Escaping Bankrupt Nation © Surazeus 2025 10 31 If darkened hills yield sorrow of soft rain our hearts assemble with cows in wet fields to ponder barrenness from pestilence that twists our hearts at beauty of the moon as ghosts of the dead wear discarded clothes and ask for food from people of the sky. Yet broken melody of the glass moon excites my hesitant heart to assert laughter of ocean tides with orphaned dreams, hesitant to wake from darkness of truth so I can shelve books in their proper place before the weeping willow learns my name. When I survive sharp surgery of grief beyond stark limitations of concern, my heart hides thoughts in secret passages within the hollow hearts of honey trees so we can share key to the afterlife where paper skeletons of angels dance. Trapped in well-lit room of infinity with all the lost objects of fallen kings, I outline theory of the fractured mind designed to explicate wholeness of death when we emerge from womb of otherness to claim our place in heaven of lush fields. Escaping bankrupt nation of despair to display happy memories of youth, we sell our sorrows to the bitter god in exchange for fame we could never earn because development of mental code has been arrested before clocks explode. Safe in the sad forever of our song, I leave my body floating in sea waves to permeate wholeness of our spinning globe with conscious fortitude of honest hope that we paint our fears on rough walls of caves to prove we are more than fate of the wrong. Sophistication through insipid tales could spite our solemn vow to comprehend unspoken sorrows people try to hide in bold dramatic movies no one sees except blind clown on the telephone pole who longs to join the carnival of gods. Morose but calm at blast of angry bombs, I write my lamentation on the sky with blood of angels killed by mindless guns since Mother Nature is indifferent to whether we humans survive of not, so I wear disguise to hide from my ghosts.
Friday, October 31, 2025
Escaping Bankrupt Nation
Umbrella In Sweet Rain
Umbrella In Sweet Rain © Surazeus 2025 10 31 When umbrellas fall in sensuous rain at passionate kiss between lonely lovers, silver drops erase social memories so we become two bodies intertwined with sweet electric energy of trust that generates new life from our desire. Stark rays of light through storm-impatient clouds illuminate demon wings in our hearts so we transcend tight bounds of naked fear through slow expansion of our conscious hopes to glow as constellated stars of love arranged by plans we weave with whispered words. Together holding hands of shy regret we wander through deserted park of signs, ignoring careful paths of social roles to tread with bare feet of assertive faith fear-muddied trails in shadows of cruel trees who weep flower blooms on our tangled hair. Great need for shared responsibilities binds our individual hands with red thread of heart-connected moments we perform to nurture trust of stricken insolence combining separate minds with one new goal that guides our navigation beyond death. Weird way light glows on cautious open doors alerts our skittish hearts to sudden trap that could still fracture fragile innocence with misconstrued words of false sentiments distorted by perceptive nonchalance that twists our haven into paradise. No agitated guilt of lonely vales projects bright stars on stone walls of the church where faceless ancestors we never meet wait sleepless in tombless graves of the heart for hour we choose to rise from numb despair and strike with truth against contempt of fate. Pungent scent of lilies after dawn rain disguises familiar anger with hope that disciplined poise of honest respect may splinter monuments to social pride erected by the living left behind who carve our names on rain-smooth river stones. Unreachable home of galactic tides lures our aching hearts to return at last from endless journey to lost paradise with brave humility contrived by prayers till we meet again by hate-ruined hall to kiss under umbrella in sweet rain.
Ghost Of My Lost Lover
Ghost Of My Lost Lover © Surazeus 2025 10 31 Haunted by absence of people we love, we disguise our souls with stereotypes of people who existed in the past so ghosts of our ancestors cannot find exuberant homes of ephemeral faith where we teach children how to play themselves. If paper angels hanging from roof eaves sing heavenly hymns of ephemeral faith, bats may flock from huge abandoned warehouses and transform into children with snake teeth who want to understand math formulas for calculating games that increase wealth. Dressed as Saturn with sea-electric eyes, I walk black asphalt street among tall oaks, bare feet squishing thin orange leaves wet from rain, to catch shooting stars with death-wrestling hands and turn them into shadows in dark rooms where faceless people talk to photographs. Aware of every soul alive on Earth, I walk toward white rectangle glow of light to talk with sparrows in meadow of skulls who understand assignment of the queen to feed every child hungry for respect who gathers wings of angels from wet grass. Beneath black metal skies of rippling thoughts we wear stiff plastic masks of long-dead gods to harvest red clouds from silver trash cans while Death walks beside us without sharp scythe to wait before locked doors of the white church where blind Rapunzel in the dark spire sings. Sharp fever of poisonous flowers swirls, buzzing from empty mirror of dark void where Cain asks Persephone for the time though she hides behind purple velvet drapes to kiss grim murderer of the silk-white moon while Jengu tends her wounds with gentle care. Green raven wearing crystal mask of fate consumes despair from hands of lonely kids who hide harmonious stars in grumbling books when blue spotted deer with attentive ears leads them over white-stone bridge veiled with moss toward faces of mothers floating in clouds. I look around for ghost of my lost lover but see cries of desolation in jars floating on river of abandoned boats because our souls echo in city wind mocking the fool who crowns himself world king since we all vote instead for Melusine.
Thursday, October 30, 2025
Vital Force Of Manitou
Vital Force Of Manitou © Surazeus 2025 10 30 Since the situation has become dire, where puzzling fragments of our shared world view crumble into riddles of arcane code scrambled by artificial intelligence, Orpheus walks into the wilderness to hide nuclear missiles from mad King Midas. Eager to rejoin the heavenly choir that performs for Ishtar in Katmandu, I travel back east on ancestral road to map their long journey with diligence that leads to misty vales of Inverness where Thoth writes spells with feather of the ibis. Three angels with vast wings of holy fire, propelled by vital force of Manitou, preach salvation of hypnotic God Toad whose song reveals cosmic indifference, so we all cross Bridge of Forgetfulness constructed by clever daughter of Phoebus. Reborn in cavern of hermetic lyre, which David made from the flexible yew, I chant epic tales in Saturnian mode depicting deeds ruled by world conference to measure moral scale of worthiness contrived from fairy tales by the blind abbess. Mother of Gods stands in the open door to watch airplanes glide in the silver sky which augurs progress of terrestrial fate derived from various tropes of surreal dreams portending fractured signs of happiness which prop facade of our imperial nation. Every Sabbath when I drive to the store to purchase ingredients for apple pie, I ponder strength of our socialist state designed to function based on special teams who allocate rewards through wealthiness that positions each person in their station. Weaving computer from globe iron core which links all our brains in one divine eye, God teaches angels how to astrogate by surfing galactic waves of star beams through soul-game of transdimensional chess, then joins Death on Caribbean vacation. Determined to excel my psychic score by working for Jesus as secret spy, I convince every king to abdicate through noble key of political schemes which only innocent princess can bless when Orpheus guides us all to salvation.
