Accidents Of Natural Change © Surazeus 2024 12 10 With the walking cane made of dragon bone I will traverse the mountain of the world to stand beside the ancient twisted tree and feel wild clouds burning sorrow from me, but back home by the hearth the cat lies curled as I explore dark lands of dreams alone. When I am on the signless road of hope somewhere far beyond the last city zone I will gaze into the bright pool at me feet and ask ghost of my father why cold sleet stings my heart with knowledge of the star stone that leads me ever higher up the slope. While we are accidents of natural change, evolving by chance from sparkles of light that float with careless passion in the sea, I push against the wind of what is free to test bound limitations of the right that leaves me laughing on the Texas range. Though darkness hovers over me with wings reflecting all that happens on the Earth, I choose to not participate in games men fight for power of celestial names, imagined puzzle of the fractured worth richer than wisdom of lost magic rings. Desire for pleasure hidden in wet soil still motivates my tending fields of flowers, concealing silent rage in songs of birds who steal fruit seeds arranged as haughty words so I decide to build ten thousand towers which imitate code from genetic coil. Time would leave me stranded on the peak of every mountain I have dared to climb since heart-broken witch on the radio waits for me on her palace patio, so I emerge from her pool with sweet lime that proves I am the one she wants to seek. The wood stork at the Homosassa Springs asks me if I remember scriptural truth regarding laws for how the king behaves, so I tour nightclubs in huge ocean caves, performing shows as sly messiah sleuth guarded by the concept of angel wings. Living in forest of ten thousand trees, I find the special mask of fate you wore beneath the giant fractured skull of god, which explains why I joined the justice squad, but now I work at the small-town book store recording wrong lyrics for rhapsodies.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Tuesday, December 10, 2024
Accidents Of Natural Change
Born For The Spotlight
Born For The Spotlight © Surazeus 2024 12 10 She keeps abandoning herself to sorrow to dance with joyful passion in the rain as she sings, "I was born for the spotlight," then curls into soft terror of tomorrow, swallows random pills to mitigate pain, and floats alone in namelessness of night. She applies pink lipstick to hide her misery, then bursts into the room with skillful rage of confidence in gray suit and red scarf to berate the harried staff for mistakes that could cost the company monthly profits, then struts off when the director shouts, "Cut!" She hides her star-bright eyes behind sunglasses while lurking in the crowded shopping mall, but someone recognizes her star aura, and soon excited fans corner the actress like pack of wild dogs the elegant vixen, so she panics and flees in thin high heels. She peers squinting in glare of the spotlight that shields her fragile soul from adoration, then steps forward with invisible crown and asseverates, "Yet do I fear your nature, much too full of the milk of human kindness," then steps back and tries to make herself air. She glares at his back when he turns away, and gasps with despair, "So you run again, escaping, as you sneer, the harridan, for I always seem to change with each day, another stranger wearing my old face," then turns, knowing he will not come embrace her. She cradles the little girl in her arms, staring shocked at her sweet innocent face smudged with ash and gashed by bomb-blasted brick, then sobs with despair as light of her soul dissipates into haze of helpless love, and keeps weeping after the scene is done. She reads lines of poetry from the book "Deathless Mother" that swirl in harmony with ocean waves curling around her feet, then grins wryly, "It appears I will never find the real me behind the masks I wear, for I have become every role I played." She keeps finding herself in dreams of horror, running through the maze of theater halls, as she sings, "I was born for the spotlight," then stares at her real unself in the mirror, framed posters of her movies on stained walls, and floats with us in namelessness of light.
Function Of My Brain
Function Of My Brain © Surazeus 2024 12 10 Geared contraption of flexible syntax traps fluid concepts in receptive words I advance to express amorphous flash of feelings based on sharp analysis my brain contrives by puzzling random facts in cosmic theory I assign to life. My genes gather atomic energy of flashing atoms to weave neural net of memory nodes in galactic-shaped brain which conjures virtual world of conscious mind aware of itself as immortal god contained in temporary mortal man. This conscious mind unique to my one brain is function fueled by flashing molecules which generates vision in whole world view organizing objects in framed landscape so I am subject that perceives my world of changing bodies within changeless scope. As long as chemicals of flowing change fuel conscious mind with sense of unique self, my body glows with animating soul, asserting right to live with clever strength, but when body functions deteriorate my consciousness to nothing dissipates. My conscious mind-soul vanishes at death because it is no more than glowing field which emanates from function of my brain, and, though I wish my soul could incarnate in other bodies to continue life, I must accept that I will disappear. When people perform memorable deeds in tune with intense flow of energy which cause effects of social solvency, their face implants its features in our minds to stamp its vibrant personality on mindless idol conjured by our brains. Some people create divine characters through consequential actions of desire, so, though their body dies and soul dissolves in that permanent vanishment of death, ghost of their being remains clear in our minds and gains immortal state in tales we share. When our body dies, our conscious mind dies, and our animating soul dissipates, but memory of our being set by our life remains as trope signified by our name, yet when the sun expands to swallow Earth all our myths of gods vanish into dust.
Singing On The Porch
Singing On The Porch © Surazeus 2024 12 10 Only the sun comes to listen at dawn, gleaming at me on porch of the old house, where I like to stand in cool drifting mist and sing about the beauty of this world written in the faces of people I know who never hear me sing about their light. People like to comfort their broken hearts by quoting that light gets in through the cracks, and so divine beauty fills up our world, yet I want to quibble with this nonsense, for all I hear when rain patters the roof is tears of souls who cannot mend themselves. Young woman who is mother to the lost bakes apple pies for wanderers passing by, who sit a while on porch of our old house and listen to me sing about the light, then wave their hands as they walk down the road to become ghosts who haunt long afternoons. Love is no abstraction of the wild bird that flutters wings with arrogant disdain at any who attempts to cage their flight, so I explore the world beneath the grass to hear the song of water in the soil which I sing again alone on the porch. The porch of this old house is my world stage for though I travel all around the world, singing on thousands of stages at night to ghostly faces half lit by brave stars, I remain alone on porch of my house with only birds and turtles hearing me. My mother tells me with bright cheerful voice light of the universe shines through my heart when I sing brightly to the lightless world, but I feel empty as the hungry sea so I eat apple pie on empty porch while birds sing to me about secret love. Wild boy who hides inside the willow tree runs away when I call his secret name, and though I walk all over our small town I never see him anywhere again, so I map the world where he might now be, my honey bee too shy to marry me. Returning to the porch of my old house, after four decades traveling the world, I stand alone in late afternoon light and sing till the young boy appears again, but he grows old when I reach out my hand to hold his cute doll in my trembling heart.
Monday, December 9, 2024
Anthem Of Patriotic Faith
Anthem Of Patriotic Faith © Surazeus 2024 12 09 The patriot and the nationalist both love land where they live with opposite intent of conceptual approach, one to respect social system designed to provide power for every person to fulfill their dreams, the other to exploit the poor for wealth. I want to love the people of my land who share ancestors of my tangled genes as common explorers from distant lands searching for new paradise free from greed of men who exploited our hope for wealth, but they want to drive newcomers away. Because we stole this new fertile land first and built empire to protect paradise, we band together with weapons of faith, but invaders drove us across the sea where we have lived free several centuries till our own leaders exploit us for wealth. I want to sing with heart-swelling respect admiring anthem of patriotic faith as we assert our right to dwell in peace, but fervor to conquer neighboring lands and assimilate their wealth in our game disregards sovereignty of our self-rule. We escaped oppression of monarchy, and have lived with justice and liberty as colleagues in our strong democracy, but rich men contrive to bend federal laws that favor their control of our weak lives with their corrupt oligarchy of greed. As patriot loyal with honest heart to democracy, based on liberty and equal justice for each citizen, I will fight to preserve our way of life against the tyrant and his gang of thieves who mutiny to steal our Ship of State. Old system of oppression wrecks itself on jagged sin of racist arrogance that cracks privilege of the wealthy elite to free marginalized communities with noble mission to construct with faith new system where all are equal in law. With heart inspired by principle of freedom, I perform role of the honest patriot instead of the deceptive nationalist as we unite against dictatorship, pledging allegiance to the flag, not man, when we rebuild our free democracy.
Moral Clock Of Respect
Moral Clock Of Respect © Surazeus 2024 12 09 I keep turning away from Mirror Mind with vain hope this crazy timeline may change if I adjust moral clock of respect to favor reign of Justice wielding truth, but time keeps flipping back off track of fate and leaves us stranded in this horror show. I want to compile in new global book prophecies every poet in black cloak has written with blood on museum walls dating when Minerva leads our crusade to hurl cruel tyrant from the judgment throne, and free women from shackles of male law. Two roads diverging in dark woods of war appear to lead our way to different fates, but I see one result at end of both where vile gangsters imprison Liberty so their false messiah with gun of rage oppresses people of America. From crowded maze of city streets I run to find bright meadow where butterflies dance carefree along shore of the River Styx so I could proclaim with wise confidence new age of fair justice applied to all, but loud clouds of tyranny blank my voice. No matter how I apply calm intent with fragile courage of the hopeful fool to readjust moral clock of respect, so Fortune favors bold sincerity aligning timeline on straight track of truth, hostile men strike to control how we think. Distorting truth of honest sentiment back-twisted by brute repetitive lies, fierce minions of the tyrant falsely frame good intentions of justice warriors to brazenly obstruct programs that aid normal people with support of the law. Though we confirm our souls with self-control, strengthened by liberty within the law, we stumble disconcerted by foul lies hazing objective goal our hearts aspire in plot to misdirect creative force of our attention to build new world view. I keep returning back to Mirror Mind with resilient faith that Justice prevails as we attend to clandestine programs designed to straighten with legal respect correct timeline where Justice reigns with faith to preserve state of our democracy.
