God Walks Through My Soul © Surazeus 2025 05 31 When God walks through my soul with burning wings I rise up from dark webbing of the sea to crawl along bright river of fierce hope, and climb up sprawling tree to grasp ripe fruit, then feast on beauty of the sun and rain so I can sing of how I love this Earth. If God walks through my soul with flashing dreams recording memories of ancestral brains, I sprout from matrix of the mountain cave that molds my body from soil of the Earth so I emerge from darkness of my heart woven from roots of trees that feed my flesh. Since God walks through my soul with whirling wings of wild transcendent anguish to soar high, I breathe ethereal spirit of respect when I look back on road of life I blazed to see my face reflected in the pool till I hear Echo call my secret name. Till God walks through my soul with gleaming eyes I dive deep in dark abyss of my dreams where my god-soul is darkness of the Earth composed of atoms swerving in the void that flare forth from first flash of the big bang to weave weird neural network of my brain. World God walks through my soul with weaving light that flares in flames of heart-surrounding walls containing stories of humanity in one expansive sphere of vibrant minds who dance in circle of tall monoliths where vision screens portray our psychic myths. Tree God walks through my soul with blooming fruit that draws nutritious energy of faith from teeming darkness of the Underworld where ghosts of every soul who ever lived, sucked by hungry roots, fatten me with love when I consume fruits of Earth Energy. Your God walks through my soul with chanting spells that program how my brain perceives the world from holy scripture of prophetic code presenting Mother Madonna with Child who dwell safe in lush monastery garden where roots of trees drink blood of fallen angels. Star God walks through my soul with humming words that pull my darkness from vortex of truth to spiral far across the universe as sperm that fertilizes egg of hope which generates this body of my soul so I burn with song till I become dust.
Saturday, May 31, 2025
God Walks Through My Soul
Jesus And Nine Devils
Jesus And Nine Devils © Surazeus 2025 05 31 Along gritty railroad tracks into town, past dilapidated houses and stores through forest of rotten telephone poles, I trudge lost toward my unknown destiny while I strum guitar with four rusty strings and sing cerulean ache of my heart. The old gray-wood store with bags of horse feed rises tall as the old abandoned church where ghost of Jesus lingers in the window then wanders out in cowboy hat and boots to drive white Buick Rivera sedan clanking over the railroad tracks of fate. Cruising slow along the cracked asphalt road past rows of houses with scruffy-grass lawns, where children in coats laugh as they play games, Jesus taps fingers on the steering wheel while Jim Reeves sings, "I guess I am crazy for loving you" on the car radio. Nine devils in black leather jackets roar engines of motorcycles loud as demons as they surround the savior of the world, flapping bat wings and unleashing sharp claws when they kick the sides of his white sedan, and throw rocks that crack his windshield of faith. Gunning engine of white Buick Rivera, Jesus races fast down the road to town where people shopping in department stores turn in shocked surprise at unholy roar as Jesus and nine devils race through red lights in battle over who will rule mankind. Swerving back and forth in serpentine curves, Jesus knocks several devil bikers hard who spin out of control and crash in poles, then speeds ahead just far enough to veer sideways angled sliding on screeching tires that burn rubber hot in billowing smoke. Stepping from open door of white sedan, Jesus in cowboy hat and snake-skin boots stands firm against the tyranny of greed to aim silver double-barreled shotgun and fires blast of holy righteousness that knocks cruel devils off their motorbikes. Driving back home to his gray-wood feed store, Jesus carries paper bags of groceries upstairs to the kitchen on the third floor where pregnant Mary Magdalene in blue dress helps teen Tamar tend Justus in the highchair, so they kiss as he grills burgers for supper.
Friday, May 30, 2025
Chaotic Swirl Of Hope
Chaotic Swirl Of Hope © Surazeus 2025 05 30 Why clouds glow silver in the boundless sky I cannot speculate nor ponder why, absorbed by beauty of the shocking light that pierces my sad heart with ache of right as I drift in drowsy uncertainty at source of mysterious sublimity. I see in mirror of eternity face of my Muse born from absurdity who will take mask of my face off the wall and kiss my unfeeling lips when I call her sweet name with song of the nightingale who leads me through the misty roadless vale. I dare not doubt romance of the heart calculated well on my stellar chart based on inherent uselessness of faith contrived to trap concept of the star wraith in holy hymns believers sing in church beneath the gargoyle on his lonely perch. Though my horse of freedom strains at the bit I urge her race beyond the counterfeit to scatter oak leaves scribbled with dream verse across fake planets of the multiverse which proves the living cannot love the dead whose ghost of absence haunts the pulsing head. Stuck in dank danger of my memory, through puzzle of my documentary, I love the evil witch who hates my soul so I play necromancer as my role to resurrect the dead in ballad tales who mock the process mental health entails. I long for bodied contact with my Muse, though beauty fails to support old world views, so I go through the Underworld of lies without looking back to ancestral spies who remember my frail dismembered frame strewn on the beach as bones without my name. I dig the skull of Orpheus from hard dirt to learn code of his weird prophetic art so I can weave chaotic swirl of hope in solemn proverbs that help people cope with lack of meaning in this brutal life where gods gain power by killing through strife. The dead we buried in tomb of grand myths return as zombies in ringed monoliths who disassemble narrative of truth that foretells coming of messiah sleuth who wears mask of god to hide nothingness though we sing on bridge of forgetfulness.
Blue Crane Of Longevity
Blue Crane Of Longevity © Surazeus 2025 05 30 Riding the blue crane of longevity, I fly high over Kunlun Mountain peaks and land by jade waters of Lake Heihai, then climb secret trail past the tiger cave through orchard where Peaches of Wisdom bloom to Sapphire Palace beneath Whirlwind Peak. Attending banquet in the jeweled hall, I offer gift of my heart with respect to Xi Wangmu, Queen Mother of the West, who accepts Emerald Tablet from my hand, then takes Big Dipper from the starry sky and fills my grail with honey-spiced peach wine. While Zhongli Quan strums strings of the guzheng that vibrates bright from the Grand Empty Space, Wijimu Infinite Mother of Life dances gracefully across the rainbow to scatter sparkling rain on fields of crops where farmers celebrate with grateful songs. At sudden blast of swirling mountain wind the two-horned dragon-bodied Qilin horse emerges from pine woods on flaming wings and gallops with thunderous elegance in Sapphire Palace to bow before throne where Xi Wangmu offers ripe peach to eat. Strange vision glows before our dreaming eyes that plays dramatic scenes on wall of mirrors foretelling birth of the new world-famed sage who will arrive during the great world war to help us overthrow nationalist tyrants and create United Nations of Earth. Returning to my home in Okoni, nestled in lush foothills of Appalachia, I offer cracked corn to the blue-winged crane who gives me scroll with fifty thousand songs, then bows and soars into the silver clouds with blessings from the heart of Xi Wangmu. Though dream of America seems to fade from ideal state where every human being is treated equal under one fair law, threatened by white nationalist supremacy, I will nurture growth of Zarathia where every person in the world lives free. Inspired by Xi Wangmu, Mother of Earth, who offers soul-nurturing Peach of Wisdom for every human living on this Earth to savor pleasure and beauty of life, I work to build our new America based on Liberty and Justice for all.
How I Create Life
How I Create Life © Surazeus 2025 05 30 The casual way huge herd of silver clouds gallops over rolling hills of tough grass, hoofs grazing canopy of secretive trees where monsters of my imagination lurk till they vanish when I look in their eyes, inspires me with hope that life goes on. Wild spinning roulette of the mountain wind rouses woods of my heart from drowsy faith with shock of thought disorder that disrupts slow undulation trapped by social words that shift my world view into overdrive, swirled by entanglements of honest faith. Escape from demolished room of my faith accelerates my transition to new state of hungry passion for eccentric thoughts that swim silver-scaled in Memory Sea where I sail safely in small scarlet boat toward lighthouse in old temple of dead gods. Beached on the silent island of regret, I step on shifting sands of actual truth as alien to this province of contempt, and reach for shadow of the gleaming moon that overwhelms my mind with buzzing ring so I fall backward into well of gloom. Whose warm hand of compassionate desire catches me from falling into abyss of harsh traumatic memories I conceal puzzles my heart with adoring respect, but when I wake beneath the willow tree I see no savior other than the wind. Enormous tower of evasive hope spears straight up into whale-belly of clouds that writhe with lightning flashes of despair, so I climb rocky path of broken dreams that winds in haunted groves of laughing snakes to insert key of truth in door of fear. I lock tight shielding door of fortitude against aggressive words of Jupiter who hurls thunderbolts of anxiety to shatter mirror of my modesty, but I hide safe in paradise of pain and nurture life that swells within my heart. Sharp arrow of desire that strikes my heart opens wounded rose of conceptual love so I grasp skull of my mother and stare tearless into hollow hope of her eyes till I envision through epiphany how I create life from anguish of death.