Grace Of The Word Witch
Grace Of The Word Witch © Surazeus 2025 10 30 Vulnerable to sufferings people endure, Anne weeps for how we struggle to survive in social turmoil of collective wars when tribes fight tribes over valleys of lakes, inventing myths about the Primal Father who rose from this soil at the dawn of time. Gowned in black dress woven from sea-storm clouds, Anne walks in gloomy Massachusetts woods with affectionate grace of the Word Witch born from angelic egg of the glass moon that reflects cryptic beauty of her face while bearing Book of Angels at her breast. Scarlet beams from the moon illuminate grove of oaks and plum trees around the lake where Anne places book on the large flat stone, then lights two candles that gleam in her eyes as she opens volume of arcane lore and chants spells she composed with blood. Vibration of her voice expands in waves which undulate as ripples of gold threads to weave protective dome of energy that gleams in flashing matrix of star eyes concentrating electric potency which spirals into tall ethereal form. Tall bearded man with sun-gold waves of hair congeals from sparkling haze of psychic will through pulsing specter of intelligence who opens emerald eyes of star-born power and gazes at young woman in black dress whose words conjure his soul from Book of Angels. Extending both arms to embrace the sky, Anne chants eclectic spell of radiant thoughts and queries spirit from the Netherworld to comprehend his name and lineage and how his timeless spirit emanates from star-dilating spirals of her genes. Immortal spirit beaming from her brain reveals through vision of his emerald eyes, "My name is Gandalf, wise King of Alfheim, descended from grim Odin, son of Skjoelder, and, through my elegant daughter Alfhild, my grandson Ragnar Lothbrok flows to you." Snapping Book of Angels closed just at dawn, Anne draws ghost of Gandalf back in her heart, then returns to her home in Ipswich town where she cooks breakfast of cornmeal mush samp sweetened with molasses, and apple cider, then writes poetry at her desk by the window.
Reason Why Death Cries
Reason Why Death Cries © Surazeus 2025 10 30 We think we know the reason why Death cries despite wretched attitude of false hope because we refuse to accept with grace finality of nothingness that blows dark wind of sorrow through shadowy woods where moon girl kneels beside mirror-black lake. Reluctant huntsman of the monstrous heart lurks shyly cautious under willow tree that rustles fearfully in sudden breeze excited by breath of the mushroom toad whose eyes scream lightning storms of honesty till shimmering rain reveals portal of fate. Through swirling fog of rancid ecstasy sly moon girl glides bravely toward flashing star while plucking honeysuckle blooms with care to analyze state of world politics with vivid insight into primal cause that sparks world revolution of the rich. Clutching grief that writhes in back of her mind, moon girl bears loaf of bread with solemn fear across muddy meadow of skeletons, that rise from dripping constancy of faith, to host grand ritual of exploding eggs from which new generation of gods crawls. Throwing snowballs at each other in play, moon girl and huntsman with the monstrous heart laugh gayly till their grief dissolves in tears, then lounge together in the book cafe and drink ginger mochas with loving smiles while Death plays romantic tunes on guitar. Folding our entire universe of worlds in dainty book of illustrated poems, moon girl hums melody of falling leaves to ponder why death always seems to cry with sorrow when organic creatures die, then fills out application for the job. With open-hearted joy of studious dance, moon girl beams her immortal soul of genes through bright rose window of deliberate faith in rays that slant across cathedral space more vast than ocean vistas of respect as she types laughter through the radio. Concealed in million books of faceless ghosts, cute honeybees avenge untimely death of pregnant moon girl on the highway bridge where bitter huntsman with the monstrous heart cradles naive bride in helpless despair at sudden randomness of weeping death.
Wednesday, October 29, 2025
Fierce Thunderer Of Time
Fierce Thunderer Of Time © Surazeus 2025 10 29 Against fierce Thunderer of Time I stand obstinate with ambitious mind affirmed to defend freedom of achieved free choice each individual asserts to advance advantage of hope for prosperity through sceptered performance of calm respect. My sentence is for honest civil work of expert ascension based on desire to bond community of eager hearts absolute for equality through law which reckons track of fugitive progress in turning terror to courageous faith. Though way of honesty seems difficult and steep to scale with upright wings of faith, we still pursue corrective formulas through ardent method driven by penance to exercise essential potencies perpetual for laborious recompence. Presenting proof we feel sufficient power to access dangerous paradise of wealth through alarming inroads from fatality, we expand industrious states of play to bind substantial zest with vibrant speech more vital than disenergized intent. Ominous conjecture described by clouds armed fierce with courage of random success must urge my breathless study of stark light before ethereal mold sourcing my soul exasperates fortune repulsed by fear though I perish from unconsorted night. Devoid of senseless motion actualized by impotence of fear-inflicting curse, my heart pursues time-kindled opulence by grim fires scattered on consulting hills to seek unearned shelter in starless caves where hideous horrors frustrate fake decrees. Unpitied ocean organized by waves almighty to resist vile plots of greed ordains just laws of doubtful provenance which we endure with omnipotent words sustaining painful vision we conceal with never-ending flight beyond offence. When we succeed in project of respect to disenthrone all monarchs still in power we gamble fickle chance to unjudge strife by publishing dream code to manage chaos pursuant to elective liberty conspicuous through grand democracy.
Moon Princess Wol
Moon Princess Wol © Surazeus 2025 10 29 If I can capture dream-elusive thoughts with words entangled by dynamic hope, encasing slippery concepts with ideas to bind their intense energy with truth, then I will chant zestful spells of respect in verses that refract psychic abstractions. When I am exhausted from fight for life through struggle to evade blankness of death, I lie still by deep lake in grove of trees so the moon transforms into gentle girl with star-black eyes who descends on cloud wings and absorbs my sorrow with glowing eyes. While I float paralyzed in painful grief on slowly undulating waves of sorrow, Wol whispers secret riddles of weird truth which soothes my aching heart with prudent vibes that channel rays of divine energy to fill my frail form with celestial light. Wandering forlorn in misty woods of hope, Endymion gazes through tangled tree limbs at bright glowing face of Moon Princess Wol who admires pure white lily in her hand, so he lifts jade flute to his parted lips and blows warm breath of love in eerie tune. Stepping from boat gliding on purple lake, Selene beams with joyful smile of hope when she sees Endymion by apple tree, and glides toward him with graceful elegance, enchanted by sweet music of his heart, but stops in shock to see he plays for Wol. Snarling with rage that pretty boy she loves plays sweet melody for Moon Princess Wol, Selene orders body guard Jumong to destroy her rival for his affection, so he fires arrow of hate at her heart, slender shaft that soars with indifferent pride. When arrow pierces heart of moon girl Wol, causing blood to spread across her white breast, Endymion gasps in heart-numbing surprise, then leaps forward to catch her as she falls, grasping her body in protective arms, then cradles her as she gasps in sharp pain. Extracting arrow of hate from her heart, Endymion applies potion to her wound made of mushrooms, berries, and star-eye flower, which infuses dragon blood in her soul to regenerate her body with light, healing moon princess Wol with sincere love. While Selene fumes, and Jumong despairs that she will ever note his love for her, Moon Princess Wol and shy Endymion walk together among tall apple trees, holding hands with affectionate respect, then giggle and blush as they kiss with love.