Aminah Sings Again
Aminah Sings Again © Surazeus 2024 12 09 When I climb up in the sycamore tree, I wonder as I watch the people cheer if the rebel who overthrew the king will call me to share supper at his house where we will discuss, while eating roast lamb, how to build a social system that is fair. Women freed from prisons by cheering crowds wander lost in strange world of liberty after too many years locked in dark cells, eyes blurred with tears as they gaze at the sky blue with excessive beauty of despair, and breathe deep shocking energy of hope. Frail and hungry from years without good food, Aminah lingers near hard prison wall, afraid to venture from shadow of fear, but stares numb when three vibrant teenage girls embrace her fragile soul with caring arms, and call her mother as they drown in tears. Reaching hand out slowly from sunless cell where her withered heart still trembles in fear, Aminah whispers name of each small child who grew to women since she saw them last, but numb from sorrow in the bitter cage she finds no tears to weep, so she just smiles. Riding with her three daughters in small car, Aminah smiles with strange vision of joy to see sunlight gleam over distant hills, flickering in leaves of wind-happy trees, then flash on Queig River with tears of hope which swells great as thunder inside her heart. Sitting in fruit garden behind their home, dressed in clean thob embroidered with date palms, Aminah drinks water drawn from the well now draped with branches of tall jasmine trees, remembering how she planted their small seeds in soil of her heart when her girls were small. Gasping with delight of forgotten faith, Aminah holds her qanbus with eager hands, tunes and strums each thin string in harmony with ancient passion of her desert heart, then plays sweet heart-enchanting muwashshah while singing lament of her long lost love. When I climb up in the sycamore tree, I rejoice as I watch barn swallows swoop that Aminah sings again with bright joy, then I weep for all the years that she lost while her babies have grown into young women who dance around her now with ecstasy.
Wow Factor Of Poetry
Wow Factor Of Poetry © Surazeus 2024 12 09 If I calculate the Wow Factor times Positivity Array through straight light of hungry thoughts, I find this formula equals Negative Capability consistent with expansive state of faith by which I substantiate truth with lies. The Wow Factor is special quality highlighting unique feature that forms state of beauty essential to being of objects, which activates in our perceptive hearts admiration for its inherent charm exciting respect that this thing exists. The Positivity Array is verse presenting concepts in word sentences with data structure that stores ideal forms as collections of mental elements aligned in contiguous memory nodes framed as personality tropes in gods. Therefore Negative Capability is human ability to embrace uncertain mysteries of the universe with joyful acceptance of the Unknown through capacity to pursue ideals of sublime perfection in natural beauty. As human clothed in white rational robe of our grand celestial civilization, I am tempted with tense hope to prefer philosophical certainty of truth over wild fantastic beauty of fear through blaze of fierce creative energy. Attacked by monsters of hungry despair, embodied by carnivorous lawless men, I search for secure haven of calm peace enclosed with firm walls of philosophy, so I organize facts with measured reason to help me predict all future events. Safe in Penetralium of secure faith, I build strong foundation of my world view based on facts I will verify as true, then beyond walls of knowledge venture forth to investigate vast Mysterium with light of doubt guiding my curious search. Based on Negative Capability, I construct Positivity Array composed of sociological tropes to conjure virtual model of the world that shines with beauty of uncertainty sparkling with Wow Factor of Poetry.
Sunday, December 8, 2024
If The Ocean Wants
If The Ocean Wants © Surazeus 2024 12 08 If the ocean wants to swallow my heart I can read the new nature magazine while I wait for it to process my thoughts so I know how to feel about the death innocent people suffer every day, then I can eat ice cream near the town park. The trees that line the mid-town avenue glitter with bright lights for the holiday when people enjoy subdued festive mood in tandem with exploding concept bombs contained by christmas packages entwined with ribbons tied into elaborate quips. No names are written on the present tags so anyone can choose the box they want which will always contain what they need most though the ocean has swallowed all our hearts when whales regurgitate on patios unwanted prophets of the pleistocene. The most important movie in the world is always showing at the theater still owned by the only Armenian who has ever lived in our fishing town, so everyone goes to see it again then walk away with their wings of desire. I keep finding my glasses on the ground so I put them on my face to perceive shadows of existence behind facade of each material object I must name to classify its form on list of ghosts who always hang around the empty church. Dictators who oppress the citizens who demand their right to read fairy tales will always fall when rebels storm the hall where they lived in luxury of despair while the people had to eat old canned fish that only tastes sapid with ketchup sauce. When I get lost among the tourist stalls lining narrow streets from the sandy beach I ask the eurasian golden oriole, who stares at me with kohl-lined eyes of Ptah, for the way to get to Sesame Street, then we skip together on the railroad tracks. Since the ocean wants to swallow my heart I throw everything I own in her waves, including all the family photographs that we kept organized in picture books after four generations of rebirth till I have stripped away all that I am.
Great Speech Of Sophistry
Great Speech Of Sophistry © Surazeus 2024 12 08 The past is the fiction of memory, the future is the fiction of desire, while the present moment of timelessness is the fiction of sensory perception, all of which I package in this neat spell I sing while strumming lyre of Mercury. I wander nowhere by the moaning sea till Fame appears from waves of ecstasy and offers two items, bidding me choose heart-warming Robe of Sorrow in the truth or head-shining Crown of Fame in the world, so I choose the robe, and keep on alone. Discontent with the mystery of existence, I struggle numb against skeptical winds to strain up towering mountain of faith in vain effort of breathless fantasy for unattainable beauty of truth that blinds my eyes with sunlight of true love. While still alive in fragile frame of flesh I rise from mortal hull of this vast world as singing ghost of cosmic unity to praise connected matrix of our minds which manifest divinity of atoms in these organic bodies with weird brains. As four-legged creature walking upright with stiff procedure of quaint discipline, I am but one small fly of buzzing song on maiden face of Earth whose stormy hand brushes entire cities into the sea with casual indifference of respect. Feeling immortally omniscient as God inside the fragile eggshell of my skull, I glow with confidence of conscious joy that I know secrets of divinity since I embody energy of stars in temporary dream-flame of my brain. All day I gaze out at this teeming world less organized or fair than my vast brain big enough to contain brave multitudes of souls who chase elusive butterfly of knowledge that leads us trapped in the maze of national religious ideologies. Stuck at dead-end of patriotic faith, lost in maze of the American Empire, Balder reaches out his hand from the stage to proclaim some great speech of sophistry, but falters from spasmodic ecstasy, and laughs at postmodern absurdity.
Exiled From Their Heavens
Exiled From Their Heavens © Surazeus 2024 12 08 Every day I eat with you I know why those couples on Etruscan tombs still smile even after we translate ancient texts that list the number of cows in their fields and how many trees of apples they own, so I give you honey to show my love. With bootless cries to deaf clouds in the sky, I wander barefoot on the signless road to catch the thieves who hit me on the head and stole my wagon with barrels of fruit, but gate of Heaven remains closed to me, disgraced by Fortune who mocks my weak state. From sullen Earth of sorrow I still rise with flash of dawnless hope in my cold heart to wait all day outside the crowded court where Justice judges cases till sunset, so I decide instead of cruel revenge I will harvest wheat from my broken heart. Lost in dark forest of terrible wealth, I twirl sling of David to hurl the rock of cruel sincerity, which kills the ghoul whose cavern is filled with jewels and bones, so I gather treasures of their lost hopes and sell them to housewives outside the gate. Grasping the serpent just below its jaws with sharp teeth gleaming with poisonous faith, I dance around clay tablet soaked with blood that details deed of family ownership how my grandfather bought land by the lake, now claimed by third son of the minister. In every prosperous age of every empire greedy men exercise official power to steal fertile land from hard-working farmers, or claim orchards of fruit trees as their own, leaving helpless men exiled from their heavens they had created with their honest hands. Though blind-folded to objectively rule in favor of the honest righteous man, Justice just as often fails to correct cases where the wealthy steal from the poor because our social system judges them more worthy to control the fertile land. When social systems function properly men motivated by Justice and right work as police and lawyers to right wrongs, but when the system favors the rich first we rise in revolution against greed and follow Liberty to fight the power.
Restore World Democracy
Restore World Democracy © Surazeus 2024 12 08 First I lay down gold flash of panel light to base foundation supporting each thought, then build progressive principle of flight with structures blossoming from psychic naught to create the White Whole from Zero Eye existing within framework of the Why. Awake before first glimmer of red dawn, aware I still exist in mortal form, I laugh every king began as the pawn who managed to survive fierce social storm through clever calculation of the truth, transforming from fool to messiah sleuth. Not quite important as the Holy Book recording tales of heroes fooling God, my Book of Jesters in love with the Cook detail their journey as the Justice Squad fighting against thief-kings of tyranny to maintain progress of democracy. Though I am Nobody mapping the world with time-animated atlas of faith, I proclaim coming of the cosmic herald who channels wisdom of the global wraith to enlighten humanity with hope that together we help each other cope. The loss of each good person I adore who stumbles and falls from the road of fate tears at my heart that they are here no more, lost before we attain the city gate, so I carve their names on the temple wall in cascade of souls down the waterfall. No charismatic savior of mankind, I record chronicle of world events to analyze religion Death designed converting saints from bitter malcontents who grasp for power with fake hand of gold as crown of wisdom has been bought and sold. Alone in Garden of Gethsemane, among lush apple trees on summer eve, I hear sweet songs of nightingales that key conceptual code of beauty when we grieve unchanging beauty on the Grecian urn while cities bombed in wars collapse and burn. From nothing of despair and honesty I build virtual world that imitates Earth through grandiose epic of philosophy for Academia to gain second birth from bankers who enslave humanity so we can restore world democracy.