Thursday, May 29, 2025
Angel In The Dark Door
Angel In The Dark Door © Surazeus 2025 05 29 When the angel in the dark door calls me with eerie voice of ocean waves at dawn, I rise from bed and walk my charming home where my wife and children sleep safe from harm, then fly out the cracked window of my mind and glide above the maze of ancient myths. If the angel in the dark door knows why our frail bodies are chemical machines that function temporarily on hope, then I might find ghost of my primal self performing on the television screen role of tragic hero the world respects. Since the angel in the dark door chants spells of wind that rustles leaves on rugged hills, I might understand pain of suffering experienced by the uncrowned king of fate who hangs of the cross of world revolution in vain quest to overthrow god of wealth. Though the angel in the dark door conceals shocking prophecy of the scarlet horse concerning who will win the next world war, I play chess with Death on the beach of lies till I win eternal life in my head as my soul dissolves to dust in the wind. Till the angel in the dark door returns from palace of Heaven on crystal clouds, I will climb the stairway of golden keys forged from bones of dragons in the hills whose black blood fuels engines of machines by which we humans conquer the waste land. Where the angel in the dark door plants seeds, that she and I stole from Adam and Eve off Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, I build new temple of the Holy Ghost that programs immortal soul of my genes with memories from lives my ancestors lived. Yet the angel in the dark door conspires with laughing devils born in Wonderland to trick the White Queen with sly money scam to buy cheap timeshares for the Afterlife where Hamlet and Juliet wearing crowns attend Ring of the Nibelung opera. Lest the angel in the dark door realize reality is illusion of our minds and crown himself new Emperor of Earth, I blow the grand trumpet of Gideon and wield the wand of Zambor to support Justice and Liberty who rule the world. Why the angel in the dark door designs weird ontology of our new world view I understand with bright epiphany that shakes foundation of the old world order with firm allegiance to Goddess Ishtar who rules the world from ziggurat of Ur. So the angel in the dark door explains the obvious secret of eternal life how we reincarnate again in flesh when sperm of man fructifies egg of woman and generates new chemical machine that replicates immortal soul of genes.
Absolute Knowledge Of Life
Absolute Knowledge Of Life © Surazeus 2025 05 29 If pretty girls wear spiders of respect then handsome boys wear wolves of honesty so they contest to match heart with their mate which generates new life from tragedy when children spring from ashes of world war and run toward the angel in the dark door. Because my heart is crowded with the ghosts of people I meet on the road of life, I think of them with affection of hope that they are living somewhere in this world with joyful attitude of comedy, though illusion of our state has dissolved. When I strike the stone with the bat of truth I hurl pure diamond of being from my heart to resurrect the daemon of respect that spreads wide Phoenix wings of agony so I play game of life on field of hope by decoding text of faith with dream keys. With song I maintain fragile modicum of dream coherence through identity as unknown exiled son of Jupiter bonding my fragmented psyche in whole which mirrors faces of humanity who sing solemn hymns at tomb of my soul. When I wake at the wild laughter of bombs in unimaginable zero summer stuffed with knowledge from the apple of truth, I dance among the rubble of our nation to regain Absolute Knowledge of Life with state of wholeness forged from fear of death. Climbing the ancient ziggurat of Ur, decayed from eight thousand years of warfare, I reach high for utopian transcendence unachievable through knowledge of fate because my breath sends prayers to empty skies where no storm god watches over mankind. Trapped in Absolute Subjectivity by mind-expanding passion to know truth, I employ concept of anxiety to secure treasure of light from the cave where Plato and Kierkegaard still play chess though bombs are blasting homes in puzzled code. Guided by summer knowledge of my heart, I journey from cluttered maze of glass towers to luscious Green World of Elysian Fields and fly to knowledge from reality where Orlando searches for Rosalind to dwell in Arden of Eternity.
Old Telephone Of My Heart
Old Telephone Of My Heart © Surazeus 2025 05 29 Old telephone of my heart never rings but I always seem to hear your true voice in cheerful chirp of invisible birds who bring me your letters on windy wings so, though your absence haunts me as your ghost, I feel not lonely in our empty home. Reverse psychology of cluttered words, which fail to analyze romantic choice, reformulates how I perceive new things which I record in dictionary tome before evening hour of the dinner roast when we discuss weak arrogance of kings. All day I wander shadows of our house to organize puzzle pieces of truth with hope to restore coherence of myth that underlies weird structure of belief on which we found ontology of faith based on ancestral memories of our brains. Face of Star Goddess on moon monolith, revealed by dream quest of messiah sleuth, mirrors fertile spirit of my true spouse who trusts me as we walk conceptual lanes on journey to embody cosmic wraith whose holy light assuages wounding grief. Old telephone of my heart flies away beyond enclosing walls of paradise as holy spirit of the mindless sun that guides my journey to the Promised Land where I found empire of the singing skull through which I prophesy what might occur. Running on bright beach with psychotic gun in vain attempt to evade paying the price of excess confidence in how I play, I wear sun-blazing mask of Jupiter to crash gates of Heaven on my white bull and build new world empire from Samarkand. All day I wander shadows of my mind to analyze how I perceive the world within framework of empirical thought which exposes artificial approach programmed by ancient Greek philosophy my brain employs to motivate my game. Transcending state as organic robot, I invent role as new world cosmic herald to expand world view that Plato designed where Idea Realm and Heaven share name that describes linguistic psychology, so I ride with Emily in her death coach.
Wednesday, May 28, 2025
Tyranny Of Social Frauds
Tyranny Of Social Frauds © Surazeus 2025 05 28 Though our state is doomed to decrepitude through hypocrisy of failed magnitude, we will design new structure of fair laws to render effect equal to its cause with morals borrowed from the noble wolf that dwells on shore of the Mexican Gulf. Inspired by spirit of the Absolute who falls in love with the kind prostitute, I calculate path of my destiny to expand empire for my progeny who sprout from dragon teeth of my soul seed with clever wits to disguise social greed. Hanging on eccentric wall of star time, Mirror of Truth reflects in ocean slime immortal spirit of God in my genes who shows me how to build psychic machines so I can analyze how my quick brain perceives worth of the world based on wealth gain. When Amateur Astronomer records fall of Lucifer from palace of chords she dictates long epic my blind muse sings about crystal dynamo of my wings that flash as shadow of the humming wheel which powers motion of the time-mobile. Majestic mass of our atomic world sparks revolution of the cosmic herald who rides white horse up pyramid of gods to battle tyranny of social frauds who kill opponents with aggressive tricks which shatters vibrant mirror of the matrix. The Emerald Seer on pyramid of skulls announces refined list of social rules while emperor he services on throne of gold presides with confidence on misty wold over dissolution of world empire that falls with eerie singing of the choir. Since many emperors with haughty pride have fallen from the tower where gods hide, I attend class taught by Tiresias for tricks to dethrone Ozymandias so I can build new empire from weird myth using psychic tools of the vision smith. To follow star road that will lead me home I consult the secret dream-fractured tome whose pages change the stories they display each time I read them at the break of day so I record fall of America to glorify rise of Zarathia.
Music Of My Wounded Heart
Music Of My Wounded Heart © Surazeus 2025 05 28 Extravagant music of my wounded heart finetunes apples ripening in my brain which programs how my hands scroll light of faith in perfect hymn from my ethereal breath that causes trees to dance in ecstasy in psychic harmony with surprised rain. Duration of music in waves of time measures unmoving distance from the past reflected in the future I would see in silent hallway of my optic scope by which my mind perceives the unnamed world cluttered with fuzzy objects of contempt. I wonder if each object I perceive, that moves through volition of mute desire, is operated by conceptual soul which animates its time-bound body well to sing in harmony with water flow when the moon in the trees speaks to my heart. Immediacy of darkness sparks awake my suddenly cautious mind in respect of fierce attention to shadowy thoughts that lurk in doorway of the everywhere which grants admission to my naked heart for eating laughter of the rotten fruit. Gone far beyond the edge of somewhere else with tenuous knowledge of why rain explodes, I touch the flexible opening of light despite soft comfort of untrammeled time when I suffer sorrowing tone of death born from consummate face of the whole world. When falling leaves of time scream in the void that cracks window of silence with false words, I run with frantic laughter of despair through empty houses where faceless ghosts type beautiful stories of romantic trysts that drag my heart into the modern world. Sharp sound of death explodes from happy graves as ghosts that cause rotting leaves to ballet across abyss of voiceless honesty too swift for children who play chase in rain beside long highway full of broken cars that envy horses grazing in lush fields. While she drives down desert highway of skulls I film the scenery with my psychic phone while leaning out the open window, eyes recording everything that should exist as names in volume of forgotten lore that lies unread on sand ten thousand years.
Pain And Pleasure Of Life
Pain And Pleasure Of Life © Surazeus 2025 05 28 With thoughtless irony of naked truth I measure tides of constant social change to analyze how humans compose tales that organize randomness of events to invent meaning from traumatic hope till pain and pleasure merge into strange dreams. Each time I step out of my comfort zone and open door of opportunity where I encounter yet another stranger, I feel my body buzz with energy that sparks hopeful currents between our brains so pain and pleasure solder our hot souls. Embraced with passion of conceptual love, we writhe with agony of lusting faith that generates new bodies from our souls who scatter far across landscape of hope with hungry passion to transcend frail bounds through pain and pleasure that transforms our minds. Contained alone within bounds of my skin, wrapped tightly round by aura of desire, I navigate soul-crowded streets of fate where millions of my doppelgangers stride boldly forth with tense tides of human hope, trapped by pain and pleasure we calculate. Encased within strict confines of my skull, my mind, that soars across all time in space, wonders why I am me and no one else, conscious only of my single self alone out of zillions of souls who lived and died entangled in pain and pleasure of life. These atoms that compose my thinking brain, which flared forth from first flash of the big bang, spiraled in one star of one galaxy, then congealed in this planet lost in space that generates my soul from chemicals, sparked by pain and pleasure with consciousness. The vast electric field of energy, which conforms white whole of the universe, is nothing more that sea of flashing light that evolves my brain through millions of years so I am conscious of myself awake, knowing through pain and pleasure I am real. My ancestors thousands of years ago designed concept of universal God based on our private sense of consciousness, so I am atoms that form neural net awake as mortal with immortal glow, molded by pain and pleasure to believe.