Mythic God Of Fate
Mythic God Of Fate © Surazeus 2025 10 29 If I could time-travel to meet with God before He creates everything I dream, I would lounge and play lyre of Mercury in lush apple groves of Elysium instead of asking why things are messed up, then resume work mapping world history. Somewhere out on endless prairie of wind someone is walking on the signless road without clear purpose to build paradise where only horses find water to drink while I watch history repeat itself when rich men cause empires to fall from greed. After corrupt institutions collapse and scatter refugees across the land, messiah sleuth will rise from mud of fear with glorious vision of our brave new world that shines as lamp in hand of Liberty as guide that leads us to the Promised Land. For now he slouches in roadside cafe, eating scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, sausages, and toast with strawberry jam that tastes sweet as breeze which blows along the seaside cliff where his great-grandmother in long white dress plucks strawberries from hope-entangled vines. Each year that relentless changes of time adjust perceptions of social events, we find that deeds aggressive thieves perform divide world view that everybody shares in starkly opposing visions of truth that sparks civil conflict between their gods. Each group designs their own concept of God as stereotype that presents ideal leader who, they believe, will best manage our state, fierce nationalist warrior with strict rules versus compassionate globalist doctor who nurtures our individual skills. Who will you vote for, everyone cries out as mortal men with complex characters campaign to reign as mythic God of Fate who designs programs of legal providence to best employ each person skilled with hope, so we all choose between Jesus and Satan. Wise Architect of our utopian state as Heaven on Earth we want to create will soon possess mind of some mortal soul whose vision they express in honest words inspires our hearts with love to join our hands and support United Nations of Earth.
Tuesday, October 28, 2025
Cobalt Clouds Of Canniness
Cobalt Clouds Of Canniness © Surazeus 2025 10 28 She sings alone beside indifferent sea about how people she loves disappear in swirling mist of silent nothingness, till with strange new faces they reappear, so she gives them seashells with food to eat and smiles as they drink juice from pears of light. What happens next, she wonders as her eyes gaze straight at cobalt clouds of canniness, and ponders with cautious analysis how to adjust thrifty ability to make sensible decisions through fear that death is lurking in shadow of joy. While strangers she welcomed into her cave kneel down before her face and pray for wealth, two guards grab her arms with aggressive hope and force her to lie down flat on her back while the king who wears fish skull on his head attempts to impregnate her with his soul. Twisting her lithe body free from their grasp at taut exertion through coiled elegance, she leaps to her feet with serpentine grace and twirls around on ardent springing bound to kick face of the growling skull-fish king that breaks his neck with shocking snap of death. Grasping pine spear with sharp obsidian blade, which she fashioned like her father designed, Thalassa stabs both guards with driving thrust, then smiles at people trembling on their knees who cry with joy at end of tyranny to express gratitude for saving them. After teaching children how to make spears by chipping obsidian into sharp blades, sea goddess leads them into sloshing waves and shows them how to strike quick wriggling fish, then helps them roast meat on hot crackling flames as they gather on top small ziggurat. Sitting in ring around bright flames of truth, they listen as she sings uncanny tale of how Gaia sewed skin of huge sea snakes into gown that glittered when she would dance and thus seduced Uranus with green eyes to generate sea gods from seed of hope. After everyone else drifts into sleep, Thalassa wears mermaid gown of her mother and dances slowly with seductive smiles before Oceanus with wavy hair, so they embrace and make passionate love beneath huge cobalt clouds of canniness.
Blithely Down The Street
Blithely Down The Street © Surazeus 2025 10 28 I want to wander blithely down the street past people whose names I will never know, for I will never see when they were born, nor will I see them die and turn to dust, so every person I meet in the maze is the beautiful ghost glowing in mist. Awake in conclave of maples at dawn, I tend the crackling fire in ring of stones while horses trace with humble tails of hope love-guilty roads invested with dark vibes from words etched jaggedly on sublime trunks too expensive for the poor to buy peace. Acquainted with mad passion of the mind, smeared sweet with honey rainbow lies of fate, I paint errant visions on window glass to map strict education in cracked moons out of proportion to pictures of gods depicting nothing we keep for ourselves. Normal perversions twisting chocolate cakes expose Medusa eating sausages beneath wind-fluttered willow leaves of faith to prove that wishful thinking deceives hearts with wordless feelings if displaced respect soon rises from deep ocean of dead gods. No peaceful period of butterflies bears subtraction of faith from thunderous thoughts better than hour our glorious empire falls from plain incompetence of selfish greed, so we attend picnics in the state park regardless of who steals more from our hearts. Collective presence of registered gods feels different from that time of broken clocks when mothers mold their children from fake words by teaching them to transform wretched stones to screws Hephaestus forges from god bones till light translates lake of dreams to eyes. Suspicious nature of our naive hearts concords alliance with dismissive kings through misunderstanding of native songs ratified with tenuous concepts of faith reflecting self we choose to confiscate when nourishing togetherness in death. Askance perception of variant facts, superimposed by divine relevance, ensures generic threads of ardent time contrived from chaos of orderly hope that multiplies our bodies from dry dirt which leaves me stumbling blindly down the street.
Anguish Of False Guilt
Anguish Of False Guilt © Surazeus 2025 10 28 Quaint heart tortured by anguish of false guilt, I watch as billions of people contest over who can eat spirit of the land that blooms in crops transforming light and rain, and seek to disconnect my hungry soul so I savor beauty before I die. Ignoring oneiralgia in my heart to dwell in sweet utopian fantasy that billions of god-believers long for as socialist Heaven in paradise, I edit geospatial data files that depict true features of our real world. This Heaven, that philosophers have preached as ideal version of cities on Earth, presents farm estate as communal space where every person breathing soul of life is equal in their social-justice rights where we do what we will, if we harm none. Yet real cities of nations on this Earth are power pyramids based firm on wealth, arranged in hierarchies of social roles where farmers and crafters, who make with hands, support group managers and warriors who work under one ruler-judge of all. Humans arrange governments of their states around one leader who manages all by setting rules that control how we act as we create food and goods from the ground through construction and destruction of things which runs our world food-production machine. When I am shocked by anguish of false guilt, I pause to analyze how I perform acts of my hands to create or destroy, then I swerve from destructive deeds of fear in fierce defense from attacks of blind greed so my actions create more than destroy. When I see how my actions destroy things guilt flashes vision to arrest advance so I can readjust progress of change to minimize loss of potential stock with bold solution to produce new wares designed to maximize our fruitful growth. We design persona of the Good Leader, whom we idealize as concept of God, based on tales of leaders, prophets and kings, who have ruled empires the past ten thousand years by using guilt to rehabilitate people who choose to create good with love.