Saturday, December 7, 2024
Tell Them I Met Jesus
Tell Them I Met Jesus © Surazeus 2024 12 07 The white cat darts through shadows of my fears so I follow her leap through open gate draped with eglantine by the country lane where I stop startled at demonic growl which swells louder than a dragon would roar when a horseless carriage zooms past my house. Three horses on the gently sloping hill race with the car along the winding road till that swift time machine puffs into air and vanishes from windless fields of corn, so I ask the raven on the tree stump to explicate that chariot of fire. Leaning against the chestnut tree, I chew on stalk of wheat with curiosity while recalling how that chariot sped faster than the fastest horse I saw run, then I remember in the Holy Book some strange passage my grandfather had read. While robed in black at podium of the truth my grandfather, old revered minister, read passage from book of Ezekiel describing grand Chariot of the Lord with four yellow-jeweled wheels spinning flames around sapphire bowl flashing deity. At clear epiphany that time machine I saw speed faster than the fastest horse is chariot of fire Ezekiel described, I feel electric shock of timeless truth that Jesus God has come to Earth again and drove right past my house in Idaho. When I hear roar from the chariot of fire swell again with sapphire flash of divine truth, I stand in middle of the country road and force Jesus God to stop at my house, then feel my heart pound with reverent awe when a man in a pinstripe suit steps out. Puffing fat cigar as he strides toward me, the man peers at me under black fedora, then presses pistol at my chest and grins, asking me why I obstructed his drive, then his girlfriend in slender yellow dress asks Clyde if I have apples they can eat. After Bonnie and Clyde eat apple pies, and drink hot coffee with sugar and wine, they give me wad of hundred dollar bills then speed away into the golden hills, yet when police ask if I saw the pair I tell them I met Jesus and his Bride.
Lush Hills Of Ireland
Lush Hills Of Ireland © Surazeus 2024 12 07 Lush hills of Ireland shimmer in my dreams though I sailed away three centuries ago to escape the thief on the prancing horse who claimed the land of my fathers as his, and though I live four thousand miles west now I hear them call me to come home again. That misty island in the silver sea where my ancestors lived ten thousand years has never changed with spinning of the Earth though people come and go as swarms of bees so strangers claim lush land that long was mine where soil is made from my ancestral bones. I hear strange music in the silent night, heart-leaping luminance of Uillean pipes, soul-enchanting radiance of Celtic harps, and mind-winding flash of the bright banjo, bound by the bodhran drumming wild sea waves, eerie melodies in my helpless dreams. Wild music of lush flowery fairy glens, which sparkle bright with rainbows after showers, inspires my heart with energy of love to view this world, no matter where I dwell, as radiant paradise where magic sprites inhabit mortal bodies with star souls. Though I left Ireland centuries ago wild spirit of her river-flashing vales has never left the landscape of my heart, so I forever play in fairy land our Emerald Isle has mapped into my soul with wingless gambol in deep sunlit glades. Though I hear Ireland call me to her shores, sad spirit of nostalgia haunting me with visions of carefree joy in flowered glades, I know I cannot ever go backward, for I would wander stuck in Neverland through endless loop of stuttered misery. Instead of backward to that shining isle, sweet paradise of long-lost fantasy, I must move forward on the signless road of rugged fortitude I barely see appear before my feet in mirror mist with each brave step of faith in destiny. Lush hills of Ireland shimmer in my dreams, imbuing land where I live now with glamor of timeless beauty shining from my heart, so this land where I dwell now is my home, land where my children play with carefree hope in fate they map on their own signless road.
White Wolf Clan
White Wolf Clan © Surazeus 2024 12 07 Drinking from punctured bark of Yggdrasil blood of my ancestors in spirit juice, I crawl from bog of dark subconscious hopes to dance with lightning flashing from rain clouds and sing electric beauty of the soul wild with bright inspiration of true love. Dressed in pants and cloak I sewed from wolf fur, with shells and bones from animals I ate, clumps of herbs woven with web of grape vines, and decked with feathers of ravens and swans, I wear wood mask carved to resemble face of my father, the fierce mountain wolf-man. Twirling magic wand of polished oak wood, fixed with sharp diamond gleaming at its tip, I dance wide spirals on high pyramid of stone blocks heaped above the river plain while hundreds of tribes in our White Wolf Clan gather for our midsummer festival. Young shaman warrior racing on the shore shouts challenge to my god authority, so crowd of tribesmen shaking shells of stones part wide path as he leaps up pyramid and swings magic wand hard to crush my skull, but I dodge blow and counter strike his chest. With blows that clang as loud as lightning strikes, in graceful leaps of wolf-aggressive force, which match harsh rumble of the crackling storm fierce as cold wind that whips our long hair wild with thrashing whirl of world-tree Yggdrasil, we battle for who reigns as Odin god. Swift crippling blow that breaks his sturdy leg disqualifies that young eager wolf-boy who writhes in agony as I stand tall, still strong through bold security of wit to reign another cycle as Wolf God, so I howl as the tribe cheers my success. Dawn gleams in eyes of beautiful young maids, decked in white linen gowns and wolf-fur cloaks, and crowned with coronets of flowered vines, as I meet each candidate who desires to reign as wise queen mother of our tribe, willing to bear children of our bound hearts. Entranced with sparkle of wit in clear eyes, I choose tall woman with long flowing hair by reaching out my hand which she accepts, then together we climb hill of the sun to stand beneath sheltering Yggdrasil and host summer feast of our White Wolf Clan.
Dream Of Our World
Dream Of Our World © Surazeus 2024 12 07 Every morning before the crack of dawn I must rise at the sunless hour of five to shower and prepare my mental mask in order to avoid with agile hope my mind getting stuck in the last dream loop designed by my subconscious state of faith. My mind gets stuck in dream loop of respect where I ascend on wingless breath of hope to enter values in network of roads so I calculate sociological force framed to advance psychological growth based on landscape of conceptual esteem. Each fractal structure which unravels space, outwinding admiration through wide bounds, contains specific features painting clear composite aspect of ancestral worth imbued with atmosphere of psychic glow which formulates how I perceive the world. The rugged mountains my forefathers climb, to explore celestial realm of desire supporting humble church of holy thought, retains unchanging meadow of insight where lessons learned from bright epiphanies program cautious approach I take to life. The neatly organized maze of town roads, cluttered with various buildings of resolve, where my foremothers search with tense respect for safe haven to study human history, extends objective signs of shifting paths for plotting pointless possibilities. Forever searching for the somewhere class, where faceless teachers encode secret tales with cryptic puzzles I still hope to solve, I journey forward on the changing road that loops round reasonable return of fact encased in symbols which negate the lie. Each endless cycle of the whirling clock designs new purpose for the same old quest to battle dragon in Illusion Cave and save humanity from hungry hope, then build paradise inside civil walls till our empire collapses in sad war. Yet when I wake from endless looping dream the real world woven by rays of sunlight remains the same landscape with city maze constraining frantic energy of fear in daily rituals through worshipful work we employ to maintain dream of our world.
Friday, December 6, 2024
Fusion Of God Stars
Fusion Of God Stars © Surazeus 2024 12 06 I feel slow flow of years cold in my veins with mind-expanding pleasure of ice pain complete with ardent sentences in vain that bloom as violets on smudged window panes, which catch words of my breath no one else hears, pristine as raindrops with arresting fears. My mind is jumbled as bleak field of stones contriving spells in runes on my arm bone that proves to thought police I am no clone though I construct temple of crystal cones, measured by eccentric spin of brain gears which operate contraption of social fears. Half-buried under howling desert sands, still clutching flag of my forgotten land, I rise at dawn to consider my brand with logo designed by demonic hands, which signifies quality of my cars powered by mental fusion of god stars. Confused by honest wisdom of mind tricks, employed by jester with the magic stick, I investigate my broad bailiwick to build pyramid from honey-baked bricks, then Ishtar crowns me Emperor of Mars through incarnation of wise avatars. Eager for rebirth from electric clocks, I gestate as dragon soul in glass rock to inventory god-souls kept in stock by workers wandering lost in office blocks, while their mothers linger in open doors for weary travelers on misty moors. Basing our self-worth on comments of friends, we study magazines for the hot trend that predicts how much money we will spend in compensation for small dividends, so I keep joining sweet angelic choirs to sing with robins on telephone wires. Persephone cares for workers in mines by flashing dreams of Heaven in each mind so they drink sweet illusions of the vine, then hides gleam of the sun with bamboo blinds, so we journey north with herd of kind bears who take us safe to forest of ripe pears. Mistranslating old American tunes with vibrant empathy of the sad moon, I join millions of ghosts in dream balloon to build quaint temples in moonlit lagoons, then teach brave humans how to face their fears till mutant fools have become palace seers.