Tuesday, May 27, 2025
Supervision Of Greediness
Supervision Of Greediness © Surazeus 2025 05 27 Transparent in the night rain of my heart, my body channels plenitude of life from cosmic presence of the faceless god which originates in dream of my brain as seed of love that spirals into role I play in grand theater of free will. Lost in the darkness of unfettered words, that writhe in tangled mess of honesty fraught with emotions of uncanny thought, I wander beyond bounds of pulchritude in journey I begin again each life designed by immortal soul of my genes. I leave my footprints shadowed in white sand which reveal pathway of my secret choice as I search far beyond walls of my home for sacred pool of water near the sea where I bathe angel wings of my sad heart so I can fly over vast maze of myths. Dressed in gold-furred skin of the beast I slew, I grip one writhing snake in each tense hand and dance with people of my forest tribe in sunlit meadow under boughs of grapes while Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury to prophesy coming of the star mother. Because the noble country I grew up in has vanished into haze of tyranny, like so many times in world history, I grip the sword honed sharp with honesty to defend my right to live as I will if I harm none through bold integrity. I am the wisdom of the rolling stone that smashes clay-foot idol of the tyrant who tries to impose psychic tyranny on people trained to support liberty, secure equal rights through justice for all, and support the weak with generous care. People enslaved by unfortunate fate in every land around our spinning globe have built the infrastructure of their state under supervision of greediness, but garner no rewards from their hard labor, not even in the fantasy of Heaven. Unfettered by soul-chaining lien of power exercised by men who claim to be gods, I design my fate with each choice I make till I get lost in labyrinth of hope where I hang my face in the gallery and float away as faceless god of death.
Glorious Sun Of Faith
Glorious Sun Of Faith © Surazeus 2025 05 27 The flock of wild swans descends to the lake with flurry of wings woven from starlight that scatters shadows of fear in the reeds where seven girls gather mussels and eggs, for they are graceful daughters of Moon Mother who boil stew in cauldron of the blind crone. The woman in the lounge chair on the beach, wind-tangled hair bound by floppy straw hat, gazes through gold eyes of eternity to contemplate each node of human life that strings our bodies across the landscape where we build fragile castles in the sand. Beneath umbrella of the careful sky, she listens to her seven daughters sing while they fill buckets with clams and sand crabs for holy mother on the ziggurat to roast for supper as the evening falls ten thousand years along coast of the world. Faces glowing gold from the crackling flames just as the bright blazing sun vanishes beyond the far horizon of desire, the seven sisters of the rising moon sing heart-enchanting tunes of aching hope while crowds of people listen reverently. Sharp eerie melody of their sweet choir suspends the frantic sense of passing time so stars gleam bright forever overhead as people gathered round the ziggurat feel their bodies swell with divine respect and all their hearts beat in love harmony. How strange the glow of orange fire in the sky just on the edge of sharp infinity as subtle rays pierce hearts of voiceless souls with ache of melancholy tinged with love that radiates from our bodies as we hum in tune with hymn the seven sisters sing. On pure white swan wings of my ancient heart I glide along the winding coast of time ten thousand years from Egypt to Sumeria to India to China to Alaska to Mexico where millions of small ziggurats glow bright with fires as families gather for the feast. I see on ziggurat of motherhood First Mother Amen stands with arms outstretched, head haloed by the glorious sun of faith, as she recites Creation of the Earth, then fills each cup with sparkling wine of truth, so we sing and dance till the end of time.
Box Of Secret Scrolls
Box Of Secret Scrolls © Surazeus 2025 05 27 Ripe peaches on the oak-wood table gleam with melancholy hopefulness of fall so the kitten with serpentine eyes leads me along shore of the pebbled stream across canal bridge to abandoned wall that encloses strange beauty of the skies. Through ravenous mythology of fate she stares in mirror pool at her weird face contrived as abstract concept of the mind which aspires to transcend that divine state recorded in lost chronicles of space matching likeness of Heaven I designed. Implausible for ghosts of anywhere to open padlocked box of secret scrolls with unspeakable obsession of faith, yet when I abstract truth with haughty dare of audacious innocence through my goals I conjugate visions from the star wraith. I walk the long way into the new world with shadows that stagger into the dawn to find everybody I lost to time who fade away into the distant past too remote for me to remember how sorrow erased them from dream of my heart. With whole ethereal breath of honest hope I sink into the absence of their souls to find raw naked energy of love still glowing in the deepest core of fate which I extract with haunting melody that writhes from silent agony of loss. Renunciation spoken with harsh words through sharp elucidation I accept, from familiar risk of imagined fear, diverts my attention when wingless birds fly spirals backward in sunlit transept to disprove power of the puppeteer. Unmetered romance of aggressive love based on commodified value of truth fuels colonized expansion into land where angels enslave devils in hell cave to extract from Earth transformable wealth through exploitation of the red right hand. Ardent interest of the blind archivist inspires my heart to comprehend the fact that people die unjustly all the time despite fierce protests of the passivist who sees real essence in the uncarved block with quotidian progress of the wind chime.
Monday, May 26, 2025
Weird Self I May Be
Weird Self I May Be © Surazeus 2025 05 26 The strangeness of this weird self I may be opens cosmic eye of atomic faith from flashing center of the universe created by the language we invent when we stand naked in the howling wind and find eternal flame of love within. Untouchable presence of divine light urges me to walk signless road of hope toward shadow of my Self on cliff of words whom I see mirrored in the waterfall when stone of wisdom opens eyes of truth that helps me solve the riddle of desire. To hide my consciousness in words of books I mold new meaning from mud of despair, then dance with Beauty on the starry plain encircled through anxiety of fear by turmoil I enclose in whispered spells that spans eternal void of honesty. With unitary strength of secret names I measure distance between lonely hearts to spot with formula the primal cause through strict analysis of each effect reflecting passion of my dreaming mind when I assemble puzzle of our tale. Ghost of your absence haunts my daily path since you have disappeared from world of light that leaves but shadow of your memory which glows with momentary grace of hope in brief illusion of that fleeting flash that fools my heart to think you will return. Stiff idols of dead gods from long-failed myths, carved from stone on cold cathedral walls, stare down at me with flaming phantom eyes so I fear they can see play I perform as if blind clouds could see my solitude when I walk far from walls of paradise. Material structures of patterned ideas that shift through undulating waves of light adjust conceptual faith on verge of change when I perceive their realness with my mind each time my thought-eye penetrates their form so I feel essence of their being in me. Abandoned by the words my mother spoke when we walked slowly on the windy hill, I look around to see her face again till I see her transform into the hawk that floats between two moments of my heart which strikes my mind with sense I am alive.
Bright Clouds Of Evertime
Bright Clouds Of Evertime © Surazeus 2025 05 26 Too cheerful for bright clouds of Evertime, Yuri stares at sparkling blue river flow while stepping across large round smooth wet stones toward falls that gush down the moss-slathered cliff, drawn by eerie song of the water voice that calls her name with breath of timeless hope. Tall man with long wind-flowing moon-black hair rises from ancient aspect of the stone, transforming from the old uprooted tree to stand before her with sun-blazing eyes, heart beating hawk wings of reserved desire, fierce passion he conceals with mask of ice. Reaching our her hand with curious grace, Yuri lightly touches skin of his cheek, cold as snowflakes fluttering from black skies where small long-dead stars fracture gloom of night with rays of light that streak across the void millions of years till they gleam in his eyes. Awed by transcendent sense of timeless now which expands her view through eternity, Yuri offers ice-cold plum to Stone Man with smile warm enough to melt glacier peaks that send cold water swirling round their legs as he accepts her gift with frigid smirk. Nine ninja assassins veiled in black robes leap swift from silent shadows of despair and strike with silver blades honed sharp on hate, but Stone Man twirls with elegant ballet, protecting woman in yellow kimono while he decapitates them one by one. Cradling Yuri in arms tense with respect, Stone Man gazes in her wide surprised eyes, entranced by fragile beauty of her soul, then gently helps her stand on river stones stained red with blood that gleams in water flow which pulses in harmony with her heart. Boiling rabbit stew on the crackling flames, Yuri sprinkles in onions, yams, and radishes, then offers wood bowl of soba that steams warm in narrow vale of snow-frosted stones, so he bows and eats soba with meat strips, startled at flush of joy that fills his heart. Holding hands with affectionate respect, Yuri and Stone Man stroll across the bridge of wood planks arching over Ooka River, gliding with comfortable grace of strong love in swirling crowd of shoppers passing stalls as cloud of white cherry-tree petals swirl.
Since Cain Killed Abel
Since Cain Killed Abel © Surazeus 2025 05 26 If I must sing the hymn of hope solemnly then I would find the sea too beautiful to claim the modest courage of the sun that fills my final self with phantom light which fuels my transformational progress beyond the strangeness of this world I love. Before I became this physical being who wears the mask of anguished honesty I sought to change with restless tides of time to grow into my secret unnamed self whose face appears in vision of the world though I dissolve in shoreless sea of souls. Through infinite spaces in Mind of God I fly against fierce tides of moral rage to bomb the social structure of despair that traps our bodies in vast maze of hope, and free the frightened souls from church of lies to fight against indifference of the sky. No rage from suffering of victimhood could rouse your noble loving God from dank cathedral tomb with angel wings to save mankind from brutal wars of greed when men bent blind on conquest of the truth declare divine right to defend themselves. Since Cain killed Abel at the dawn of time their sons have fought ten thousand years of wars to prove whose God is real by chance of fate through contest of quick wits against mute strength which scatters orphans far across the land who build new empires to control the lake. Across the waste land of America I search for secret of the Holy Grail past shadows of despair where devils lurk to seize the moment with aggressive greed till I rebel with boundless love for truth and fight with breath of comprehensive facts. Each tree that writhes from corpse of some old god ignores my questions through insanity till my tears water roots of their desire then they reveal weird secret of rebirth that in hindsight now seems so obvious, burned in eyes of billions killed in world wars. I give fresh flowers to the one I love so she can brew sweet liquor from their juice which I drink with intense alacrity while dancing high on bombed tanks of their god then build from ruins of America world democracy of Zarathia.