Monday, October 27, 2025
Aggressive Spire Of Dread
Aggressive Spire Of Dread © Surazeus 2025 10 27 Unsuited for strange beauty of this world, I bear crippling wounds of indifferent fate as I dance wildly in the ring of stones to translate ache of sorrow into songs that echo in vast maze of lonely souls who call me to rebirth in hall of death. Unhinged assertion of my right to live through elegant clumsiness of firm faith compels judgmental exile of my heart far separate from garden of false peace so all my body hums in tune with death that drones with wordless voices of the world. Though loss plays equal in each human soul, extracted from alarm of silent bells, we work together in alluvial fields against encumbrance of vile attitude that nature owes us bountiful rewards for swift completion of redundant codes. No abstract Heaven gleams in swirling clouds yet I climb rugged mountain trail of faith in search of secret treasures birds conceal with altered wisdom from surprising springs where wingless angels build glass monuments to honor social heroes lost in mist. We build our homes along the winding stream to claim ancestral rights to live in peace beneath safe shelter of broad canopies supported by aggressive spire of dread designed by Well Witch from our mumbled prayers protecting children through despair of death. Impulsive laughter, fragile in green rain, will nurture bodies born from river stones when we share memories of bitter hope that ring with querulous intensity beyond domestic appetite for truth while gathered in the kitchen of warm tales. Discursive haze of urgent platitudes disguises narrow track of arrogance down which we promenade with midnight moon to measure distance to the frontier plain where saplings welcome foals from martyred games at shocking triumph of the noble fool. Languorous under sprawling tree of power, Minerva dreams of sudden-passioned cranes that soar above the swamp of hungry ghosts who wear clean suits in cubicles of hope to calculate profits earned from chaining death for return of investment in true love.
Volts Of Turning Thought
Volts Of Turning Thought © Surazeus 2025 10 27 Despite untwisting volts of turning thought through which I deconstruct moments of light, I flow across torn spectrum of respect that still reflects description of the scene sparked by excessive trigger melting time to meditate on our profound surprise. Trapped in interior drama of the mind, deliberately invoked by selfish prayers, I grasp conceptual moment of desire to race against conclusion, authorized by troubling tenor, torn from bitter books, as metaphor for nothing reconciled. From moment of illumination, charged with whole sensorium of naked laughs, I seek no obvious answer for the why concerned with memories buried by fear through temporary disruption of love consistent with awakened happiness. Based on damaged mindset of happy ghosts who seek supportive structure from our words, our strange epiphanies of spirit flight express erosion as process of change we challenge with faith-agitated dreams fueled by nervous passion to succeed well. With blood-eyed dance of gentle ecstasy our trip careens around the spinning globe to find that ghosts of mothers in doorways mistake this world for pretty fantasies till we find pleasant fields of fruitful trees where we can safely land in paradise. My learned ability, contrived by clouds, to raise awareness of disastrous games we play extracting minerals from the Earth, presents new opportunity from fate to turn my head and look behind my mask so I can see how I transform to me. Embedded inclination to expect good behavior of moral aptitude from every person mangled with desire of unfilled expectations, programs how I respond with abundant respect when my heart manipulates my free will. Through ludicrous cognition of my brain, composed of unacknowledged honesty, I meditate on longing of my heart to transform messy politics of greed to well-organized creation of trust till we turn our minds toward eternity.
Mirror Of Perfect Masks
Mirror Of Perfect Masks © Surazeus 2025 10 27 When I gaze in mirror of perfect masks to perceive true nature of my Brain Being, I see faces of my ancestors glow with psychic energy of urgent hope to transcend limits each body presents in my quest to evolve from fish to god. Halfway along timeline of special change through progress of spirit development, I find myself in temporary state as wingless angel with obsessive faith that I can survive constant global wars to generate new life before I die. Wearing mask of my public character to disguise true persona of my soul, I apply cosmetic glamor of faith that shields my spirit from mocking attack by people also wearing masks of fear so we preserve our wounds with pious care. I will not gamble through reverent risk in social games of competitive stance with fierce obsessive strife for starless fame as national Dream Star who represents persona people need to see perform dramatic role of hero who fights death. Evading eyes of death in camera lens that lures me to perform on stage of fame, I slip through cracks in walls of paradise to hide in cavern of Persephone who smiles and gives me pungent fruit to eat as I strum lyre of Mercury and weep. Though hidden deep in underworld of faith where I sing heart-enchanting spells of hope, I dance secure my soul is safe in Hell far from the lightning-judgment eyes of God who punishes vain mortals for false pride, till I grow wings from weird wounds of my heart. Masks people wear appear at first opaque so I suspend judgment when we first meet, but actions they perform and words they speak render their faces transparent to view which lets me see clear who they really are, and what fear motivates how they behave. While I float in mirror of perfect masks, I feel my special spirit navigate ever-shifting maze of conceptual myths as I glow brighter with maturity, peaceful with happiness at my progress since I know I will at last dissipate.
Sunday, October 26, 2025
Trite Tomb Of Truth
Trite Tomb Of Truth © Surazeus 2025 10 26 Strange happiness of the time-neutered mind encourages me to photograph the ghost whose black eyes sparkle with eccentric fruit designed to charge our bodies with delight so we embrace with delicate respect and dance together by the moonlit pool. She digs up the chocolate bar of desire from where it was buried in the front yard, and eats despair of darkness in the heart so we might suffer alligator hope when sad leaf falls in loneliness of faith in case we decide we want to know why. No motive trapped inside the geode shows why rage erupts from engine egg of lust contrived by ramblers without gold guitars to prove in court how often rain might fall till dams are shattered by unfaithful cheats who sell our treasures to the hungry king. Lost in dark labyrinth of fashioned dreams, I see my face reflected in the mask the bitter devil wears when he attempts to tempt me with sweet glamor of world fame, so I must execute sharp turn from grace to save my soul from damnation of pride. Yet when I open window at midnight I see white face of the robotic owl who watches me with fractured crystal eyes while I type holy code of fortitude to program how my brain perceives your face because I love to float in outer space. Every romance in history of the world ends in tragic death of both characters whether they succeed in their plan or not to generate new life before they die since clans establish empire of control based on the lie of sacred royalty. Divine regret of blatant attitudes, pasted in the margins of holy books, releases me from tension of concern that I may not earn entry through the gate where Peter judges deeds my heart performs based on intention to create the good. Real nothingness inside my hollow heart increases vibrate flush of putrid air so I float aimlessly on plastic wings above the endless global maze of myths where I see every person on the Earth walk confidently toward trite tomb of truth.
