Time Machine Of Books © Surazeus 2025 06 02 Since the day I arrived on this weird Earth I have tripped haphazardly anywhere on vast unmapped landscape of erased myths recorded in the time machine of books, so I have compiled from random events coherent narrative of my grand legend. In conversation with dead faceless ghosts I chat with invisible birds in trees whose secret language describes anecdotes for psychic revolution of true faith encoding social values in folk songs based on epistemology of truth. Scarecrow of guilt in field of humming wheat reaches out to touch frail moth of my heart lacerated by sunset of desire when bodies of innocent people, killed in famines from destructive wars for power, bloom into flowers where young children play. The whole family in the small mountain town, who were all born from river rocks at dawn, sit on wood stools in front lawn of their house, and sing with pop songs on the radio as they shuck corn to find the golden treasure in holy seeds from which the world is born. I care about every soul in the world, amused that none of them care about me, because we bloom together in the sun from river stones and flower seeds and feathers, for each contains scent of eternity recorded in the time machine of books. The only stories humans ever tell depict the sadness of women in love for they generate the bodies of children designed by hope in alternate dimensions who tell each other tales of their survival which compose holy scripture of their nations. Yet I mistake dread for end of the world as tragic romance of every good marriage that produces each new world generation whose childhood games in schoolyards of despair become civil wars societies fight between liberals and conservatives. Released from prison of the optimist, I assemble puzzle of new world view from every story any human told since our first mother in the apple tree expressed frustration in conceptual sounds that inspired her daughter to invent language.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury while Ophelia sings Ballad of the First Mother Who Invented Language.
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