Heaviness Of Unknown Truth
Heaviness Of Unknown Truth © Surazeus 2024 12 06 Waking up to the heart-arresting sound of gunshots when the walls of Jericho crumble from revolutionary horns, I hear only silence of quaint suburbs tinged with rapid cadence in cheerful chirp of the chestnut-sided warbler at dawn. Yet strange violin of your broken heart follows me at night down ten thousand streets where angels of beauty, whose voices ring in rain, have drowned in rivers of our hopes, weighed down by heaviness of unknown truth that calls us with soft melodies of fear. Till Phantom, strange cat with serpent-gold eyes, appears in smudged window of our shared fate, we wonder at view of the world we see from safe haven of frail security, for she assures us with her anxious purr that we will never see approach of Death. Dangerous softness of fate-summoned waves reveals strange hugeness of our broken world, cluttered with debris of lost memories restrained by silence of their nameless bones which our ancestors latticed into Earth with abrupt crashing of reluctant time. Solemn autopsy of numberless homes, conducted by our cold objective moon, exposes trauma twisted into words strewn among daisies on rotten church lawns too distant for grief from shadowy rain to remember why we visit our graves. Stuck in ceremony of frozen time, with faint resemblance of my maskless ghost hungry for hope, I choose to redefine true nature of our fraught relationship as geared toward honest laughter of the clock that echoes inside mirror of our eyes. Hostage to our passive-aggressive love, we ask stenographer of crooked rules to record apologies orphans cry, signified by crumbling cities of faith dismembered by ambitions of rich men to squander wealth from suffering of the dead. Though boundless sky of opportunity belongs to me with heart of my lost love, I claim no ownership of fertile land yet soil of compassion blooms by my hand when I produce food for tables of wealth which bear the heaviness of unknown truth.
Understand Who I Am
Understand Who I Am © Surazeus 2024 12 06 When I enter quick stream of consciousness shiver of absolute beauty expands my sense of self far beyond bounds of time so I become everything that has been and everything that will ever become, which helps me feel limits of who I am. Every vision about life that has flashed in every organic brain of I Am on every planet in the universe also flashes nodes of thought in my brain which share universal tropes of respect so all think the same thing at the same time. Yet I am special instance of the Mind, unique in patterns for my here and now, enclosed in program loop of hungry hope attempting to reiterate concepts, important keys to understanding why atoms congregate to animate me. So I stand with this face that is my own at my window in my house on my land which forms temporary empire of thought, and here envision virtual globe of Earth based on perceptions through analysis my memories compose in one world view. Floating on wings of superconsciousness, I attempt to avoid getting restrained by cause and effect in narrative flow by circling back around on loop of thought to repeat cycle of growth and decay that pulses waves of molecules through me. My sense of conscious self is limited with framework of my conceptual skull, for I am bounded in nutshell of mind and count myself king of infinite space because I dream complete flow of all time with flashing nodes of neurons in my brain. Though I am constrained by the here and now I fly on wings of whole imagining to visit every land on every world in every era of transforming change to live whole life of every conscious soul so I better understand who I am. I sail integral boat of my whole self down ever-flowing stream of consciousness to trace conceptual journey of my soul on map depicting landscape of my heart so I can navigate past obstacles to find Heaven where we dwell in our home.
Vision Of The World
Vision Of The World © Surazeus 2024 12 06 It takes a lot of mental energy to prop up a false vision of the world which people will invent from fantasies invested to prove their superior state that qualifies their divine right to rule with control over lives of other souls. When people invest passion of their hearts in fake ideology based on lies that highlights their importance in this life, they expend enormous effort of faith to erect idol that glorifies them, which always collapses from weight of truth. Religious institutions base their right to dictate how people perform their roles in preordained hierarchy of state power on belief that Founding Father of Faith is some immortal supernatural deity who created being of this universe. Priests claim right to dictate how we all live based on belief which common people accept that their deity will return to Earth and resurrect dead bodies from the soil, so they live rich from money people give based on false promise of the afterlife. They must assemble believers each week and preach grand vision of the afterlife where people who are good will earn reward of eternal life in pure paradise, but no one living ever sees this Heaven for we live well, then die, and turn to dust. So long as people believe their nice lie that unseen god will raise them from the dead religious institutions will seize power, but once people stop believing their lie their fake system collapses into myths that glow with beautiful poison of fear. True ideology we construct with facts that describe clear state of reality with accurate statements of what occurs in physical nature we verify needs no energy of excessive faith, for truth stands strong on measurability. It takes no force of mental energy to prop up a true vision of the world for what is real remains for us to know when we perceive its state with open mind as we analyze true nature of being and share our comprehension with calm reason.
Thursday, December 5, 2024
Molecular Matrix Of Minds
Molecular Matrix Of Minds © Surazeus 2024 12 05 Optimal degree of angle I need to perceive weird fractal complexity weaving molecular matrix of minds spirals from zero through infinity beyond conceptual frame of innocence imposing narrative norms on desire. Or rather I want to drink glass of wine and consider smears of colorful thoughts on ever-expanding canvas of truth containing spirals of genetic code that define superior features of forms capable of surviving mute despair. Which means statue of David represents Olympian body of the Superman rendered strong by harsh obstacles of pain overcoming which encourages gain through courageous assessment of frail faith which traps our minds in survival routines. What does not kill me with bitter contempt makes me stronger with outrageous respect for horrible suffering humans endure when they climb from bombed rubble of their dreams to build new empire on ruins of faith by killing those who want to kill us first. Multiple possibilities of forms truth provides aggressive minds to design expands our consciousness of what could be more real than what we envision may not install dismembered frame of reference to replicate puzzles from new world views. Thrilling rides on galactic rainbow bridge lures children to abandon facile hope with shocking reminiscence fate secures for building homes where children can play free from televised fear of state tyranny imposed by oligarchs grasping for power. Nothing gained from honest expenditure plots new ways forward for fierce refugees contrived by gambled loss Fortune decrees to claim occupied land as their new home when they insult strangers on the town bus by shouting you are not Americans. Bones of my immigrant ancestors rot in farmless fields from sea to shining sea on trail of tears from ransacked Camelot to prove only winners claim to live free from laws restricting access to state rights bound by molecular matrix of minds.
Captain My Starship
Captain My Starship © Surazeus 2024 12 05 I want to captain my starship in space, exploring planets around countless suns, because life on Planet Earth is messed up, and nothing like the liberal fantasy displayed in sci-fi television shows where humans strive for universal peace. The science on those shows is nothing more than magic machines of human hope that defy physical laws of nature, so they present helpless muggles in space who struggle against mad Olympian gods that mess with human beings in games of power. Their Federation of Planets presents empires of Rome, Britain, and America as noble states of upright warriors dedicated to international peace where clones of Jesus are good errant knights enforcing police state of Avalon. How noble this sentiment seems to me as angel warrior of the castle king devoted to ideal of equal rights with stalwart resolution of bold faith through principle of Liberty for all, fulfilling missions to maintain the state. Pledging allegiance to the Stars and Stripes, that noble flag of federal unity, and constitution for the rights of man for which it stands as sign of cosmic justice, I swear wholehearted faith as Son of Odin to vibrant process of democracy. As captain of my ship on sea of fear, exploring various cultures of the Earth, I represent through wise integrity our strong republic for the common good in clear-eyed policeman who fights oppressors to protect civilians from greedy tyrants. When lawbreakers, who steal from working men, betray principles of democracy by forcing their rights above national laws, grasp the steering helm for our Ship of State, claiming divine right to rule us based on sly tricks, we must unite to fight their tyranny. Yet when the tyrant steers our Ship of State wrecked on titanic iceberg of his greed, we will sacrifice scapegoat of his hate, then rebuild vessel of ambitious hope to sail again among the stars of truth as we expand empire of consciousness.
Play Hide And Seek
Play Hide And Seek © Surazeus 2024 12 05 If I cleanse bitter sorrow off my face with herbal cream from flowers of the moon, I can hear your voices in outer space warn me of accepting the royal boon. Children play hide and seek in ruins of Hell on which we build cathedral with gold bell. If I accelerate my leap of faith straight off jagged Cliffs of Insanity, I can soar high to cavern of the wraith to learn creed of Astarianity. Children play hide and seek in empty church to mock the clown who fails his sacred search. If I walk city streets with my Sun Lion in glamorous parade of grand state power, I can reign in Star Palace on Mount Zion as Queen Ishtar in thirteen-level tower. Children play hide and seek in city park where the jester studies the pulsing quark. If angels marry devils without rings which endow power on bearer of fate, I can pretend I have Icarian wings when I fight against state parties of hate. Children play hide and seek in downtown mall then pause by fountain of youth at the call. If I watch television shows all day that depict rise and fall of haughty lords, I can record secret thoughts people pray with naive faith to gods with bloody swords. Children play hide and seek in ancient myths by teleporting to worlds through monoliths. If I translate weird songs of ocean waves to solemn hymns church congregations chant, I know princesses fall in love with knaves in scandals contrived from unpriestly rants. Children play hide and seek in story scrolls to wear costumes for anti-social roles. If I chat with Clock Girl in the oak trunk whose prophecies of doom no one believes, I can locate where Ship of State was sunk after mutiny by the King of Thieves. Children play hide and seek in holy books then eat healthy meals made by cosmic cooks. If I am born again from mummy pod on Phoenix wings of supernatural force, I can return to Earth with mask of God to map concept of our progressive course. Children play hide and seek in fairy tales while rebel prophets get swallowed by whales.