Holy Code Of Doom
Holy Code Of Doom © Surazeus 2025 10 26 Each time we talk about the nothingness that time contrives from holy code of doom, nine angels scream from white thornapple blooms when I brew wine from petals of their dreams and dance with sweet delirium of faith through alabaster swirl of frantic wings. If we find ancient souls in mirror rocks that waves compose from holy code of doom, nine horses leap across abyss of fate with fractured letters I can use to type reports about commercial platitudes concerning shipment of electric wings. Though children throw sad stories in the sea that transforms ghosts from holy code of doom, nine gods conspire to fool the human race by warping woof of time disangled weird back wracking undead rainbow ordinance defining how we want to eat fried wings. Stoked to skate swift across stark lake of ice with swirling grace from holy code of doom, nine swans erupt from old computer screens on helicopter flight through temple walls beyond reluctant garden where she smiles and freezes in the cube of flashing wings. Besides our bleeding hearts in bowl of glass as butterflies from holy code of doom, nine nurses welcome us to maze of myths where dinosaurs play piano and flute in concert staged to raise funds for the farm since cows fly to the moon on paper wings. Before we talk about the genocide reconfigured by holy code of doom, nine tyrants attend global conference to strategize how they control our minds through system of corporate slavery where we work in factories sewing wings. After I fall nine days and nights to Hell where I stock shelves at the grocery store, nine librarians rearrange strange books to misconstrue progress of history so greedy losers seem to win the game and decorate the White House with glass wings. Each hour weird visions calculate my fate to change my gender back and forth again, nine prophets resurrect Tiresias from field of rubber tires that burn with hate till brave Minerva escapes from my head and restores democracy with her blood.
Heaven Of His Dreams
Heaven Of His Dreams © Surazeus 2025 10 26 As sunlight glimmers on large grapevine leaves and honeybees murmur around Dianthus, buzzing among frilly petals of hope, old gray-haired Vedius lounges in small bower, snoozing half-asleep in drowsy contentment as he cradles wand with goat by his feet. Reliving passionate days of his youth, frail Vedius, with wrinkled skin on his arms, chases cute Furina around the spring till they embrace and feed each other grapes, sweet pleasure that makes him quiver in sleep as he moans at sweetness at warm sunlight. Sweet songs of nymphs in silver moonlight shriek loud at startled loathing of stuttered fright that shocks muddle-headed Vedius awake who leaps to his feet and clutches his wand at swirling dizzy angst of frantic dread when he stares at thick smoke in mute dismay. Trembling in consternation of distress, decrepit vintner Vedius staggers shocked at sight of shadow men on thundering horses who race between buildings of his estate while they swing swords that slash bodies in rage and throw brands of red flames on timber roofs. Paralyzed in shock at hot swirling flames, enervated Vedius huddles in tholos, where he manages his vineyard estate, and watches helpless to protect his world as flames destroy everything he has built, reducing all his work to heaps of ash. Dawn sun glitters blood red in swirls of smoke as fragile Vedius lurks on trembling legs among fire-blistered wineries and tanks, kneeling to caress skull of each burned soul and whisper their name with shamed affection, then weeps at sight of vine hills charred to ash. Starting with nothing but one sprouted vine, resolute Vedius worked for fifty years transforming bare hills to rows of grape vines that surround wineries, crush pads, and tanks, where hundreds of people once bottled wine and delivered them all over the land. Sitting in marble tholos that remains alone among charred ruins of his world, stalwart Vedius stares at the empty sky that glimmers silently above black hills, and smiles with bitter-sweet sadness of pride that he created Heaven of his dreams.
Wings Of Earnest Hope
Wings Of Earnest Hope © Surazeus 2025 10 26 Because time flies on wings of earnest hope Minerva stands still on the windless rock and gazes over fields of skeletons that wander circles among fruitless trees and wail with sorrow at vanishing clouds for beauty to bless life with joyful play. Ignoring soft alarm on broken clock, Melody leans on dusty window sill and watches pine trees flutter in cold wind that shift enough to reveal tall glass towers where seagulls flock at harbor of Seattle framed by sleeping volcano of Takoma. Four thousand years of endless spinning time links golden thread of genes between their hearts as two young woman born in one bloodline consider nature of our conscious brains expressed through faces of our yearning minds to savor pleasure of feeling alive. This world teems with existing beings of light who seek to progress past entanglement while trudging through dark pathless woods of fear till we discover grove of apple trees that gleam in sunlight on the river shore where we construct safe haven of stone walls. Erecting wall of stones with blistered hands, Minerva breathes ethereal soul of hope as she envisions soul-protecting hall where children learn tales of humanity that moralize our failure and success through tragedy and comedy of deeds. Alone at the quiet library desk, Melody types essay on her laptop to define good economic programs based on analysis of data points that prove hypothesis of deep research presenting ways to increase wealth for all. Leading army of tooth-born warriors, Minerva charges up ziggurat steps to fight dictatorship of elite greed in battle to drive King Midas from power and free the people of the world to live through equal justice of communal faith. Stepping off the bus in downtown Seattle, Melody adjusts wings of earnest hope she made from blueprints Icarus designed, and joins protesters marching maze of streets in brave defiance against tyranny to protect and nurture democracy.
Saturday, October 25, 2025
Radiant Jewel Ghost
Radiant Jewel Ghost © Surazeus 2025 10 25 If I perceive the radiant jewel ghost, who emanates from writhing words in books, my heart will sprout electric wings of faith so I find courage through communal strength to fight against oppressors in gray suits who program tricks that exploit honest hands. Enchanted forest in the city park lures lonely people stuck in offices to wander nowhere on the signless road where they assemble shadows of lost truths in ever-shifting puzzle that illudes innocent souls with dreams of paradise. Regret for losing key to gates of Hell inspire my journey through the Underworld where Pluto teaches me to forge gold coins with blood of dragons dripping from dead trees so I can purchase loyalty of fools who are willing to be employed as tools. Entranced by haunting tune of the bone flute, that causes me to float in ecstasy, I wander busy streets on Sabbath night to hear weird spells that happy witches chant while hungry men build castle walls from fear that worms devour our brains before we die. I always love the radiant jewel ghost because she understands my secret heart while writing prophecies on palace walls that warn the wealthy of apocalypse before the world stock market crashes again so millions wander lost from burning homes. Her spirit lives forever in my heart though she disappears on dark Samhain night, so I wear clever disguise to evade hungry vampires searching for my tense soul that radiates music from conceptual waves each time I stand and sing the haunting tune. I must return to work before red dawn drenches city towers in menstrual blood from which spring angel-robots with ten eyes who teach us how to vote for one we trust to manage operations each four years till jet planes transform into graceful swans. Thus I will claim the fallen jeweled crown, then wander awkwardly in castle halls where none but ghosts still whisper my true name because I refuse to play the blame game that Zeus decreed I will obey or die, so I hold hands with the woman I love.