Sunday, May 25, 2025
Mask From Sumatra Island
Mask From Sumatra Island © Surazeus 2025 05 25 The demonic mask from Sumatra Island gazes down at me from clean painted wall, so I become the chipmunk on the lawn eating seeds, mushrooms, worms, insects, and nuts, eyes gleaming with the softness of spring evening while the robin wonders why she is sad. When Sri Devi dances in twilight glow among oak trees in Appalachian hills, her hands wrap silence of shadows in books, that sing with prayers of crickets in backyards, recording story of the human race with jagged runes on bones of dinosaurs. The wingless angel with the rotten orange walks crowded streets of town in twilight glow, his gaunt face hungry for the fateful cry Jesus shouts from his palace in the sky which dangles on wired cable of fierce faith above lush valley of the singing skulls. The silver river shimmers with sunrays beneath the ancient bridge of hopefulness where children play along the bushy shore, and old men fish with meditative calm to catch the hidden dragon of world power that rises on frail crystal wings of time. Half-functioning brain of the robot clown records how meat-bags lacking angel wings pursue bright rainbows of their fantasies while expecting rich reward for good deeds, then analyzes their obsessive strife to accumulate dim shadows of wealth. With magic feeling of electric faith I change the future to reflect the past in tumbling tumult of swift social change based on conceptual design of my dreams arranged in digest of organized tales stored in library of the lonely moon. Though I cannot read the secretive hearts of people I interact with each day, I remember sharp scent of apple trees that conjures memories of years long ago when we would kiss beside the sparkling stream and talk about the Heaven we create. Uncertain comment of the gliding owl translates thunderous voice of the roaming storm to holy song of rain on asphalt streets that shimmer gold beneath slender streetlamps where I find hanging in the evening glow my demonic mask from Sumatra Island.
Barbed-Wire Of Paradise
Barbed-Wire Of Paradise © Surazeus 2025 05 25 Though churches in every city are packed with fervent believers who pray to God for salvation from Sahara of snow, I crawl across shattered glass of old faith on unevolved fins of arrogant hope to rule the mountain as the reptile king. Pressed against sharp barbed-wire of Paradise, I howl with anguish of the mountain wolf to watch dinosaur steamshovels devour dead Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil that was mangled by bombs in the world war so Jesus can build cathedral of glass. Clutching wrought iron gate, studded with pearls transformed from eyes of sailors drowned in tempests, I laugh wild with maniacal disdain at angry vigilance of the blind crow who rejoices in sufferings of mankind by gambling for fake salvation with Death. Stone statues of soldiers from tragic wars glare down at people of the modern world who text each other on glowing eye-phones about awful crimes of the empire state built by the bleeding hands of immigrants and slaves shackled with debt of grim despair. Gathered in millions of churches at noon, men in suits and women in flowering dresses sing "Rock of Ages" with the solemn voice of terrified people desperate to believe that we will all meet again up in Heaven to dwell forever free from pain of life. The grand museum built from human bones, designed to imitate the Parthenon, stands firm on mountain of the burning bush ten thousand years after humanity destroys itself with prideful vanity attempting to control bodies of women. If we survive nuclear blast of the truth, we would exist as nothing but bright ghosts who play on fuzzy television screens roles scripted for celestial gods of fate who haunt us with the absence of their power corrupted by desire to live forever. Orpheus wearing black suit with green tie stands on the stage in crowded Church of Hope and preaches to the faceless crowd of ghosts how leaders embody Spirit of God who treat every citizen with respect, providing social structure for success.
Justice-Borne Democracy
Justice-Borne Democracy © Surazeus 2025 05 25 So often I forget the sky is blue while staring at the television screen so I can analyze what truth is new in psychic vision of the world machine that reformats how our brains see the world so we miss coming of the cosmic herald. Regret for how rainwater flows away in rapid tumbling of soul energy, which represents why meaning fails to stay trapped in puzzle of social lethargy, inspires my sense of cosmic urgency to marry faith with atheist fervency. Though we are destined in this life to meet, we miss each other on the road of fate, so I sit on river stone with sore feet to reinvent true nature of my mate who cannot call me on the telephone so I carve our love song on dragon bone. Heart twisted into spirals of weird words, I gaze in ghostly eyes of my first love who haunts me with her absence as swift birds who bear her lonely spirit far above, so I reach out my hands to empty sky and break the haughty world with anguished cry. Through endless witty quips of bitter hope I hammer weak foundation of beliefs that fail to give me tools I need to cope when I unite our state of warring chiefs with marriage alliance of families who transcend role of rival enemies. Young children born with innocence respect variety of cultures which compose global nations with values that transect our traditional world views blind gods impose in fractured puzzle of opposing cults cobbled together on racist insults. I want to live in paradise of truth, constructing temples with prophetic scrolls, but Fate requires I play messiah sleuth appointing each person creative roles so we can build world empire on one law ruled by vatic wisdom of Onatah. When I remember why the sky is blue while singing psalm that shines my mirror brain, I program code to conjure new world view for every person in the world to train so we unite against harsh tyranny to nurture justice-borne democracy.
Saturday, May 24, 2025
Angels Always Sing
Angels Always Sing © Surazeus 2025 05 24 Because angels in Heaven always sing, praising glorious beauty of the Sun Soul, I love to dive down in the messy world and walk in fragile meat-bag of this self that wanders ungracefully anywhere to imitate songs angels always sing. Forgetting I am real with hungry heart, I gaze with awe at beauty of the sun that weaves this messy world from rays of light, so I float blissfully on futile wings to experience freedom of surreal dreams till pain drags me back down to solid Earth. Soft sea breeze wafting from sun-sparkling waves embraces me with surging energy that fills me with compassion for all beings though some attack me to control my soul which forces me to fight for liberty so I weep I must kill to remain free. Sometimes, while wandering on the signless road far beyond crowded city maze of hope, I wonder if I fell on tattered wings from flaming wisdom of the shooting star for I feel urgent passion to transcend corruptive framework of this seething world. Because this messy world of tragedy throbs with silent agony of faith I feel eternal music of the stars pulsing deep in clenched knot of my heart so I relax and open flower wings releasing music of angels in song. Though my mother calls me Persephone with soft voice half-whispered in restless wind, I become one mind with the gate of death to walk with courage of bold dignity in rancid cavern of the jewel mine where I sing sacred music of the stars. Deep in dank cave of suffocating gloom I scatter flowers on the sun-starved ground as wind whistles tunes in my hollow bones that wake the dead from slumber of despair who follow me back to the upperworld where they transform into white butterflies. Shocked at bright beauty of the Sun Soul, I gaze at Phoebus with adoring eyes who gives me apple of the bleeding star that cures my body of poisonous fruit, so I embrace him with passionate love as we transform into child of our hearts.
Grim Pablo Walks Nowhere
Grim Pablo Walks Nowhere © Surazeus 2025 05 24 Out on the dusty hill of angry shrubs grim Pablo pulls red wagon of despair, heaped with the broken dreams of nameless souls whose tattered wings he rescues from the trash when he escapes from asylum ward nine to find dank cave where skull of Phoebus glows. Chased by the goon squad in black leather boots, grim Pablo darts among the twisted trees that scream in dire laughter as he high-steps so fast his bare feet bleeding from Christ thorns kick clouds of dust that hide him from the bulls who grin as he grills steak for the mad king. High on the quivering phone line of fake words that hum in wind across the desert plain, grim Pablo dances with electric grace to catch the ballerina with snake eyes who falls from the moon with the secret book in which is written fate of the blind bard. Yet when the silver bus full of wild clowns, crippled ballerinas, and serious jesters, roars by on the desert road into Hell, grim Pablo jumps on board with broken lyre he stole from tomb of Apollo last year, and drinks the gasoline of ancient truth. When the lion in sunglasses of faith throws him off the silver bus of world fame, grim Pablo dances with cool cactus queen who transforms his guitar into the toad that leaps into the still pond of lost time, so he leans against the telephone pole. Driving rusty red truck with one headlight through endless maze of ugliness and greed, Cinderella stops on the desert road and asks grim Pablo if he wants a ride so the lost knight rides her chariot of fire to his grave in the cemetery trees. Awake in the twisted sycamore tree to see Cinderella on her white horse, grim Pablo strums old lyre of Mercury when people ask if he is their messiah come to save the land of America from Mad King Midas who steals all their gold. Searching desert hills in delirium, grim Pablo walks nowhere with empty gun, then kneels in ruined temple of Apollo while demon wings writhe from his aching heart, so he flies over Gotham City maze bringing gospel of salvation to mankind.