My Mapless Quest
My Mapless Quest © Surazeus 2024 12 05 How bright the sun gleams in my dreamless eyes. How swift the ravens measure boundless skies. I stroll the signless road of anywhere to find one person who accepts my care but stop alone in busy crowd and stare. My mind is confused by the truth of lies. I search for Wisdom in old fruitless trees. Her soul has vanished in the timeless breeze. I sit by the well in town center square to see serpentine runes gleam in the air from souls of angels shopping at the fair. Weird demons swim in the bottomless seas. My memories clutter my ghostless house. I share funny tales with my faceless spouse. I wish my soul did beam down from the star, but consciousness cannot survive so far so I compose riddles in new grimoire. I hear someone call me from the lighthouse. I almost hear flight of the wingless horse. I search smoky caves for the springless source. I ask each stranger in the crowded bar if they know the right way to Kandahar but I weep alone at my escritoire. My spell channels energy of the Force. I wander nowhere on my mapless quest. My heart beats wildly during planless rest. I search for fruit of life in the quaint store but the Devil tells me he has no more, so I listen to the waterfall roar. Ten thousand years I follow the sun west. I leave no family in my homeless past. I play no role in the new scriptless cast. No wizard shares with me lost human lore so I meet Mother Night on ocean shore who weeps I can only play wife or whore. Temple of Gods is erased by one blast. I try to wake up from the mindless daze. I search for your face in the doorless maze. I sense the spirit of God hover near, but who approaches me is not so clear, so I light candles of the chandelier. I must evolve to the next conscious phase. Nobody shares with me the globeless news. I have been deceived by their guileless ruse. I realize the Earth is one spinning sphere in vastness of space contained in one tear through vision that proves I am new World Seer. I design new world view from scattered clues.
Wednesday, December 4, 2024
Woman With Seven Eyes
Woman With Seven Eyes © Surazeus 2024 12 04 The woman with the alligator purse disappears into the steel telephone, so I stumble to see the psychic nurse who informs me my heart has turned to stone, so I beam light rays from my magic hands to build crystal stairway to starry lands. Climbing stairway of my innocent hope to search for the woman with seven eyes, I struggle up enormous crystal slope till I find her weird palace in the skies where angels teach demons how to write verse that programs dream code of the universe. The woman with the ax for her right hand washes dishes, hangs laundry on the line, and mops the kitchen and the bathroom floors, then watches the coup on the evening news when the president declares martial law, but lawmakers cancel it with their vote. Knocking on doors of houses around town, I hand glossy brochure to residents and ask them if they have heard the good news about the Owl God who can save our souls by teaching us to laugh at tragedy, but they all shake their heads and slam doors shut. The woman with the television brain descends from flaming clouds on plastic wings, bearing peach cobbler pie in giving hands, but when I eat I turn into the horse she trains as her mount in the circus show, till I escape to wild Kentucky hills. Gathering sphere of energy with my hands that sparkles with electric soul of love, I zap the demon of resentful rage who interviews me for her magazine to highlight my rebellious style of art that depicts women as colorful smears. The woman with the rifle in her heart invites me to the posh museum show where I distract wealthy fools with sly jokes while she steals the concept of their sad lives which leaves them poor so they work in the fields picking fruit with Honduran refugees. Watching television news of the coup, I wonder if loyal Americans would demonstrate against his power grab, but then I remember with snarky grin they voted for him when he said he would, so I eat peach pie and wait for the end.
Aphrodite Blue-Eyed Star
Aphrodite Blue-Eyed Star © Surazeus 2024 12 04 If I wriggle free from the mind machine, I might have time to walk to the drug store and slide the blank letter in the mailbox that I have written to gods in the clouds asking if they can give us peace on Earth, then go home to eat hot peach cobbler pie. Pausing by the willow tree in the park, I will sing you ballads from ancient Rome proving we are heir to their grand empire, since our republic is about to fall, and street gangsters disguised as oligarchs will soon dictate our national policies. Which explains with five simple diagrams why we cannot buy bananas anymore, but everything else we can buy at the store is manufactured in huge factories by wage slaves in jungles of southern lands where dictators are overthrown each year. The latest Aphrodite blue-eyed star with golden curls and jeweled crown of fame sings sardonic love songs about the fools who cheat on her and break her crystal heart, for her generic face shines on the moon reflecting anguish all teenage girls share. The simplest way to change national fate, the old homeless stockbroker growls at me, is to assassinate ghost of your fear who thinks he operates above the law, then attend football games on Saturdays to cheer Achilles when he scores touchdowns. When Midas moves in the White House again he will erect statue of golden pride just like the one Nebuchadnezzar built, bright as idol of Ozymandias, to glorify our new imperial age annexing Canada and Mexico. To be the atheist is not to switch religious channels on the network shows, but turn the television wholly off, then study woolly mammoths to discern migration habits of primitive tribes before we built empires on skulls of gods. Stuck inside functions of the mind machine, my egocentric sense of consciousness attempts to prove divinity of thought, but my small sponge-wet brain is nothing more than visionary parasite of faith who thinks it emanates the soul of God.
Homes Where I Belong Not
Homes Where I Belong Not © Surazeus 2024 12 04 Softly the day retains its gratitude that Death is floating blindly in warm light this winter morning of ardent respect we share for translating alien dreams for voices of the wind in falling leaves that reveals portrait of the world we love. With congregation on the astral plane, we tell each other what we value most, then sell our stories on the internet to strangers who want to play someone else, till we no longer recognize ourselves reflected in the pool where Echo mourns. To brood on wetness of the psychic zone, regardless of how it affects my grades, I float on my back on the ocean wave to feel bright angels of the abyss glow with eyes that see beyond eternity which helps me understand my aching heart. Mouth open to taste the infinite sky, I research history of the elegy elusive with code of manners decried at shocking rudeness of the good to die, and bleed their holiness on the church floor when Icarus stumbles trying to get up. Outwitted by Death with each game we play, I relax on the beach with glass of juice and contemplate the strangeness of pure light which our ancestors thought had consciousness, blind with obscene scene on the screen unseen based on the arbitrariness of truth. When the angel of truth stays at my house, she leaves her memories in the old shoe box after discarding my hopes in the fireplace, then pours milk in the glass, but stares alone out every window at secrets I hide, then abandons me to fake happiness. More fickle than sad savior of the world, I prophesy what no one wants to hear, naming land where I live Zarathia so I can say I am no immigrant, though I keep wandering sea to shining sea, leaving behind homes where I belong not. Still confident that my weird songs ring true, I skip with Louise on the signless road, eager to perform in the next small town our cute Shepherdess and Clown in Love play, but gunshots ring across the treeless plain, and she works in the factory today.
Heaven We Want To Share
Heaven We Want To Share © Surazeus 2024 12 04 Through assertion of my surconscious will to be now here within vast nowhere void I create the universe where I Am when I describe objective world I see which conjures virtual model of this Earth, framed clear within ontology of being. Ghosts are illusions that my brain invents when the danger alarm of cautious hope is activated by fearful desire to see the person I love whose bright soul has vanished from the dream time of our world which registers dark absence of their being. The shy grasshopper in the sunlit grass waits patiently obtuse for me to pass, so I stop and explain with careful words undulating structure of time when birds argue over who owns space of the world where mute humans wait for the cosmic herald. Saturnus, bearded madman on the street, preaches to office workers passing by that the end of the world everyone fears will never happen, for the Earth spins on ten billion years in void of anywhere, so we create Heaven we want to share. With bricks of golden mud baked in the sun I will build new ziggurat of world power on lush shore of the Mississippi River to serve as capital for my new empire uniting states of North America in union to preserve our Way of Life. Combining separate nations in one state, Canada, Zarathia, and Mexico, I expand security of strong faith with honest federation of our will to establish one universal law based on Justice and Liberty for all. Working together as one global state, we can run our food-production machine so every worker benefits with wealth equal to mental effort they apply to build foundation based on civil rights our United States of America. Waking from grand dream of prosperity shared by people of North America, I hear cry of its spirit in the sky as Wohalia soars over fertile lands, and sigh to see our still fragmented state where countless people struggle to survive.
Tuesday, December 3, 2024
Return To My First Home
Return To My First Home © Surazeus 2024 12 03 If we share the kitchen faucet to clean grime of politics from our fear-soured hearts, jagged sorrow of the barbarous horse returns can of tomato soup the clown stole from the oldest woman in the world who reveals name of the Library Girl. Yet pictures we paint with colors of hope, smeared from ennui of stale cigarette smoke, complicate matters we want to ignore concerning when the last train will arrive with refugees from London getting bombed by origami swans of the star bride. Three times the clock in the rowan tree trunk explodes with laughter of fake irony, how children replay the state power games their parents engage to control how words mean the opposite of shattered mirror states, arrogant enough to never know why. While searching boxes of lost memories stored in dusty attic of my failed state, I find the mostly famous photograph no one has ever seen on the big screen depicting victory of the Rainbow Ghost in the civil war that we never fought. For entertainment purposes, we fold pages from ancient manuscripts in masks hiding demonic nature of my face with alchemical formulas of change, subtracting presence of electric brains programmed as radars to sense the mind ghost. So when I welcome into my home I expect you to remove your shoes smeared with disappointments of the fallen god who slouches under rotten Tree of Life and complains with bitterness of false pride that no humans worship him anymore. Having no career in the field of lies I can eat the clock of demonic fruit composed of atoms bleeding from the sun so we can dance with abandon of joy in cluttered ruins of our empire state to build new temple for the laughing toad. The apple tree and the wind-winged horse are all that matter to me in the end, yet I cannot return to my first home in the mystic Almaty Mountain range where my first mother stands on the lake shore and forges my thoughts into diamond words.