Mayhem Of Untwisted Roads
Mayhem Of Untwisted Roads © Surazeus 2025 10 25 Through constant mayhem of untwisted roads, split by dark strangulation measured wrong, she helps manipulate system of clouds that drenches morbid valleys with false tears, though children bury masks in river mud to prove their right to eat fruit from dead trees. Emergent trauma trips ascending gods whose bodies bend far temporarily around inclined assertion fraught with light which fools extreme heartbeat of tame contempt to join wild contest at the festival long hosted by the faceless god of stones. If freedom could be monetized by faith through soured neglect of perfidious creeds, our privileged bodies might exchange respect for mischarged desire stained by honesty despite elected key of cankered fear we share with strangers on the ocean beach. Close to forever suavity, despised by bookless prophets without social rights, we dance with courage of the broken tree to climb unregistered walls gods destroy before enchanted demons can escape, alone in pleasure of abandonment. I purchase strange way to be beautiful by tossing unearned prizes in the lake against mute hesitation precisely placed, though time unlocks considered entropy, uneasily though brains deconstruct fame, before we can process our bitter loss. Unquiet dissertation solved by risk records eye of our spirits without rain, too slick for runners born less self-aware, so we share hard-earned merit with our friends who whisper false regrets of bitter joy while kissing where the blue crane cries in pain. Trapped by intentions of the reckless spell, I drive old rusty truck on muddy roads and shout in gusts of rain-perceptive wind, the more I leap abyss of nothingness the closer I approach meaningful jokes to find my face in mirror of the sky. Uncertain precious days of life are mine, I lie prone on eccentric grass of fate to free my heart from miracles of love till I float blissful on bright radio waves to sing weird haunting melody of hope against bleak darkness of this world we share.
Museum Of Mad Souls
Museum Of Mad Souls © Surazeus 2025 10 25 Entangled stories of religious myths reveal common elements of one faith that binds all human minds in firm belief we carve as symbols on black monoliths which vibrate with spirit of the god wraith who offers comfort in our hour of grief. Composing frame of social reference to better organize random events in coherent narrative of my life, I attend grand celestial conference to analyze what each trope represents in how I gain wisdom through psychic strife. While strolling in Museum of Mad Souls, I study masks of ancient characters, that still includes prophets, jesters, and kings, to understand how they designed their roles as choir directors or vain choristers who devise proverbs from heart sufferings. Each time I learn new facts about the world, and see how other people choose their fate through decisions made in the heat of fear, I expand my story as cosmic herald who maps history so I can navigate maze of myths designed by the Puppeteer. As prophet cursed to watch effects unfold, from causes sparked by fear-empowered greed, I project vision of Heaven on Earth that we create from ideals angels mold to nurture paradise with fruitful seed so we ensure success of spirit birth. As jester urged by quick rebellious mind, to rewrite system of progressive rules, I leap outside flow of accepted norms to broaden perspective of all mankind with magic results of conceptual tools we employ to survive destructive storms. As king commissioned by popular will, to manage their skills in productive work, I build global food-production machine through capital that funds crops on the hill distributed to all as social perk that nurtures growth with creative routine. As game host in Museum of Mad Souls, trained by Minerva to record the truth, I carve special personality masks for growing children to invent their roles through divine vision of messiah sleuth who grants vacation from our tedious tasks.
Invisible Harps Of Light
Invisible Harps Of Light © Surazeus 2025 10 25 I will steal invisible harps of light strummed by old lonely watcher of the skies, then sing of love for everyone alive, though nations crowded in vast cities fight over whose leader rules with better lies based on principles for which people strive. Since no world messiah has yet appeared in spaceship flashing high among the clouds, I hand out religious brochures to sell national pride that does not seem too weird for loyal mannequins in cheering crowds who curse their opponents to burn in Hell. Lamenting how they drove old Dixie down, I laugh from ruins of our enterprise, then fight to trash game of democracy till we elect as king the greedy clown who sneers with harsh contempt to demonize honest people who follow Liberty. I pluck my heart from pool of bitter tears and with ravenous gluttony devour hearts of the poor who slave in factories yet hope to buy enough to purchase fears embodied by blind princess in the tower who legalizes social policies. I marvel to remember idle thoughts cawed by the three-eyed raven of far sight through which I prophesy with riddling spells fall of our world empire to wise robots who master graceful mystery of flight when serpents slither from dried-up oil wells. As Flower of the Mountain I adore, my wife designs ten thousand characters for children in the meadow where ghosts play while I work selling costumes at the store that mask Cinderellas and Jupiters who ask their fathers if they want to pray. Along the highway crowded with gray cars the Charioteer with Bow of burning gold races swiftly toward the White House at dawn to readjust dire fortune of the stars and retrieve sacred treasures that were sold, but weeps when he finds out he is my pawn. Calm in safe cradle of world history, new-born messiah sleuth waits for his time to ride Gold Dragon of imperial power when he attempts to solve the mystery recorded in weird riddles without rhyme how sunlight becomes fruit inside the flower.
Friday, October 24, 2025
Dream-Ache Of Oneiralgia
Dream-Ache Of Oneiralgia © Surazeus 2025 10 24 Oblivion of faith in blank field of snow, that erases our corrupted world view, calls us to stir from beauty of the dream where we thrive in community of trust, but wake with ache for what has never been with oneiralgia for that Never World. Heart mutable with adjectives of hope, I walk forever on the signless road with ache of love still rotting in my hands to find shadow of Heaven in my heart where I can hide from demon of desire whose beauty lures me to valley of death. Bright in smudged mirror of Forever Now, my past and future selves unborn play me behind mask of hunger I have to wear, which my mother crafted for me from love, so I can bear it as lamp of her heart with weird glow that reveals road I must blaze. Awake in lonely times of Nevermore, I gaze at pages in the holy book, with cover crafted from orange melon skin, to dream how my mother performed her role with improvised assertion of calm grace to maintain dignity of honest schemes. Resolve to aim for target of respect, which must objectify cruel contempt, inspires her shameless passion to design our complex system of communal rites that maps strict pattern of performance art which channels how we generate new life. Unbidden by dream-pain of fractured eyes, when I design weird oneiralgic spells, I float in laughter of the stopless clock to measure change of blossoms from my corpse when children pluck fruit from my tangled limbs and sing while feasting on juice of the sun. Returning as the crow with crystal eyes, I dance in ring of stones at flash of dawn to raise wise Cleopatra from the dead so she can occupy my monstrous head with revelation that conceptual pride can nurture how messiahs rule the world. Though all we build has fallen into ruins, demolished by the crownless king of greed, we dance with serpent of the fruitful tree and plot new revolution to restore global state where oneiromancers weave world tapestry that includes every soul.