Time River Of Skeletons
Time River Of Skeletons © Surazeus 2025 05 24 Nothing exists in my dream of this world except the time river of skeletons invisible to laughter of star gods, so we kneel together on its lush shore to grasp emeralds and diamonds that gleam with eyes of our ancestors in our hearts. Spring wind appears in wispy willow form to toy with fleeting flash of light on grass that flares in blossoms of still unborn fruit, dazing my soul at flicker of soft wings with passion that intoxicates my heart till my body radiates immortal charm. My heart escapes clumsy frame of my soul as white-winged butterfly frail as the moon to flutter swift around my head with grace of tender compassion for suffering souls who find enlightenment of sacred truth equal in weight to harsh pain they endure. Wings of my heart with unforeseen desire sign unmapped corner of my secret world with seal of spring that sparks my aching heart through anguish to unfold itself from fear though no one calls it forth from silent gloom so I become mute cloud that drifts alone. Pure cloud of my most sacred memory will soon stitch veil of frost across my vale, but hides warm blush of spring in shadowed folds while Death leans casually against stout bough with coy repose of knowledge I must learn that writhes long-buried in grave of my heart. While we discuss slow spinning of the Earth in crenellate shade of the garden wall we feel the sudden gust of lonely wind bear our unanchored souls into the sky so we gazed shocked at valley of tall trees where river of life flows to sea of death. Trapped in the stony dream-cache of my heart, I find all the missing people of time imprisoned in the cave of sunless sorrow, so I play lyre of Mercury and sing to lead them from dark underworld of fear but none can follow me from grave of death. Webbed darkness of the forest round the lake diverts my journey to its hungry cave where I extract from sorrow of my heart diamonds of faith that gleam with clarity as my soul floats on bright oblivious waves along with time river of skeletons.
Friday, May 23, 2025
Ocean Of Celestial Tears
Ocean Of Celestial Tears © Surazeus 2025 05 23 When I understand the mind of the world I will run frantically in rain-dark streets to leap through fractured windows of the truth to swim in ocean of celestial tears which bleed from eyes of children without homes who gather at the library to read. I hear deep voices of the prophets call when they assemble in library hall to read weird stories of their broken hearts so I can understand their secret minds by reading names of roads on half-bent signs while driving past abandoned factories. They hide their sorrows inside locked church doors which writhe with agony of fractured rules encased in blasting sentences that blind eyes of false citizens through irony whose children play inside the schoolyard fence entranced to lies of strange authority. With dubious attention of regret we realize we artists must cultivate unreasonable enthusiasm for reality based on banal faith in the proud profound wrongly attributed to ancient seers with intention to subvert fools in charge. Rare opportunity presents itself for me to shirk responsibility so I declare with Terminator Voice I will be back from Heaven with the Sword assigned to me with right to execute right of the court to adjudicate laws. If best minds of my generation write daunting spells fueled by our demonic blood to operate machinery of night with dynamic stars that illuminate motionless world of time between our hearts then I vibrate with ecstasy of love. Shocked by the number of human beings killed in wars of genocide around the world that men have waged the past one hundred years, I wander foggy streets in red lamp glow and listen for the terror in the wall that explains economic formulas. Obscene odes of ambiguous contempt I paint with blood on congressional halls record the crimes of visionary clowns who whisper curses through telepathy while wandering lost in lonely country towns where ravens in oaks by my grave call me.
Heights Of Unloneliness
Heights Of Unloneliness © Surazeus 2025 05 23 Obsession with stark blueness of the sky alerts me to strange songs of animals that buzz in acrid timber of my skull when I stomp grapes with eager feet of hope, though blinded by excessive light of rain which I collect with baskets of my eyes. Quickening fear of frantic afterthoughts displays ostensible reason ghosts hide from real eyes of the mindless universe who completes its purity through my brain that soaks in tears of broken continents which shift and crack on seething waves of fire. With sad voice deep as mountains writhing rocks she sings electric melody of faith too sweet for plain existence to ignore, so we invent weird reason we exist through profound beauty of heart-haunting tunes the moment we lock eyes with fateful death. Returned from country of the rancid lake, we gather in wide circles on bare plain to drink sweet sorrow people hide in songs tinted with aggressive desire for life since we survive assault of arrogance contrived as prayers the righteous steal from fear. Trapped in deep well of my truth-hungry heart from which I attempt to crawl with bent claws, I realize nothing matters I can change since I have figured out the secret truth about why people give each other ghosts woven from shadows of unspoken fears. Dark clouds of never-falling rain expand over asphalt road shining blue with rain where frail metal cars on rubber tires glide, driven by angels crushed from loss of faith in silent meditation on despair that fuels assertion of alienable rights. Obsidian mask of the nameless sky god reflects true face all my ancestors wore which I see in thick window of the car gemmed gold with sparkling drops of evening rain each time white lightning splits eternity so I can comprehend nature of love. So when she glances back at me with joy, eyes glowing golden as the midnight moon, I vow to protect her from pain and fear and bring her fruit and flowers of the Earth as we perform our complicated lives in reverse from heights of unloneliness.
Demon Of The Crypto-Clone
Demon Of The Crypto-Clone © Surazeus 2025 05 23 At flash of lightning that cracks clear blue skies the wild-haired shaman with angelic eyes appears with fire wings on the White House lawn chanting curses in dark hours before dawn to expel from the Oval Office throne the monstrous demon of the crypto-clone. After James Dean and Marie Curie kiss, as striped sandworms emerge from the abyss, which opens glowing portal into Hell, Count Dracula at clang of the church bell swoops down from the tower of singing skulls to rescue her at running of the bulls. Beethoven kneels on church steps at midnight and proposes to Marie Antoinette, but she rides her bike in the country town and crashes into treehouse of the clown, so he plays violin with nuclear bomb that transforms into angel of the tomb. The bat-winged shaman with demonic tongue ascends to Heaven on the broken rung to hurl lightning bolts at the dinosaur who smashes the Capitol with loud roar that shakes foundation of democracy with rampant excess of hypocrisy. Wearing mask of Beowulf to the ball, the vatic shaman with the crystal ball battles Grendel in blue suit and red tie who twists sacred truth into lurid lie with rage of Achilles urging his pride to praise God as he commits genocide. While James Dean wields the sword Excalibur to play the cosmic role of Jupiter Marie Curie blasts Grendel with death ray of radiation, and holy nuns pray till star-eyed shaman zaps the vampire king who writhes in death throes as Valkyries sing. Expelling rich Mammon from the White House, the lion-hearted shaman traps the louse in cage of bitterness he forged from hate through failed attempt to escape his just fate, and thus the savior of America conducts the sacrifice from Attica. At flash of lightning that luminates truth the star-eyed shaman and messiah sleuth ascends thirteen stairs of the pyramid to rule Earth with fish-skull crown on his head through liberty and justice for all souls who find happiness with their honest roles.
Thursday, May 22, 2025
Watch Gold Water Flow
Watch Gold Water Flow © Surazeus 2025 05 22 If we walk together on road of life while sharing stories of our alone times, we might find that our independent hearts become entangled by the words we speak which form the transient trail of breadcrumbs that hungry birds of memory love to eat. Now that we share wings of innocent flight while wandering in the wilderness of fate we cannot separate from warm embrace that binds our souls with passionate respect for this familiar stranger we adore who springs to life from idol of hard clay. Lost in bright shadows of the Everywhere, with alien self who mirrors our desire, we explore beyond walls of paradise as we compose our secret tales in dust explaining thoughts that motivate our play which leaves our bodies heavy in soft grass. Though we have wandered far beyond the known to map the strange world with our eager feet, we find that we shall always feel at home in every shady grove by every stream where we relax one hour of endless time, holding hands as we watch gold water flow. While we are always maudlin with sweet love, trapped in safe sentimental state of mind, we shield our hearts from hostile arrogance with fierce expedience of the paranoid through cautious attention of startled fear to violent monsters always lurking near. We need to grow beyond soft sentiment to shield our fragile spirits from attack through calm assertion of selfless intent without allowing cynical regard to corrupt our strong compassionate faith so we can survive indifference of Nature. This urgent process of cautious respect provides clear-eyed analysis of danger that luminates the safest unmapped way we navigate over rugged terrain on our sacred quest for the Tree of Life that blossoms with fruit as gift of the Earth. Lounging together on lush river shore where we feast on delicious fruit of hope, beneath the boundless cerulean sky where clouds reflect our fondest memories, we watch gold water flow in change of time that carries our souls to the sea of dreams.
Wednesday, May 21, 2025
Story Thought Unthinkable
Story Thought Unthinkable © Surazeus 2025 05 21 Though I have not lived very long on Earth I know everything that does not exist because I read about them in the Book, constructed from feathery bones of birds, which bleeds oil from my eyes at speed of light despite how deep I dive in sea of faith. All good intentions of my argument, revived from hollow flux of cracking stones, provide new framework for hard reckoning when I dispute the obvious state of things with perverse notions of important facts based on excited sweepings of regret. Indoctrinated by ripe fruit of lust that blooms with weighty opulence of hope, I note how fast time vanishes in thought describing fevered passion of fake art contrived to veil raw wounds of bitter hate with satisfaction of my random whims. Time jails accomplice of my fearless heart with mute abandonment of tattered jokes too late to check expansive pertinence with honest aspects I could not discern before morale may decimate our ranks each time I laugh at how trees seem to dance. I know the story thought unthinkable according to despair of brazen gates that might record surprising victory which I achieve with confidence of fate when I research elaborate assent with force of my insatiable respect. Ascendance on celestial planisphere against the common cause of global laws provides regressive undulance of truth which music counteracts with relevance for patience of exploding stars we lose when ships sink howling in the brutal sea. No words illuminate so well as those I steal from fractured legends of dead gods, who rage against machinery of delight, our secret business to replace grand tales with sullen heroes taught by suffering for humble memory of gigantic ghosts. They scatter scent of hazel in green rain when all their children on the road ahead evade clear presence of their unlocked doors, forgotten by the blind librarian who reads old news to ravens on bare shelves since we leave treasures of our dreams in books.