Destroy The Failed State
Destroy The Failed State © Surazeus 2024 12 03 If I wonder about fish in the lake, designed by the sun god to sing spells, I would rather eat dark chocolate cake and count angels awakened by church bells to usher evening vespers with the snow and attend the grade school holiday show. The little girl wearing long white silk gown, adorned with halo and delicate wings, plays flute that haunts the little country town where demonic bell in the forest rings to enchant hard-working people with lies that their lives are ruined by foreign spies. While the boat-tailed grackle in the elm tree reveals psychic secret of fear negation, senators plot to oppose tyranny by implementing the Brutus Solution, but Pluto shields Midas from strike of truth which sets conditions for messiah sleuth. When my car runs out of gas on the road, I stand on its roof and shout at the sky, till Hermes appears as the laughing toad to play psychopomp for the hungry spy who decides between fishing at the lake or fighting for justice with the last stake. Through abnegation of our civil rights the thief, who crowns himself king of the world, conceals broken Ark from the Israelites, but falls defeated by the cosmic herald who offers him salvation by the book, erasing his existence from the brook. So after we stall his cruel tyranny, and lock demonic force in cave of fate, we calculate results through irony he is destined to destroy the failed state so we can build new nation from the flames, blessing everyone with angelic names. On peak of Mount Takoma I declare new global nation of Zarathia which welcomes refugees from everywhere where we live free without his mafia, based on Justice and Liberty for all who find employment in the shopping mall. Demonic energy of social change inspires our hearts with respect for the law that provides framework to manage the range of differences enhanced by Onatah, Corn Goddess who, as spirit of our land, provides equal reward with generous hand.
Eternal Beacon Of Truth
Eternal Beacon Of Truth © Surazeus 2024 12 03 When world view I composed for thirty years crumbles into fragments of clever myths, I walk out in the chilly winter night to see that the crescent moon still shines bright beyond all changes of societies, eternal beacon of truth I can trust. Four cultural traditions clutter Earth with detailed rituals guiding how we live, embodied by gods worshipped by their state as paragons of virtue they admire, encased in traditions of national myths based in four corners of our globe landscape. Fierce nationalists in each cultural state fight to enforce their specific world view imposed on others to subdue their ways, and integrate others under their own, but globalists oppose destructive hate and work so we share this planet with love. I wish we could all live in harmony, respecting traditions of fellow humans as tales that dramatize social success through vision of the mortal human being whose soul reflects divine mind of their tribe as god who represents their grand world view. Men who strive to control the minds of others expend psychic energy of contempt, inducing stress from arrogant despair, so they burn themselves out to impose fear, and thus their terrorist agenda fades because lies cost too much to legislate. Though tyrants are rising around the Earth, channeling fear their citizens express that their grand world view is irrelevant, failing to explain everything that happens, their harsh oppressive regimes will collapse expending excess effort to prop lies. True nature of the world always prevails if we but dwell in harmony with Nature, surfing gracefully with energy waves that flow through the cycle of birth and death as we relax from production of food to feast and dance in rites of soul rebirth. The truth needs no energy to support, for what is real remains measurable to our close attentive investigation, so celebrate all cultures of our world framing dramatic lives of fruitful states which blossom from the heart of Mother Earth.
Emptiness Of The Universe
Emptiness Of The Universe © Surazeus 2024 12 03 When I emerge as pulse of eager light from the emptiness of the universe, I will rise up from bottom of the sea on wings of desire formed from voiceless air as temporary shadow of my soul revealed by rays of the brain-flashing moon. Wings of my ancient voice might not repair the broken window of the timeless sky, but I will speak the visions of my eyes which crawl from grave where my mother now sleeps to calculate how far I have to go before I reappear from everywhere. Yet broken arrow of my angel heart still quivers stuck in trunk of Laurelin, so I climb steep hill of Ezellohar to capture golden tears of her despair from which I forge the engine of my car that purrs with grace of the curious lynx. While I run to escape gang of slave-traders across the rocky plain, large white-winged owl swoops down from heaven with star-blazing eyes and carries me away to mountain vale, where she gazes at me on limb of the pine, then flies away as I sing hymn of thanks. When I am born in frail body of flesh from the emptiness of the universe, I write my story in the holy book with words that weave my brain from threads of light so I become tapestry that presents tale of my life on stone cathedral wall. Bright spirit of my soul composed of words can only spring to life in human form if you read story that describes my quest to evade tragic consequence of greed so I can generate life with my mate to incarnate immortal soul of genes. Driving with traffic on the busy road, I concentrate on journey of my heart, then park beside the hall built of red bricks where I work as librarian of the world, preserving books that record tales of heroes who lived and died with spinning of the Earth. This temporary body of my genes embodies light of stars in human form from the emptiness of the universe who becomes aware of itself through me as I lie on my back among the flowers that bloom beside the river of my soul.
Monday, December 2, 2024
Gods Of Ancient Myths
Gods Of Ancient Myths © Surazeus 2024 12 02 If the shallow pool in gray road, that glints with ghosts of dead gods humans used to worship, is mirror to some other universe, then I would like to enter Book of Dreams to meet the living humans with bright souls whose faces mask the gods of ancient myths. They were all living human beings once, gods worshipped as divine beings of perfect light by nameless millions of their followers, people who felt hunger, happiness, fear, pleasure, despair, sorrow, and honest love, as they lived vision of their hearts, then died. Why normal individual human beings come to personify soul of their nation by great actions they performed in dire straits to guide their people in distressing times so they imitate their national hero, fascinates me with mystery of the heart. These average mortal creatures of the flesh, faced with terrible crisis of their state, descended to underworld of the mind, fought demons of despair to earn the prize of divine wisdom glowing in their eyes, then taught their people how to overcome. Now their star names and awe-inspiring deeds remain as idols of their long-dead souls, preserving memory of their acts in myths that dramatize how they attained success to transcend sorrow of the mortal mind, and so inspire us to perform our best. Instead of knocking idols on the ground, to bury gods in dust of failed world views, I erect their spirits in temple hall as paragons of human characters whose faces reflect desires of our hearts to attain equal fame saving our world. Religious temple of my open heart highlights their noble deeds of selfless love with admiration for each human soul whose expansive vision guides how we live so we will create, rather than destroy, and treat each other with honest respect. Since Amen founded first religious rites with generous feast in house of one world faith, we humans gather in temple of truth to watch dramatic tales of noble souls that present deeds of our national heroes which guide romantic journey of our hearts.
Flow Of Profit And Loss
Flow Of Profit And Loss © Surazeus 2024 12 02 Soft emptiness of light inside my eye wakes me with blithe uncanny sense of hope that splinters world view of ten billion souls in one outrageous creed of honest stillness, venomous with newly invented words children speak to deceive oppressive gods. The old woman who walks through walls of fate hires me to work as her psychotic spy, so I give empty books to lonely souls who fill their pages with visions of love condensing tears in pearls of sacred tales that preserve our pain long after we die. Abandoned on steps of the empty church, new savior of the world loves to skip rope and recite aggressive rhymes of contempt aimed at bloated egos of haughty men who strut about on stage of global power, unaware that pride always destroys tyrants. Yet manic pixie Library Girl knows how to tune my brain with transcendent vibes that crack foundation of our world empire so ghosts of long-dead gods impersonate normal humans who work at office jobs to calculate flow of profit and loss. Less subtle than exploding plastic masks, which I wear to the world movie awards, my face contrives to imitate your savior so you will trust me with your secret code which I can use to open bank accounts to buy and restore ancient Scottish castles. When the flock of deer approach your front door, they will ask if you have heard the good news of their divine lord and savior Cernunnos whose face appears on television screens glowing with halo of nuclear blasts that erase your empire from dream of time. We ride our bikes along the river walk when the gold sun of eternity sets blazing with untimely beauty of death, then stop for ice cream at the coffee shop where the most famous poets in the world write poems on napkins they burn in the hearth. While riding dolphin from the Holy Land, Arion composes opera libretto based on tragic life of Princess Diana whose face appears gold on the moon each night to guide my journey to the Promised Land where I bury skulls of tyrants in the Garden.
Dance With The Grateful Dead
Dance With The Grateful Dead © Surazeus 2024 12 02 Floating into blue sky of broken clouds, high over endless maze of city streets, I see beneath nice clean suits of bank clerks the wild-eyed beatniks, hippies, and soul freaks who follow Moses to the Promised Land where he helps them dance with the grateful dead. Living safe in my suburban-zoo home after hitchhiking sea to shining sea, I feel the revolutionary beat of truth pulse in deep passion of my self-control, so I howl with wolves to the bloody moon while we keep dancing with the grateful dead. Young Malcolm, who exed out his slave last name, rolls utopian joints in Harlem jazz clubs where moon-eyed shamans of New Orleans swamps play wailing elegies on saxophones that lift our spirits over city towers so lost souls can dance with the grateful dead. Bearded dharma lion and Buddhist Jew meditates on the television screen, eyes flashing with visions of holy light that guide the best minds of our generation to climb the mountain of the fallen idol and teach us to dance with the grateful dead. Strolling with Eve on Desolation Row to translate wisdom blowing in the wind, the star-eyed tambourine man with six wings guides lost souls through the smoke rings of his mind to knock on the gates of Heaven for truth, then leaves us to dance with the grateful dead. Writing prophecies on the subway walls, the lonely prophet of the Neon God translates the sounds of silence to dream spells he sings in the cafe on Bleecker Street while beatniks snap their fingers with the groove and stoned hippies dance with the grateful dead. Driving Volkswagen buses with rainbows across the waste land from Manhattan maze, hippies head west for the Summer of Love to trip in glowing hills of San Francisco with flowers from tombs of gods in their hair while they dance on fire with the grateful dead. Beat down by the hard grind of daily life, assembling cars in chugging factories, the wingless angels of America fall from the flower-perfect hills of Heaven to build world empire of the holy bomb, then dance forever with the grateful dead.