Analysis Of Psychic Spies
Analysis Of Psychic Spies © Surazeus 2025 10 24 Because we fall back into dreams of books and float on undulating words of hope, we savor magic formulas of cooks whose potions encourage our hearts to cope with endless passion of existing real through psychic dance in sync with fateless wheel. He honors everything her heart can say based on assertive wisdom of the sea that molds our bodies from riddles we say to trick the devil who gives us the key which beams bright energy of our free will that radiates from god eye which vibrates still. To solve strange riddles in the book of truth he translates formless thoughts to clever verse designed by gestures of messiah sleuth with slick deceptive vision of the curse that traps our minds in endless loop of lies based on analysis of psychic spies. Drop of her gleaming menstruation blood evolves from fish to angel with star eyes who steals ripe apples from spiders in mud to feed his pregnant wife whose turtle flies beyond perspective framed by creed of fools to fine-tune engine of love with fake tools. With anxious spinning of misfortune wheel she suffers cycle of constant rebirth four hundred million years of filmless reel that weaves our memories into one Earth where maze of cities mushroom from our hands through blueprints of theological plans. Returning from the market outside town, she gives large squash to everyone who laughs at frantic antics of the savior clown who hangs from telephone poles of giraffes at sacred ritual of spiritual war while she attends the family grocery store. Reaching out her hand with effortless fear, she opens rose-window portal to leap ten thousand worlds beside the puppeteer in holy war against the greedy creep who demolished palace of Camelot while world queen escapes almost getting shot. No crownless king, lost in the apple grove, could understand high stakes of liberty till they lose everything to selfless love for graceful princess of democracy who rules the parallel world with respect for equal justice as mental concept.
Untouchable Hope For Love
Untouchable Hope For Love © Surazeus 2025 10 24 Based on your correspondence with the moon we wish to advise you of flustered wings that frame morbid emptiness of the sky with fractured words people hide in their hearts, sharp as teeth of serpents among the rocks that angels use to construct paradise. Because the mind of God could name itself with precious beauty of the souvenir, which you bought at the desert-road dream stall, you crave adamant sweetness of ripe pears that flash with untouchable hope for love contained by eccentric pulse of false wealth. Stained by voice at the end of the world, you photograph horizon of the heart where wood ships bobble on arrogant waves while chasing summer clouds to paradise where lonely gods with headaches fume at faith that fractures belief systems of the lost. Electric ghosts who travel galaxies divide their hearts with wings of butterflies to trap fierce heretics in divine tombs who preach the power of grass to revive loyal zombies from cluttered words of jokes who cannot solve fraught mortality game. Still in love with the laughing demoness, you smile against grim horror of this world when you glimpse nothingness of final death that shocks our bodies after each car crash releases the blue bird of happiness whose song reveals the monster in my heart. Encased in cylinder of throbbing brains, too expensive for agencies to buy, you measure vast formation of the Earth to feel the suffering of the homeless poor who stand in line at the locked church door to buy faith with devalued currency. Born from explosions of celestial bombs as greatest generation in the world, you fly on silk wings of angelic pride above the vast suburban maze of homes where children trapped in television tubes follow Moses to land of Zathamar. If we hark back to age of high romance, when kings attempt to manage farm estates, you may transform from humble kitchen maid to clever Empress ruling Wonderland who shines your hour on world proscenium till you find me in mirror of your heart.
Thursday, October 23, 2025
Lonely Tree Of Trust
Lonely Tree Of Trust © Surazeus 2025 10 23 If we must separate our broken hearts on islands sheltered by generous frames that float on opposite sides of the globe, we should aspire to question normal thought, constrained by sense of terror about life, so we can paint our faces on the sky. Entranced by prayer of holy mountain frogs, I pass the time as radiant jewel ghost who lingers fondly in the distant past to stretch my sorrow past infinity wrapped in strange absence of this prescient hour when I become the lonely tree of trust. Confused by sharpness of the golden time when we sit silently in grove of elms, I give you secret laughter bees design who lead us home to garden of childhood where leaves are mirrors of forgotten masks we used to wear when we played hide and seek. Almost forgetting how to calculate fractions of feelings we hide in small seeds, I savor passion of advancing age as I decay from discretions of youth when dreams of paradise I could create converge with fractured fantasy of faith. Concealing serpent in my ardent heart, I drive east on long highway of intent pasts houses half-seen in time-shifting fog where all my ancestors wait in dark rooms for me to visit hearth of memories so they can drift away into the stars. Because I float in hot spring of respect to cleanse my wounded heart of foul contempt, I call to brilliant angels of blind clouds to bring me sacred books demons compose so I can view with apprehensive glance complex formulas that define the real. I fail to stay on highways paved with laws, yet park my weeping car among dead elms, then walk across meadows of screaming stones to scatter flowers on graves of old gods whose names now label thriving market towns where faceless children wear their broken masks. Unsanctioned creed of rebellious kings mismeasures strange topography of fate where we construct vast maze of city streets so everyone lives in mansion of mirrors to play deceptive witness to the crime when he chops down the lonely tree of trust.
Code Of Honest Love
Code Of Honest Love © Surazeus 2025 10 23 Famous for reflecting unlight of faith through shimmer of the ever-flowing sea, my heart longs to connect through apple roots with holy Anahita of the cave who gives me cup of milk to drink her soul that overflows in rainfall of new words. Eight thousand years ago in mountain woods where crows discuss weird beauty of her face, my precious Anahita gathers light in flashing swirls of psychic energy that she collects through writhing crack of dawn to help prepare our souls for second birth. Misunderstanding code of honest love, which animates first mother of all souls, I dance with graceful elegance of fear within the sacred pale of diamond stones that radiate rainbow wings of human brains to wake divine mind of stars in my brain. Through resurrection of conceptual ghosts, whose spirits beam from stars of dreamless eyes, I feel my body glow with ardent faith that I may live beyond blind nothingness till I realize illusion of false hope when I accept strict limit of my life. Absorbing moonlight through my paper skin, my soul invents weird memory of fierce strife to survive through luminescence of faith which reveals where Anahita now lives amid aggressive swarm of butterflies till I perish from attention of love. Brave vanity springs from crack of my heart to swirl among unacceptable hills where rugged cross of great authority heeds message from three angels of despair who challenge codependence based on trust since I dispose my fears outside locked doors. With tenderness of paranoid respect I pay attention to lies people hide behind treacly bromides that placate rage despite contrition demons recommend for children who neglect to study laws designed to protect our bodies from harm. Since Anahita rules land of Zathar with conceptual scepter that sprouts grape vines, I offer tourists bowls of bloody milk which heals deep wounds that fester in their hearts so iron cherub can catch tears of faith when Gabriel programs code of honest love.