Tiresias In Cave Of Dreams
Tiresias In Cave Of Dreams © Surazeus 2025 05 21 When I follow the hawk to the waste land, where thousands of visionaries have gone to find Tiresias in Cave of Dreams, I discover buried in sands of time true Lyre of Mercury by Well of Odin where mermaid bones gleam in the blazing sun. Now millions of children with broken phones, who want to sing with bold prophetic voice, follow the Piped Piper of Avalon, while I sit by the Burning Bush of Faith high on desolate slopes of Mount Takoma and strum the Lyre of Mercury with rapture. From Temple of Apollo on the summit I see lost children of the fallen empire crawl among tangled weeds of Wonderland to find the secret Key of Vatic Wisdom while lusty Fame chooses with magic wand the most glamorous poets as acolytes. Dressed in fancy robes of commercial glamor, they follow Fame in prestigious parade, climbing bowed heads on Stairs of Legacy before the crowd that clamors to join in, and feast on cakes of sugar-coated praise in glittering mirrored Hall of Narcissus. Escaping glamorous Court of the Word King where the Favored Ones network to gain power, I leave grand Castle of the Holy Book, past marble idols of the Famous Seers, and tread Invisible Trail of the Truth to secret cave where Tiresias dwells. Sitting on lotus flower in pool of tears, I meditate by chanting spell of light while Tiresias gathers lightning sphere to channel cosmic energy of truth and generates virtual model of Earth that chronicles whole human history. From spirit egg that flashes divine light enormous gods composed of human souls emerge as characters of epic tales whose masks embody social energies to perform roles in dramatic events in culture clash between conceptual gods. Humans embody social energies to replay ancient dramas for control through clash of Titans in the cosmic war that Jupiter and Jesus ever wage between democracy and tyranny till we die and leave the stage for new gods.
Choosing Our Own Fate
Choosing Our Own Fate © Surazeus 2025 05 21 I try to focus on the little things adjusted carefully in each glass case in the Great American Museum of Domestic Tranquility to showcase my privileged place in story of our state defined by the random choices of fate. While eating orange I stole from Tree of Life, I lounge in park among wind-rustled leaves beneath tall statue of William the Silent to honor independence of the mind from all controlling tyrants of the state who dare think they can legislate our fate. I mean to tell about my life at home with solemn voice of the brave mocking bird, but my heart sprouts wings and will tend to roam across the ancient landscape of the Earth where people fight to establish the state so they can pretend they control their fate. The fact that I am related to both General Robert Edward Lee and John Brown defines ambiguous nature of being programming cultural code of my mind which operates how I function in my state though I swim against empire tides of fate. If I analyze my relationships with my family through quaint fairy tales I might present in well-masked characters ancient forces of social theater which form foundation of our global state while I perform roles that defy my fate. Or I could satirize with timeless gods contemporary leaders of vast nations who wrestle that angel whom Israel fought to balance freedom of the individual with public interest of the faceless state by enforcing laws that equalize fate. Though I attempt to fictionalize my life in tradition of college writers workshops, instead I sing about global events in tradition of wandering troubadours to record chronicles of the world state which moralize weird principles of fate. This face-mask from the ancient gallery, I wear while chanting arcane prophecies, reflects the psychic mind of Everyman through mirror of the television screen to rationalize blind functions of the state that we enforce by choosing our own fate.
Tuesday, May 20, 2025
Record Another Testament
Record Another Testament © Surazeus 2025 05 20 Everywhere I go in my daily life I sense the Universe is watching me, so I act like the star of my own show, controlling everything I say and do, but nothing ever results, so I laugh and make weird faces at the empty sky. Every afternoon I walk to the street and check the mailbox of my hungry heart to see if the holy angels of God have sent me letters that explain the Why, but all I get are brochures, store coupons, and applications for bank credit cards. I hold the sacred language of the world that squirms in my hand with ocean-wet scales and stares at me with gold demonic eyes, so I explain my sorrow to Moon Witch who teaches me to translate songs of waves to tangled sentences no one comprehends. With hands I measure objects that exist to find familiar spirit of the wind constrained by clustered forms of ecstasy which vibrates buzz of passion from my bones when I dance with irregular respect on stage of the sea-desert in the void. Through startled jaggedness of secret codes I improvise the reason we exist from whispered colors of the singing sand that flow in wrinkled tides of ardency despite how fast trees crack all parking lots to free our brains from knowledge of the book. Though I go everywhere freely on Earth I can never go back where I came from, for I must always loop the spiral road forth into swirling mists of Avalon where I record another testament that represents the Ungod of my brain. Your story enters my heart at your touch so I carry burden of your mute joy entrapped in charcoal cavern of my heart, yet I assert respectful narrative contrived by fairies of the weeping tree to soothe shared hurt with prayers of honesty. If we perform our predetermined roles on crowded stage of social fantasy, we might not make it home on time to watch election of the poet laureate who chants the fatal elegy of love that records the fall of America.
Often Mistaken For God
Often Mistaken For God © Surazeus 2025 05 20 That dying star that no angel can see, which travels both directions beyond light, sprinkles snow flakes of religious desire on faces of the faithful by the lake where their prophet who tried to walk on water has not yet emerged from abyss of time. As I stand on broken edge of the world ready to dive into abyss of time, I wonder if I should be sore afraid of swimming in the ocean of my mind to find the luminous soul of my heart that I have often mistaken for God. Should I surrender wisdom of my faith to swim in infinite flow of desire, then I would feel light of that dying star glow in each neuron of my dreaming brain so I speak with voice of the oracle from the model of Delphi in my yard. The Goddess with one hundred billion eyes, who created this world of swirling souls, teaches me how to speak of what I see so she can know if anything is real, yet I keep singing visions of my mind long after she melts as snow into flowers. Each sentiment of beauty I perceive can never quench thirst of desire to know divine concept of the right character who gives me oranges from the tree of faith that flash diamond flames in eggs of my eyes so I record secret names of the dead. We cannot rightly bifurcate the truth by twisting wings of sorrow from god skulls, yet we can dance with the divinely dead whose faces smile from photos on the wall when I decide each day which mask to wear in sacred role of prophet no one hears. Rewinding details of ideal concepts from fracture of space collapsed into words, I hold up the sky with keyboard of dreams to program how the Earth perceives itself through myths of fate in television shows that lonely people sing about in church. The dying star that flashes back and forth replaces concept of my world with code translating visions into fairy tales that parents read their children as they die whose luminous souls float in the night sky that I have often mistaken for God.
Monday, May 19, 2025
Faceless God Of Truth
Faceless God Of Truth © Surazeus 2025 05 19 I need some sit-and-stare-at-the-wall time, so I sit on the couch of meditation and stare at the wall above the fireplace, but not even one minute ticks away before I see grand vision of the world which I assemble from puzzle of dreams. Before my grand vision evaporates I dip tip of the brush in bowl of paint and draw baseline of truth across the sky to frame vast emptiness of everything within enclosing bounds of time and space to formulate state of things that exist. Emerging from nothing of the white wall, grand vision of the world blooms into shape as field of shadows that reflect ideas designed as patterns which objectify swirls of material atoms into forms which my brain may categorize with words. Abrupt expression of ethereal breath in gust of wind that blows from mountain peak reframes constituent elements of faith by scattering puzzle pieces of my mind that flutter into butterflies of faith which name each human soul born from the sea. The old storyteller with oaken cane shambles across desolate field of weeds, searching for the cafe among clean shops where he used to drink coffee and write poems that vanished when planes with angelic wings bombed his world into rubble of despair. Sitting on tattered couch of sad nostalgia, the old storyteller stares at the sky where ghosts of ancient heroes float as clouds till he crumbles into the soil of silence while millions of people across the land watch history tales on television screens. I stare so long at the masks of dead heroes that hang on the wall of my empty house that I become the faceless god of truth awake in every human brain on Earth who clash in world wars over who plays god till we become fairy tales in lost books. Sitting in the Wingless Angel Cafe, between the bank and the church on Main Street, I draw the face of every human being who ever existed in dream of Earth, then throw Book of Souls in River of Time so I can stare at the blank wall of truth.
Desire To Generate Souls
Desire To Generate Souls © Surazeus 2025 05 19 Because the whole sky fits inside my skull, I wake in darkness of the everywhere to find I am small as the apple seed which blooms vast as our swirling galaxy that flashes melodies of rain-sparked words through undulating matrix of my brain. The airplane gliding across empty sky takes me to the past where I should not be because I get there faster in winged flight than if I walk on foot across the land, so I fold my soul in page of the book that records each forgotten genocide. Love motivates each action of my hands to build beauty from random elements that guard your embodied spirit from harm so you can savor pleasure of this life in moments of togetherness we share that fuels our desire to generate souls. When I look for God in dream of the world to understand nature of energy, I feel conscious sense of my Self expand beyond enclosing bounds of my soul frame so I become God I am looking for that vibrates love in every human soul. I am illusion of my pulsing brain that feels itself awake inside my skull as atoms flashing bright in chemicals which conjure virtual model of the world through vision of my whole ontology that defines structure of our universe. Before beginning of my sense of self that speaks dream spells in breath of honest hope I touch weird image of my secret face reflected in bright mirror of the pool, and wonder from what stone of time I spring through fierce compassion of the angel wing. Through every conscious choice of faith I make based on clear vision my brain formulates, I calculate strict progress of my fate to build my destiny with stone and wood by planting fruit trees inside garden walls where my descendants may thrive and transcend. Death is no threshold our bodies pass through for we are composed from atoms of light so we must generate children of hope through seed that fertilizes egg of love to reincarnate soul-genes again in flesh four hundred million years of soul rebirth.