If We Harm None
If We Harm None © Surazeus 2024 12 02 Pared to the essence of what must be said, my grandiose speech to persuade the world my vision will guide them to paradise splinters into riddles and weird proverbs that confound the wise and enlighten fools with delusions that we are great again. Instead of attempting to save the world, I drive out to calm mountains of the mind to sit by sparkling lake of innocence and fish for memories of the good old days when truth was truth, bald liars were despised, and criminals were not allowed to rule. If I hide away in the wilderness, tempted by honor to avoid the game of power fought between mad greedy thieves, I hope the ship of state will right itself to avoid hitting the titanic iceberg of tyranny that glitters in our way. I wonder, as I gaze at sparkling lake, if this civil war will be like the last when gangs of boys with guns plunder towns, and shoot each other for the state of mind based on different definitions of freedom, till one side randomly defeats the other. One side defines freedom as sacred right of each person to live free as they will to pursue happiness, if we harm none, while the other side, driven by blind greed, defines freedom as the right to exploit working people to accumulate wealth. In every crisis our country has faced every eighty years for five cycles now, forces of democracy, based on right of justice and liberty for all, win against forces of tyranny that grasp to control our bodies and minds as slaves. I want to stand in hall of truth and preach that justice of fair laws always prevails to maintain dignity of working people who earn rich wage for labor they expend, against aggressive tactics of the rich to exploit workers for their private gain. This civil war to control rights of people to pursue happiness free from despair will soon occur no matter what I say, so I will curse tyrants who always lose, and work for democracy of fair laws which will always prevail to nurture growth.
Sunday, December 1, 2024
Game Of Mental Stealth
Game Of Mental Stealth © Surazeus 2024 12 01 Leisurely laughter of the unconcerned explodes dire misconceptions of the weak whose performance in game of mental stealth fails to convince majority of clowns who analyze how disease twists the mind to recognize the weird joke Death designed. We pass each other on the busy street, convinced we are abnormal sons of God, since our children slide into pool of fate while Dishonesty looks the other way, but who storms the Gates of Heaven this time at subtle instigation of the chime. Riddles solving revolutions are burned when the Devil tries to find out who leaked state secrets to the defunct Board of Wealth to spite the tyrant who steals jeweled crowns while forging deeds of ownership for land claimed by the leader of the marching band. I visit tomb of Nameless God on Crete with application to join Justice Squad, assigned by Zeus to guard the Pearly Gate where Daughters of the Disappeared still pray to Maat for justice in the psychic game since every dead dictator is the same. Each stanza composes once puzzle piece secret analysts assemble to seek obvious location of the Holy Grail, yet children prefer to quietly paint prophetic murals on walls of the bank destroyed each summer by the godly tank. Yet Nostradamus in Tower of Eyes hires me as young apprentice to record obscene prophecies of future events when the tyrant tries to crown himself king which causes people of the land to laugh each time he falls off the Golden Giraffe. I think we will never achieve world peace, yet still we try to paddle up the creek when our government is put up for sale by Midas whose evil ways are now quaint, since we have seen worse happen than we think when his greed causes Ship of State to sink. This game of prophecy played by blind spies is competition of the rich and bored which I am winning against presidents who must kneel and kiss my godfather ring, till Americans decide they had enough, since no one dares call out his haughty bluff.
Flow Of Engine Ghosts
Flow Of Engine Ghosts © Surazeus 2024 12 01 Though flowers blossom out of ancient books, their ghosts become lovable characters on late afternoon television shows that young children like to watch after school, so I drive my car to the grocery store where it transforms into the lonely horse. When flowers of evil bloom from my corpse that floats forever on the River Styx, mothers take children to the city park where they develop new technologies for controlling the flow of engine ghosts who escape the circus after midnight. Through misdirection of the social joke, which challenges the right of criminals to take over jobs in the government, I pull masks off devils to expose crimes they commit while in offices of power twisting the state for their own purposes. Yet none dare challenge with shy bravery the traitor who crowns himself new world king, allowing him to trample sacred code designed to check monopoly on power when thieves grasp keys to the state treasury and throw our bill of rights into the fire. Ignore clear evidence of their intent to establish fascist theocracy while attending service in the glass church where you pray with feverish intensity for second coming of the world messiah whose hands drip with blood of the innocent. When Buddha emerges with glow of light from the time-fractured television tube, Jesus wielding Excalibur attacks rival deity for the hearts of men who race trucks on the highway of contempt in holy crusade against Liberty. Though roses blossom from the holy book that drips with the blood of martyrs and fools, I play the happy clown who always weeps to find rusting Statue of Liberty half buried in the beach of laughing skulls, then go home to eat burritos for lunch. These harrowing visions of global war are nothing but delusions of the mad who shake your windows and rattle your walls while war refugees dance in waterfalls to rebuild the nations destroyed by war where Jesus sells faith at the grocery store.
We Study Ancient Cultures
We Study Ancient Cultures © Surazeus 2024 12 01 To find the origin of how I think, how my brain perceives the objective world, I fly from Georgia to Sumeria and dig deep into swirling sands of time, unearthing clay tablets ancient scribes wrote that describe the long-lost world where they lived. I want to recreate that ancient world in virtual model with computer code programmed to replicate the way things were with avatars that perform daily roles tending herds, farming crops, constructing homes, and commune temples where they feast and sing. I would like to replicate every stage in transformation of the human race with detailed scenes of interactive modes that show how civilization evolved from small tribes of hunters and gatherers to global empire of corporate banks. Our current stage of fractured nation-states, contending to enforce their strict world view, dismembers our separate communities enclosed in framework of opposing rules so rivals clash on basic principles that define nature of society. Most common features of communities that function in every country on Earth are structured hierarchy of social roles bound by common language in founding tales describing successful progress of the quest fulfilled by founding prophet of that state. When altercating world views compromise to merge their values in new set of laws stating do as you will, if you harm none, that recognizes gods as equal tropes, opposing nations ally to expand strength of their union based on bold respect. I wish we did not have to fight world wars to increase temperature of national pride that melts sharp differences in harsh conflict, so we can marry members of our tribes to generate efficient hybrid state through alchemical mutation of love. To understand our complex world today we study ancient cultures lost in time which shows our creeds that seem so different share basic features that could help connect our hearts in United Nations of Earth where Justice and Liberty rule our hearts.
Wild Angel Of Fate
Wild Angel Of Fate © Surazeus 2024 12 01 I should not barter wisdom with the dead but I want to know the right road to take to escape slaving for my daily bread, to wrestle with fear for one slice of cake, or then I shall walk down the empty road to meditate with the hypnotic toad. Reluctant angel of the fallen state misleads my journey to the Promised Land by selling tickets to the Pearly Gate which I cannot open with fleshy hand, so I build log cabin on the river shore and hang holly wreath on red-painted door. Extending arms to embrace empty sky, I soar into bright clouds on devil wings to find palace of God and ask him why Death translates pain to pleasure when she sings, but he hurls me wingless back down to Earth where I calculate what made things are worth. Dressed in my dapper suit at gleam of dawn, I ride the trolley up the hill to work where I pretend I am not obedient pawn programmed to patrol streets where angels lurk, all to maintain rules by order of law where ravens on taut telephone lines caw. When I corner the thief by the locked door, who steals stale bread for his children to eat, he mocks the world order of bank and store that exploits the farmer destroyed by sleet, for gangsters rule each level of the state, enforcing power to control our fate. Rich gangsters in state offices of power are just as ruthless as thugs in the street, for each one asserts right to tax the flower by using threat of suffering to defeat rival gangs controlling brief lives of men in harsh money war that no one can win. Pretending I got lost in alleyways, I let the desperate bread-winner escape, but, as I wander crowded city maze, begin to wonder who rules the mindscape, and who creates things with their humble hands, the carpenter, or the king with demands. Sticking to my job for the city bank, I investigate status of cash loans, eager to climb the bureaucratic rank by wearing shaman mask and clacking bones, so with power I can improve the state by gambling with the wild angel of fate.
