fractured into shards and all our photos burned to swirling ash, we build new nation based on equal rights that binds all world races with holy rites to stock museums with cultural trash redefined as treasures by street-wise bards.
Tuesday, June 4, 2024
Eradicate Every Monarchy
Eradicate Every Monarchy © Surazeus 2024 06 04 If we choose to live our time in the sun by skipping sidewalk of absurdity the crazy spirit of the laughing gun may highlight absence of diversity so we hide our soul in the language game that redefines true meaning of our name. Yet when I voyage home to Cythera, free as the bird that dances in the sky, I hide my anguish through the cinema where I play role of the amorous spy to feast with crows on the myrtle-green isle so I can evolve from the crocodile. I see my image on the gallows tree so I decide to love this corpse of flesh that nurtures conscious state of my mind key since I incarnate soul of Gilgamesh in love with Venus and her curly hair as she descends the marble ballroom stair. I draw the ancient Sphinx on my world map because she pierces my stone heart with dread that helps my soul escape religious trap when I sail Lethe River with the dead through weird dimensions of eternity since I teach at no university. If we choose to play lost hour by the sea beyond bounds of the fractured window frame, the calm indifference of insanity designs my body in abyss of fame so I embrace dark shadow of my heart when I sell fruit from my rickety cart. Our empire coffined in its sacred myth provides foundation for our rise to power so I carve your face on the monolith that floats among stars with the honey flower despite our progress through democracy to eradicate every monarchy. Assembling puzzle of my new world view from fragments of broken theologies, I build new church from psychic residue that blooms in waste land as bureaucracies by which blind bankers corporatize the Earth when Death calculates what our love is worth. Surrounding castle of the sleeping queen with tangled hedge of the sweet briar rose, I redefine what words are thought to mean by imitating riddles of mad crows when I take off the mask of god I wear to reveal I am Artemis the Bear.
Stupidus The Clown
Stupidus The Clown © Surazeus 2024 06 04 I might disappear in the morning rain while walking through the forest of dead gods to play lyre and recite heroic tales in bright-lit feasting hall of the rich lord who gives loaves of bread to those who create hymns that praise the noble deeds he performs. Faceless mask on the television screen reveals the secret soul I try to hide while shielding my heart from arrows of hate hurled by harsh critics jealous of my skill when the playful dog of the curious girl pulls back curtain where I play puppeteer. While wearing mask of Stupidus the Clown, I stand before the brightly painted door and cry out to blithe people passing by prophecies about how all empires fall, so come inside Theater of the Absurd and watch our play of Zathamar the Weird. When lights on the ceiling and walls are dimmed flushed faces of the wealthy gaze with hope to watch performers wearing masks of gods perform the tale of how our nation-state blooms from wild woods of opportunity which justifies our right to rule this land. Then after all the clowns have pranced and sang with joyful bawdiness for fruitful love, from swirling curtain of solemnity steps Naevius with Campanian arrogance who chants, while Mercurius strums his lyre, epic poem that records the Punic War. With graceful rhythm of Saturnian verse, sung by the Fauns and Seers of ancient times who dwelled with Muses in the lofty crags, bold Naevius recounts how Roman warriors fought and defeated Carthaginian thieves to rule wine-dark waves of Middle-Earth Sea. Long after Roma and Britannia ruled empire they expanded around the globe, Zarathia now rules both sea and sky with aircraft carriers that launch warplanes to enforce Liberty with rule of law through our republican democracy. While sons of Jesus through Meroveus wield Scepter of Zambor in the White House, Stupidus the Clown hides in mountain cave to write prophecies on frail autumn leaves that blow away in hurricane of greed so I disappear in the morning rain.
Words From All The Dead
Words From All The Dead © Surazeus 2024 06 04 Flat on his back under the star-gold sky, the faceless soul inside my aching heart just feels the Earth spin slowly in the void while breathing gravity of naked stone that pulls him down toward center of the globe till he disintegrates to formless words. People are killing people in cruel wars in dozens of countries around the Earth, shooting bullets and bombs from metal tubes to blast bodies of strangers into words that dissipate in silence of mute wind so roots of trees and flowers drink their blood. People have been killing people in wars more than ten thousand years of history so mortal men who build empires on skulls declare themselves gods with power of death bestowed on them by the sun in the sky that bards record in legends built of words. My heart aches, for that killing never ends, and never will for ten thousand years more, so today I want to feast with my friends while deconstructing victorious lore, then I will scatter words from all the dead so children will sprout from their dragon teeth. Rising up from heaviness of despair, the faceless soul inside my pounding heart walks solemnly in woods of ancient myths where ghost of every person killed in war waits for me to record their tale in verse, so I sing to dispel mercurial curse. Climbing ten thousand years on winding trail to Parnassian grove on Takoma Mountain, I measure this land, sea to shining sea, to draw each road, paved by bones of the dead, my fathers blazed to find the Promised Land, while I map life of every human soul. Assembling each conceptual data point in puzzle to compose our new world view, I arrange thoughts in lines of magic spells that weave complex tapestry of our tale to form oneiric matrix of the mind from atoms that pulse in words I express. Removing mask of the bard from my face, after casting protective shield of light through spirit enchantment of holy spells, I return from Heaven Realm of Ideas to wake as mortal lump of fragile flesh till I disintegrate to singing dust.