Art Of Radical Insight
Art Of Radical Insight © Surazeus 2025 05 19 To psychoanalyze my state of mind within framework of the Hamlet discourse, I enter laboratory of the state to practice art of radical insight through performance of madness inside words that wards off ghosts listening at my door. On contours of my deep ambivalence toward secret nature of my serpent heart I stumble against obstacles of hope to shift attention of my eager faith through misdirection of my stated goals to evade being role model for the world. I am no mascot for this fractured time by surfing waves of elemental change though I lounge in consulting room of fear to wrestle angels of aggressive cheer who test fierce loyalty of my shy heart to the faceless monster who reigns on high. Wearing mask of the psychoanalyst, I guide lost souls with lyre of Mercury that rings with melodies Orpheus wrote from cavern of illusions trapped in words they write with blood of angels in blank books to formulate fuel from sludge of despair. Attempting to figure out who I am, I strip away all signs of social status so I stand naked on the careless field, unshielded by illusions of false pride, though I must suffer weird mental dysfunction because I chant weird prophecies of fate. Uncanny to myself, I hear my voice reverberate against walls of the state which shakes pillars of the establishment, yet I sing visions from my own deep mind, which no shadowed muse demands I dictate, that springs from weird persona of my soul. When I stop to think about the weird world, the wires of my brain explode sparks of code that reprogram how I perceive the real, perhaps because I sublimate harsh truth with polished metaphors of sublime art that traps demonic horror in strict form. My one big theory tangled in my heart explains true nature of the universe that organizes every disparate fact in sprawling puzzle of our memories which I assemble from all human tales to psychoanalyze my state of mind.
Weird Haze Of Yesterday
Weird Haze Of Yesterday © Surazeus 2025 05 19 Far from archaic shores of my childhood I sail to see God in fog of the future, but find only more lands where people dwell in cities staged to replay founding tale of their ancestor who arrives one day to pluck fruit from the giving tree of hope. The normal world of truth where I grew up has vanished now in dim fog of the past where I left corpse of God inside the church from which spring nations of humanity who worship idols of ancestral guides which guard the garden of our secret code. After climbing mountains of jagged peaks to view paintings that depict long-dead gods, I stand before gate to Towers of Silence with hope to see the Flame of Zoroaster that must still glow with spirit of God Mind which flares forth from first flash of the big bang. The only place I have ever seen God is in the shining mirror on the wall that shows how the fairest spirit of all animates child of Narcissus and Echo whose face emanates energy of faith with charismatic glow of divine truth. When Oceanus, riding foam-maned horse, falls in love with graceful star-eyed Aditi, she transforms his spirit of honest faith into brave Mithras wearing scarlet cape who defeats the cruel tyrant Minotaur in brutal battle to wear Crown of Christ. Archaic world of my childhood in Texas, where I ride my bike to the college campus and read about alphabets of the world, vanishes in weird haze of yesterday when I hitchhike Seattle to Miami and play guitar by fountain of the ghost. While I meditate by the gushing river in pine-crested foothills of Mount Takoma, I see three goddesses of wisdom glow, Athena, Saraswati, and Kwan Yin, who bless me with the Voice of Prophecy so I can navigate safe way through Hell. Wearing mask of persona I design, to shield mortal frailty of my heart, I sing Chronicle of Humanity disguised in fairy tales of Gothic angst that record my quest for the Holy Grail which shimmers in the heart of my soul mate.
Sunday, May 18, 2025
Grand Canyon Of Faith
Grand Canyon Of Faith © Surazeus 2025 05 18 The gray-haired woman in the river boat commissions the white raven to retrieve gold pocket watch from the insolent knight who sells his armor at the antique shop for coat of many colors he can wear when he attends the posh gallery show. The sad angel curled in the oak book shelf requests the red-furred cat with serpent eyes for pair of wings the snowy owl sells then watches the passenger jet of faith scatter fake clouds of arrogance with prayer while the cat and the owl play game of chess. The spider man with thirty-thousand eyes, who lives in the Grand Canyon of faith, weaves tapestry of human history that presents the prophets in dreamless caves of every religion mankind invents to translate wisdom of toads in the swamp. The young school girl wearing long cotton skirt climbs down the side of the high red brick wall on rusty ladder of excessive faith because she wants to ask the robot clown how he can always make sad people laugh with confusing riddles no one could solve. The car mechanic in the large garage decides that engines represent the heart demonic angels build for time machines that lonely people drive across the land where Roland blows ivory oliphant horn though no one rescues his soldiers from bombs. The small-church pastor wearing silver suit flips through pages of the Bible to find elusive passage that explains how faith can save the fool from dancing off the cliff, then drinks beer by the oak and laughs all night at absurd beauty of the butterfly. The serious magician with yew wand transforms the toad long croaking in the swamp into accountant for the country bank tasked to adjudicate requests for loans farmers apply to fund their future crops in field where Mithra tames the Minotaur. The gray-haired woman in the river boat gives me the wand she uses to catch fish so I ask the school girl to marry me so we can translate song of nothingness to silly fairy tales children can read before they grow up to work in finance.
Energetic Faith In Dirt
Energetic Faith In Dirt © Surazeus 2025 05 18 Too long strange silence of the angel wing vibrates ancestral memories of the stream that floods the plain one hundred million years till wingless angel of the aching heart explores along the winding river shore and picks up gleaming emerald of her eye. Alone on grassy plain of floating stars, she sings the ancient memory of our genes that fuels her endless journey to the moon which always gleams above the distant hills and lures her to the land of apple trees beyond horizon of the wordless wind. The child who feels vibration of the rain throb deep in crystal bones of honesty knows why she is herself and no one else in all the history of the universe, for she collects the masks of long-dead gods to hang on trunks of trees as ticking clocks. Long curly hair swirls randomly in wind as she walks slowly toward demonic light that glimmers weirdly on the giant stone which wavers proudly in her aching heart till she arrives at edge of nothingness to touch the solid coldness of the world. What name of energetic faith in dirt she breathes with vibrant passion of her tongue defines complete expansiveness of self wrapped whole in secret warmth of fantasy which she decides must designate the face who looks at her from shimmer of the pool. Through misdirection of the twisted branch that points beyond vast whyness of the sky she feels soft hand of love enclose her heart with gentle protest of the lonesome guard who feels complete when she stays by his side while glimmer of the sun binds their hearts firm. Expressing vision glowing in her eyes with vibrant words that slither from her tongue, she tells him why their hearts connect in love because we calculate our destiny through each decision our hearts choose to make when we seek wholeness of our secret self. Assembled concepts of the fractured world complete whole puzzle of their separate hearts when they hold hands and walk in silent wind to blaze the trail long signless in the sun where we now drive our cars on asphalt road that takes us round in loops of strict routine.
Frame Of What Is Real
Frame Of What Is Real © Surazeus 2025 05 18 Each scene of unresolved false memory that flashes blurred across his fuzzy mind, as Seth floats through the quiet afternoon in peaceful sadness of eternity, sparks dull anxiety of numb despair that makes him chuckle when he snaps awake. Nobody cares about my memories, Seth mumbles to the finch on the back porch that hops along the rail of eager hope, then drinks cold faucet water of concern in small home nestled in the grove of oaks along suburban street lined with dead cars. Submerged in half-dream of the afternoon, Seth rides the horse across the windy plain to catch the shadow of objective fear embodied by the man with doorless key whose laughter twists the oak tree into rope that dangles from the beam of unjust law. Haunted by faceless god his father feared, Seth walks quickly past every empty church because he knows the doors are locked all week, then browses fiction section of bookstores to read short summaries of unreal plots about men numb with angst of modern life. The plush green couch in middle of his house floats just above the ground of principles in shy defiance of grim gravity each time his brain designs new alien world, completely different from the state of Earth, where he is the brave angel who can fly. When Seth decides to fish on lake of dreams, where he casts line into abyss of fate to catch the Loch Ness Monster of his heart who knocks him off balance from his wood boat, he falls nine days and nights in wingless flight to hum half-awake on his floating couch. Through sudden field of shocking certainty Seth runs through thunderstorm of laughing gods to find the girl he loves beside the lake who kisses him in drenching rain of time till she reminds him of her secret name which reconstitutes frame of what is real. Shouting at the empty sky of false faith, Seth asks divine zookeeper of the Earth if he can perform with elastic grace roles of both therapist and referee as pope who rules empire of fairy tales, then stares out the window as evening falls.