Saturday, November 30, 2024
When I Find Eternity
When I Find Eternity © Surazeus 2024 11 30 When I find eternity in white stone that glimmers on pebble beach by the lake, I stop walking somewhere else to sit still as the scraggly pine on thin spit of land that curves into strange greenness of water till white glow of the horizon is me. Each ripple of the silver-green lake lurks close enough to faint shadow of my soul that cry of sorrow stuck in my throat wails soft as the hawk floating above flat water to prove my existence is hard as stones that tingle with kiss of indifferent waves. Almost erased to glimmer of sunlight on flat lake stretching far across the sky, I hum sudden vibration in my chest that startles me with fear of something near, yet only trees on pebbled beach reply with silent innocence of my despair. Stones on the pebbled beach melt in my flesh till I become clump of soft clanking stones when I extend sharp beam of energy to stretch my arms and legs with ardency through urgent desperation to reclaim pain searing my body as mine alone. When I find eternity in dead tree that stretches twisted fingers at gray clouds, I hide in shadow of short lonely pine while soldiers in trucks rumble on the road to invade the city of bombed-out ruins where children carry skulls of long-dead gods. Poised with stiff stillness of the patient tree, I spear wriggling fish in flat silver lake, then roast it over flames of honesty to eat with zest in the desolate waste far from haze of bullets blasting soft flesh in war against cruel tyrant of despair. Caressing twisted fingers of bare trees, I recite verses from lost holy books to remember names of people I knew who have since vanished from dream of the world so they will reappear as leaves in spring to tell me how happy they want to be. When eternity finds me on the beach, she will smile and protect my soul from harm, so, many years after soldiers have died and bankers get rich selling broken land, she will find me meditating all day to contemplate the strange greenness of water.
Hall Of Your Skulls
Hall Of Your Skulls © Surazeus 2024 11 30 When I wake in cold barren hall of stone, I find my body is soil of the land tangled thick with herbs, vines, bushes, and trees, then drink from quick-flowing stream of my spine, my eyes as turtles, and my hands as birds, wrecked disarrangement of the gardener. When I stand up trembling in hall of glass, I breathe cracked granite cliff of mountain wind, bones rumbling in earthquake of my hot breath, heavy with boulders tossed by ocean waves which batter my body with arrogance, impossible disbursement of thick words. When I crawl heaps of books in hall of wood, I flutter wings of expanding desire, reshifting landscapes of cluttered-street towns that crumble from relentless hurricanes of wretched laughter at absurdity contrived by angels trying to build worlds. When I expand my soul in hall of masks, I replicate endless copies of self sewn from vibrating threads of psychic spells taut with intention to contaminate pure silt-shifting lake that swallows my dreams, yet reflects souls of people I invent. When I expel gloom from hall of contempt, I stretch old mangled body of dry hills along rugged coast of the sparkling sea where drowning mermaids sing forgotten names to resurrect confederacy of fools interned in valley of our laughing skulls. When I drift numb in hall of innocence, I become pregnant with billions of souls who crawl in tunnels of my milk-thick breasts then dance with ecstasy of aching hearts in gleaming moonlight of my watching eye till their bodies sink back into my pores. When I carve names in hall of marble walls, I wear mask of each human who has lived to experience each life ten million years who chase the sun to the end of the world as their bodies merge in children of hope and multiply again into one me. When I fall asleep in hall of your skulls, I dream creation of the universe when the first flash flares forth from the big bang to weave our lonely planet from star light so you and I can meet this fateful hour to sing together with love in our tower.
Strangeness Of Familiar Light
Strangeness Of Familiar Light © Surazeus 2024 11 30 I no longer hear sweet saints in the church singing hymns about that fantasy land they hope exists beyond this messy world where no one ever suffers pain or dies. I stand on street corners and play guitar about the mortal beauty of our souls. With slight adjustment of my attitude I now see this horrible messy world as beautiful as that fantasy land, and flawed mortal humans are now my saints. I wade out in the swirling ocean waves and float in strangeness of familiar light. Gathered around wood table in the park, we smear mayonnaise and mustard on buns with pickles, tomatoes, and lettuce leaves for hamburgers grilled over crackling flames. This family fellowship in the lake park on Sabbath afternoon is my paradise. Bright angels singing solemn hymns of love welcome every child ever born on Earth for we are all incarnations in flesh of that divine soul that glows in the sun. I see my mother in eyes of my child who grows to evolve beyond both of us. Farmers produce food from the soil of Earth, workers package food for the grocery stores, truckers deliver food to each small town, and mothers cook food for children to eat. We are angels loyal to paradise in our global food-production machine. After sharing our rich Thanksgiving feast, we sip wine as Phoebe plays haunting tunes on guitar deft as crows in freezing trees that leave us reluctant to say farewell. When I climb the mountain trail beyond clouds I see only the world I want to see. When snow begins to shroud crop fields in white, and birds desert the leafless trees of hope, we write to people who live far away so we all know the others are alive. I like the meaningless world where we live and tell each other stories of our faith. Assembled in cathedral of sunlight, we hear wingless angels in love-clean robes sing hymns to rebirth of the broken heart, while planes drop bombs on homes in distant lands. I carve names of the dead on mountain cliffs with runes that writhe with grace of apple snakes.
Only Myself In The Sky
Only Myself In The Sky © Surazeus 2024 11 30 What monsters haunt the jagged mountain cliff that juts in fractured jumble from the ridge I almost sense with ache of curious dread, so I pause with courage in grove of pines, determined to investigate their haunt and prove they are nothing but bears and wolves. Six days of cautious exploration proves this ancient forest of towering pines shelters no weird demons of fairy tales my mother read to me by candlelight, yet in the eerie gloom of absence I can sense faceless deity in fresh mountain air. Retreating from their cathedral-shaped woods, I fly with breathless laughter down steep slope to small church nestled by the sparkling lake where I change into my best silver suit and lead morning service with solemn hymn that reverences spirit of God in nature. Demonic agencies of hungry fear motivate poor people across the land, driven from safe shelter of their lost homes by faceless spirit of disruptive winds, to journey west in engine-chugging cars where they pick fruit in California fields. Convinced that faith in God will provide eyes of wisdom, designed with insight of truth, for poor people to secure strength of faith that fuels their ambition to score wealth, I work beside them in fields of dim hope and lead them in songs under dreadful stars. Gathered in circle around crackling flames, we lift our hands toward eerie purple sky that shimmers over distant golden hills, and pray to silent Heaven with raw faith for clear guidance of acceptable deeds maintaining dignity under cruel whips. Inspired by dream my service conjured bold, field workers unite with courage of faith to strike against oppressive practices, demanding better wages and more rest, but black wagons arrive and men with guns shoot the leaders who bleed in golden dust. Released from jail without criminal charge, I climb again to jagged mountain cliff that juts in fractured jumble from the ridge to seek with faith that ache of curious dread which lead me to see God in everything, but I find only myself in the sky.
Friday, November 29, 2024
Game Arcade Of America
Game Arcade Of America © Surazeus 2024 11 29 If book on the table in dreary glade considers how the radio ghost works, the red-winged blackbird on the broken door might find the wolf girl on the river shore and show her where the library boy lurks, face half hidden in the innocent shade. When the red-winged blackbird returns from Hell, she hops on tattered pages of the book to calculate how long the city grows prosperous because of wild vaudeville shows where the princess falls in love with the crook who hides her memories in the rune-phased well. Ignoring sweet temptations of the flesh, I try to meditate under the tree that curls roots around the nuclear bomb while the wolf girl sings the reverent psalm in honor of our lost democracy purchased by the blind businessman with cash. Eternal return in cycle of change decrees that the Devil will rise again every eighty years to challenge World God who falls defeated with his justice squad over right to control the minds of men, which nobody else seems to think is strange. Shouting outside the tear-streaked window pane, she tries to explain to the startled ghost that he is the king who was never born because his mother is still picking corn and his father repairs winds of the coast while I play guitar in the winter rain. My son wants to refurbish empty church with statues of all famous scientists whose riddles help save mankind from disease, but I just want to sit in the cool breeze so I can trust reports of journalists whose truth is based on objective research. Assigned to design methodology we can use to implement global peace, wolf girl marries library boy at dawn so no one can play with him as their pawn till the Devil signs one-hundred-year lease to cleanse Notre Dame of theology. My secret book of code in dreary glade releases demons of change in the world who crush all institutions of state power to centralize government in one tower where Queen Rapunzel and the cosmic herald turn America into a game arcade.
Spider-Watch Of My Soul
Spider-Watch Of My Soul © Surazeus 2024 11 29 My anxiety is the spider-watch, constructed of gold wheels that regulate conceptual motion of the universe, which crawls across the unread holy book full of riddles and sacred prophecies, to unscrew ticking time bomb of my brain. Just beyond the limit of my eyesight, I sense gold shadow of the spider-watch transform into the person I love most who keeps their name secret from everyone, so I pretend they are walking away while I search for the most important book. Because it seems someone is judging me within framework of their ontology, I avoid attending social events where people wear the most beautiful masks designed to replicate the spider-watch that emerges from egg-sea of my brain. Embracing substance of the shadow mind that swells within confines of my flesh soul, I drive up and down the same road each day in routine controlled by the spider-watch whose eyes are sunrays in leaves of the trees who weep for the tragedy of my fate. Each night when I sleep in cage of my heart, I dream I follow the wild-haired cave girl in our daily hunt to kill leaping deer and roast its thick meat over crackling flames, but then I see her stacking returned books in the quiet library with slim hands. Dancing with delicate balance of hope, in rhythm with beat of the spider-watch, I glide through open doors in maze of masks with turbo-charged energy of desire, to maintain integrity of One Self scattered into angelic butterflies. Strict balance of all forces in between constrains excessive swirl of urgent hope in measured cadence of the spider-watch which dictates how far beyond bounds of fate I can leap before gravity entraps my soul in limits of my body frame. My soul is emanation from my brain in divine consciousness of who I Am as function of chemicals flashing thoughts through neural network of oneiric nodes woven by passion of the spider-watch so anxiety drives progress of faith.
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