Monday, June 3, 2024
White House That Floats
White House That Floats © Surazeus 2024 06 03 Gold house that floats above the hill of skulls gives doors to horses prancing by the lake so they write letters with typewriter tools that prove their new messiah king is fake because nothing he touches turns to gold yet they will not admit they have been fooled. Red house that floats beyond horizon hills steals windows from glass temple of the clown who mails alarming utility bills to scam old people who never left town since each morning all the streets have new names that honor gods who win Olympic games. Blue house that floats around the merry park drops secret keys that unlock program code composed by daughter of the morning lark who walks after morning rain down the road on quest to find the Holy Grail she lost till she returns home, married to his ghost. Green house that floats beside the sailing ship grabs screaming demons from the sea of fire, transforming them to humans with each clip that severs wings for angels in the choir who fly to Heaven castled in the sand where the blind raven maps the Holy Land. Pink house that floats below cathedral bells wears mask of Jupiter to dance on stage in theater where snake queens crawl from wells who write stories with blood on the dream page as if we hear the television sprite who preaches truth he gained with second sight. Mauve house that floats within soft desert dunes hurls desperate bombs at homes where children play because their faces are marked with blood runes since they will become terrorists someday so Jehovah kills them with thunder strikes before they are old enough to ride bikes. Black house that floats along the mountain stream sucks light of the White Whole into my brain though I see how the world ends in my dream, so I go out and stand in evening rain to feel strange beauty of this spinning globe embodied by Ishtar in jeweled robe. White house that floats throughout vast maze of myths beams radiant spirits from God Eye of my mind so I carve magic spells on monoliths describing how our Cosmos is designed by atoms swerving in dark void of faith to randomly generate my soul wraith.
This I That Is Not
This I That Is Not © Surazeus 2024 06 03 Through authenticity of the blank word this I that is not wears no perfect mask to hide strange content of the naked soul that writhes in mud as limbless serpent god who eats the agony of thoughtless hope because every author in the world dies. To counter thoughts no one admits they think this I that is not mixes tales from books through woven tissue of miswritten signs by stealing phrases from forgotten myths ransacked from dictionary of false jokes that conceal feelings in passionate lies. To play Silenus on the global stage this I that is not breaks from moral laws contained by stone-hard walls of paradise that melt to butter in black flames of hell which opens gate of honest arrogance so the writing subject may disappear. Through discourse of the social games we play this I that is not questions what is real when words in books reveal the secret code by which the faceless gods of hidden wealth control how we perceive the world of things so zombies worship vampires they admire. Through concept of the workman pair of boots this I that is not studies measured thoughts between latent essence of the inside, manifest appearance of the outside, and signified that alienates the mind from signifier of subatomic light. To erase the individual from faith this I that is not works in factories to build charisma of the mind machine based on romantic values of the heart sold to the highest bidder at the bank who sells it to the transcendental clown. To vote for prophet of the word discourse this I that is not argues for demise of transcendental ego from the world who will return on glorious clouds of fame to resurrect the dead from tales in books while the savior investigates each crime. Through shocking revelation of true love this I that is not dances in the rain while shooting shadows with rifle of rage when their fake messiah is crucified so we drive cars across the bridge of fate to work in glass towers of thought control.