Saturday, May 17, 2025
Almost See The Face
Almost See The Face © Surazeus 2025 05 17 As star of my own solar system, I wake in the quiet house of screaming ghosts that beam from every brain alive on Earth as radiant static of world emptiness without sad story of the human race that flickers on blank television screens. Eight billion houses on our floating Earth blink eyeless windows in the rancid night though crackling stars burn human hearts to ash because we walk alone on signless roads together yet apart in void of time just close enough to almost see the Face. Anxiety appears in old-man form crouched in mute horror of the sunless room who follows me as shadow of my body which thirsts to drink fermented blood of fear that bleeds from pulsing sponges of my eyes till I push him in swamp mud of my heart. To build the baseline of our real-life tale we start with honesty and end with lies we carve as masks from skulls of ancient gods to hide our aching hearts with bold bravado that shields our wounded souls from vampire lust on which celebrities of fame must feed. By singing riddles of exotic hymns I hope to achieve what my heart desires when I create virtual Earth in my brain to mirror real world composed of atoms that seethe from heat to form organic souls who writhe with pleasure to create new life. With incomprehensible breath of hope, I crawl hand over hand to mountain peak where I stand on one leg of tense respect to reach the first star of the universe that still shines pulsing deep inside my brain since its first flash flared forth from the big bang. I feel how very atom of my soul has pulsed with energy of lust for life fourteen billion years of spinning time through various forms of chemical concepts transforming from ideal ghost of the I who evolves billions of lives to be me. Reframing problem of the afterlife, I explain that I am the incarnation of my parents in the flesh again now, designed by immortal soul of our genes as bodies that replicate our God Mind in new brains where I almost see the Face.
Lake Of Dancing Wolves
Lake Of Dancing Wolves © Surazeus 2025 05 17 Disturbed by how fast Death claims human souls, Juturna watches television shows about life in the ancient Land of Oz where elves build palaces of dreams from snows that never cease swirling from weeping moons which hang as mirrors on black starless skies. Each time she returns to scene of the crime to find conceptual evidence of fate, Juturna lingers on the ocean shore till Arion arrives from end of time on star-leaping dolphin of Zathamar to give her golden apple of the sun. Running together in the river grove from horde of assassins wearing black masks, young lovers search for somewhere safe to hide, till they find cave where Plato waves glass wand to teach them secrets of the universe, so shy Juturna kisses Arion. Unsure of how he feels about her heart, Juturna strides across the windy plain to weave fantastic visions from green rain, so Arion chases shadow of hope to find her on solemn Cliffs of Moher where he explains to her how he much cares. Determined to escape the falling bombs that blast all fantasies to kingdom come, young lovers drive highway of singing skulls till they arrive at lake of dancing wolves where they build temple to the Faceless God whose apple trees sprout from the fertile sod. Back to reality on fairy wings, Juturna flies home safe to Illinois where she shows photos of her time in France to strangers on the street she meets by chance, till secret agents of the government arrest her for tricking the president. Alone on mountain of the burning bush, Arion ponders social provenance that sparks the rise of prophets who give voice to grievance of the people sore oppressed who dare revolt against the status quo to favor equal rights for every soul. Deported to the Isle of Avalon, Juturna reunites with Arion by lake where snowy egrets flap their wings, then holding hands they sit on wooden porch to watch empire of America fall so Zarathia can rise on Phoenix wings.
Reason Time Is Weird
Reason Time Is Weird © Surazeus 2025 05 17 She wonders if the reason time is weird could flash from how the raven wing transcends eccentric jokes contrived by ringing bells despite how fast the book shelves have been cleared except for why sweet cuteness still depends on serpent princess stealing words from wells. So drives steel motorcar of honest hope swift on the writhing highway of fake wealth to catch the falling star with angel mask born as her daughter on the mountain slope who grows up hunting butterflies with stealth to finish well each fate-appointed task. Yet each house glowing by the dragon sea, where children play and laugh with fearless joy, explodes from bombs hurled by the angry god, so they crawl limbless in land of the free, then work in factories to assemble toy sold in shopping malls by religious fraud. Annoyed by attitude of haughty pride displayed by football captain on their date, she joins the army of the howling horse to arrest preachers and scammers who lied in schemes to steal money from naive fate who sells mineral rights to the holy source. When Attila camps at the gates of Rome with purpose to enslave the populace, fierce Leo meets him on the battle field and casts demonic spell from arcane tome that sparks compassion for the human race so the mighty warrior decides to yield. In every age of human history demonic spirit of the anti-christ incarnates in some tyrant blind with greed whose rage oppresses man with misery, till from the people rises new brave Christ who leads our revolution in dire need. Attired as warrior goddess we respect, Minerva waves bright flag of our just cause to organize our fight for liberty and pave way for the social architect who will design new set of global laws that maintains justice through democracy. When she concludes the reason time is weird based on analysis of fairy tales that people share on social media sites, she trains her son to play role of the bard who prophesies that Liberty prevails through war that paralyzes parasites.
Wealth Gap Of Fate
Wealth Gap Of Fate © Surazeus 2025 05 17 Inspired to narrow the wealth gap of fate by investing in flights of fantasy, Faunus plays hide and seek with Libitina who wants to kiss him with sweet vampire eyes, while Salacia boils oyster seaweed soup to feed the crowd of refugees from war. Bright effervescence of the swirling sea sparkles deep in his eyes with selfless love when Faunus sees long-haired Venilia chase butterflies in lush Elysian fields, so he leaves Libitina in the cave and chases her along the windy beach. Enraged at how Faunus abandoned her, Libitina crouches on the cliff edge and hurls large stone with jagged points of hate that cuts the shoulder of Venilia who stumbles to her knees and cries in pain, so the curly-haired boy tends to her wound. Cradling Venilia in his caring arms, Faunus leads her safely to the dream cave where Salacia gives bowls of oyster soup, so he feeds her while she blushes with hope, then whispers how she wants to marry him, but shrieks in fear when Libitina glares. Declaring that Faunus belongs to her because her built her temple of the dead where she burns corpses in the holy fire, Libitina grabs his reluctant hand, but he proclaims attention of desire to focus love on life rather than death. Fuming with anger at his hurtful words spoken by one she thought cared for her heart, Libitina runs on the windy shore, then sits on large black stone of arrogance that guards mouth of the gushing snow-fed stream to cry at rejection of loyal trust. Slim Alpanus in gown of raven feathers appears beside her on the river stone, who wipes her tears with skeletal hand and offers pomegranate with red seeds, so Libitina follows master of death down into cave of diamonds and despair. Turnus, son of Venilia and Faunus, rides young horse across the Esquiline Camp where he sees young girl with long flowing hair, Lucina, proud daughter of Libitina, so he embraces her with eager arms, and she kisses him with intense desire.
Friday, May 16, 2025
Matrix Of Our Mutual Mind
Matrix Of Our Mutual Mind © Surazeus 2025 05 16 Delicate yellow flower of my heart blooms through crack in Church of America, so I rise up from cavern of desire and walk toward shadow of faith I accept as way more real than Heaven preachers sell who curse their enemies to burn in Hell. The prophet rises from the common folk when they are trapped in hostile circumstance to speak with clear voice of the clairvoyant what action they could take against despair to overcome oppression of the rich who exploit energy of crafting hands. Because there is no supernatural God who created this world from spoken word, I am unprophet of the tribal soul, composing spells of complicated code to cast clear vision of the virtual world that mirrors real world which creates our souls. Dedicated to truth of the Ungod, who watches not over all that I do, I unspool matrix of our mutual mind to mirror real world in my dreaming brain so I can calculate cause and effect to help predict the coming of the sun. When people of my nation, fraught with fear, cry out with voice of patience in despair, I recompile their most outstanding fears to seek sanction from shadow of the god that emanates from fractured stone of truth so I recite clear vision as their guide. If we are still on signless road of fate that leads from sea shore to the mountain cave, we will relax in Temple of Blind Gods where flame-caster forges new Wisdom Wand for me to wield as Emperor of the Yarth despite how clocks unwind my neural soul. Each book I eat with alabaster teeth contains concepts of twisted energy so with apparent flap of angel wings my brain uploads new set of memories just fading bright from instrument of truth which I wield now in crippled state of being. With calm alacrity of peaceful pride I assemble fragments of fractured truth from countless tales of vain experience to conjure virtual world of faceless souls based on real people who invent new names woven in matrix of our mutual mind.
Ghosts Of Fake Words
Ghosts Of Fake Words © Surazeus 2025 05 16 Along bright beam-path of the lonely moon, heart beating wild with dark misshapen wings, I run toward glowing shadow-heart of hope that winds out spiral-flight of honesty for eye-swirl mist of harrowing desire to aim my soul straight through eternity. Accelerating leap of earnest faith propels my soul across night-wide abyss with fierce intent to reach infinity on eager wings I bought from Icarus who hides in cave of illusions to weave expansive matrix of our mutual minds. Enclosed within courageous form of faith, that whirrs from tides of nothingness I feel, my heart embraces time-strong vanity to drive fate of my heart against harsh rules restraining fierce aggression of my hope to play competing game of arrogance. Regret winds taut with anger self-control by which I rein assertion of my rights to manage flushing flow of energy that fuels my mission to investigate confines of caverns gleaming rich with wealth I wish to extract with world-crafting hands. Attained by bloated conceit of false faith, through aggrandizement of bland boastful pride, I glut my heart with insolence of praise, disposed toward innocence of vacant nymphs who feast on rumors swollen with grim tears despite offensive charge of charity. Each object pulsing with Solarian light vibrates bright outlines of existing forms beyond horizon of our consciousness in mountains haunted by ghosts of fake words whose hands caress my brain with pungent lust for bitter juice of my sea-mirror soul. Trapped by eternal glow of evening dusk that challenges rich substance of my faith with naked longing of my heart heart, I exit pale of sacred temple hall so I experience struggle to survive till I return home with treasures of truth. Trite manifestation of empty choirs, when I paint mural of our tribal tale with blood that oozes from my reckless mind, deranges how my brain processes facts now symbolized by divine characters misconstrued as normal people we are.
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