Sunday, June 2, 2024
We Build New Home
We Build New Home © Surazeus 2024 06 02 I dance into strange dream of wind in trees that speaks with voices of the ancient ones whose faces in shadows appear to me with eyes blue-silver as the midnight moon that pulls me from dark silence of the sea so I too sing with language of her waves. Though I live far across the storming sea my spirit flies on wings of Icarus to the misty Carpathian Mountain range where I walk along rivers of my heart to find hearths of stone in wood feasting halls where my Sarmatian ancestors once lived. I follow footprints in the muddy shore to gaping cave now veiled with vines of grapes where bear-fur cape with feathers of the hawk lies draped on the table with silver grail while diamond-tipped oak wand leans on the wall, where I left them three thousand years ago. Holding skull of Zalmoxis in my hand, I hear chant of the Getae in dark woods as they dance wild from drinking snake-blood wine brewed by Sabazius with mushrooms in honey till Kybele appears from swirling smoke and sings mercurial wail of aching hope. After performing the bear dance all night, I climb winding trail among silent pines where ghosts of my ancestors wander still with voices whispering lost tales in the breeze, till I arrive in grove of apple trees where they would gather for the summer feast. Bathed in sunbeams from the silvery sky, face illuminated with light of faith, Scythia, wearing white gown and jeweled crown, turns to face me as I approach her hearth, so I bow to her with reverent awe for she is spirit of my ancient tribe. Though I live far away across the sea, distant from primal homeland of my heart where my ancestors lived on river shores fifty thousand years in valleys of fruit, spirits of Scythia and Sabazius still live in secret cavern of my heart. We cannot return to our primal homes, for we have wandered far across the Earth, moving ever forward life after life to pave road of hope with ancestral bones, so we build new home in land where we live, and we die as our children journey on.
Saturday, June 1, 2024
Energy Of Thought
Energy Of Thought © Surazeus 2024 06 01 Energy of thought that glows in the mind transforms my body into river boat so I sail down from mountain to the sea where ghost-waves undulate in swirl of stars at timeless moment something shifts in me when I become the name your eyes perceive. Rough waves upset my equilibrium that wakes my soul at bottom of the sea with urgent mission to transcend the gloom while swimming up toward gold eye of the sun that beckons me to rise and walk the Earth so I confess I am the wave of light. Unsteady spin of Earth in starless void knocks me about when I walk in deep tide on two legs upright from my fearful crouch forever climbing long lush river shore till I stand on the highest mountain peak and stretch my arms to pray they become wings. Glare of sunlight dawning on mountain ridge hurts my wide eyes with sudden truth I fear because the distant horizon of faith always gleams far beyond the road I blaze with every step I plant on quaking Earth that keeps on rolling away from my force. Heart-aching tone of wind in bamboo pipes wails soft with haunting melody of hope as I keep walking hundred thousand years life after life incarnating my old soul when I chase the sun east to sea of birth then chase it west to find out where it dies. The road goes ever on beyond my dream so I follow it from door of my heart because to find out where the sun is born I leave behind each home my fathers build and build ten thousand more on river shores where bones of my mothers compose the Earth. To return to first home my mind creates I walk the world from sea to shining sea till I arrive in valley of fruit trees where my first mother sang first song of love that died to wake inside ache of my heart as light that guides me to my brave new world. To wake my true self from egg of my heart I walk away from home where I was born and map the waste land of terrible fear then climb high mountain where the Muse of truth teaches me how to sing dream of my mind till I return to energy of thought.
Seven Warrior Maidens
Seven Warrior Maidens © Surazeus 2024 06 01 When I hear sounds of laughter in the woods while walking in mist of Broceliande, I disguise myself with cloak of bear skin and, like Pentheus, hide in the oak tree to watch the Bacchae drink wine as they dance, but all I see are seven warrior maidens. Around large round table by stone hearth I see Artemis, Minerva, Athena, Chariclea, Camilla, Bradamante, and Clorinda, all dressed in long white gowns, wearing gold crowns, each with one different gem, and bearing brass scepters with diamond tips. Catching sight of me hidden in the oak, Athena leaps through the air in high arch, grips scruff of my bear-fur cloak, hauls me down, and forces me to kneel before their eyes, so I declare that I am no berserker, for I am Orpheus, then show my lyre. Laughing that she would rather meet this bear, than some man who would rape her, in the woods, Clorinda pulls bear-face hood off my head, which exposes me as the foolish bard who dares spy on their council in disguise, and pinches my cheek with sarcastic grin. Strumming strings of my oak lyre, I recite riddle to warn them that danger will come, when seven pards gather in apple grove thirty fierce wolves sent by the lion king will capture them to be his concubines, for he intends to make them bear his sons. With cautious attention their eyes flash bright as they solve meaning of my clever riddle, then leap into trees on fluttering capes as thirty warriors wearing wolf-skin robes invade their grove with nets to capture them, escaping snares on wings of liberty. Conducting battle with scepters of justice, seven warrior maidens in graceful dance defeat men who try to enslave their souls as they twirl scepters with diamond tips that crack their skulls, till they all run away, leaving those brave women free to rejoice. Accepting grail of wine from Chariclea, I explain I heard the wolf captain boast of his intent to capture them as slaves, so, since they give women power to choose, I came to help them keep their liberty, then lead them to temple of enslaved girls.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)