Headless Idol Of Helios
Headless Idol Of Helios © Surazeus 2025 10 23 I hide regret for how I lose my brain when it detaches and floats among clouds with haughty disdain of the red balloon that drifts down to the hidden Cyclades to visit strange land where Poseidon rules through azure waters of unyielding hope. Since I am admired son of Helios, removed from political games of power long fought between contending gangs of thieves, I never meddle in daily affairs when money clerks shout in grand temple halls for whose social program defines the state. Though I have no idea what to do with bag of wind Aeolus sold to me to send our merchant ships across the sea, I give my precious pearls of solitude to every goddess I meet on the beach where they dance with abandon of the lost. From Babylon to Phoenicia to Rome I build great empire with the golden sword that Justice wields according to my whim to track where rebellious Icarus flies in revolution of the working class against divine kings in castles of glass. Shocked by the ardent gaze of holy fools, who replace my will with communal rules, I coil aggressive sorrow of my heart with lithe serpentine grace of honest greed around the Tree of Knowledge to proclaim that I will sell my kingdom for your horse. Entangled by confusing states of mind between empire and local farming rights, I gather trash of lies strewn along roads while reciting riddles of social codes designed by Homer to explain why gods deign to play with proud humans in chess games. Stuck somewhere deep in maze of national myths about superior wisdom of my race, I study headless idol of Helios that toppled from its lofty pedestal when silver airplanes of angels dropped bombs in world war that shattered Kingdom of God. Wandering with my Muse in pine-thick hills around holy Mount Takoma white with snow, I find the long-lost lyre of Mercury so I walk east along ancestral roads from Oregon to Avalon to Rome and sing about the Fall of Icarus.
Wednesday, October 22, 2025
Last Son Of Endymion
Last Son Of Endymion © Surazeus 2025 10 22 If I consider how time twists my brain with ardent pain of blatant inner peace, I translate fears that I may cease to be to brave romantic character of faith who plays with shadows of the magic mind to navigate weird chance of fake success. Lost in vast labyrinth of holy books, where I encounter ghosts of noble gods, I wear masks fallen from museum walls to live fraught alien experience so I expand scope of knowledge to play alert attention to how fame fools men. Since loveliness of beauty will increase with each new bloom from nothingness of fate, I breathe intense respect of fractured joy to channel cosmic soul of mindless stars through fragile anguish of my hungry flesh so I dance freely in green world of streams. Encoding rich grandeur of mortal doom in serious satires about bitter kings, I drink sweet wine of tragic romance tales that praise the mighty dead with mocking hymns through cheering light that animates our souls with boundless beauty of exquisite death. Reborn as last son of Endymion to walk the signless road of global fame, I map confusing maze of mystic myths detailing frantic quests of clownish kings who think they can assert legal control over how people pursue happiness. Surprised awake by martial trumpet blow, that rings against stone walls of paradise, I drive my car on crowded road of ghosts on grand adventure to the office cube where I solve riddles tinged with sad despair to map whole history of the human race. Face veiled by psychic mist demons design, I rearrange fragments of puzzling facts through infinite array of framed concepts based firm on pure ontology of fate that beams from steadfast star of splendid love we share with strange unchangeable desire. What brave Elysium we have always known could welcome singers to lush flowered fields who gather at round table of concern to hear jokes blind astrologers dare tell which prophesy reign of the Mermaid Queen who weeps at how pain twists my fertile brain.
Dream Chemistry Of Love
Dream Chemistry Of Love © Surazeus 2025 10 22 Undone by mist of many-headed sorrow, that hides wounds of our hearts with inner peace, I drift alone with unrelenting grace among rows of tall buildings where souls hide behind masks of glowing computer screens to calculate dream chemistry of love. We decide to die as the family that stays together on the signless road till we arrive at orchard by the sea where bodies of our ancestors restore geography of beauty we admire though we keep searching for country of songs. Arrested by strange wisdom of the sky that covers our valley with snowflake words, we think about what name we should apply to restless catalogue of hills and lakes where our children build homes in dark woods by carving letters on the eyeless stone. Each ghost of God, new born at intervals through punctuated progress centuries old, considers bloodline weaving brains with dreams so we claim land of birth as our own space where we cook meals for sacred holidays, then wander lost in vast library halls. No visitor would purchase emptiness contained by essence of the noble chair except the blind seer who might tame the horse to dance with graceful attitude of pride based on our friendship preserved by the moon that smiles at crowds of people on the plain. Because the wind folds our hearts into prayers that dare to open doors of grim contempt, she writes her secret name on flashing cloud that shifts reality through each new frame at sudden echo of the absent voice which teaches her to arrogate our fate. Symbolic meaning glowing from sea slime defies each stranger moving into town who paints name of her mother on road signs with luminescent laughter trapped in homes which are no more than tombs for nameless tales unfinished at metallic end of time. Amazed by luminous phantom of truth, I hope the girl with hundred million eyes will mold my brain from diamond-flashing eyes based on weird prophecy no one can solve encased in fractured mirror of my mind to activate dream chemistry of love.
Weird Traumatic Events
Weird Traumatic Events © Surazeus 2025 10 22 This voice I design from stark agony translates screams of horror to songs of joy consistent with hope-standard principles we humans invent to manage despair as we keep walking down the signless road through bitter storms to find the Promised Land. Expansive scope of concepts I express assimilates every possible thought that human brains devise from fluid flash of images replayed from memory banks to analyze weird traumatic events and program productive response of faith. Young girl hiding in sky-sprawling oak tree gasps in shock to see gang of men destroy safe family home her wise grandfather built with hands that molded matter of the Earth to form protective walls of sincere faith till grand halls are reduced to rubble heaps. Suppressing screams of horrible despair so wreckers cannot find her hiding place, Minerva runs away into dark woods to crouch in cave beside the waterfall where her ancestors lived six thousand years and hide in shadows of sweet memories. Though they destroyed her safe family home to build enormous palace for the rich, she returns to stand before castle gate till someone hires her as the kitchen cook where she bakes bread for the wealthy to eat while salting their soup with tears of despair. One day Orion, playful carefree son of the castle king, who loves to chase girls, encounters Minerva rolling pie dough, and gazes astonished in her bright eyes, so they embrace with passionate desire, kissing as they grasp each other with love. When she gives birth to his first-born male child, Orion crowns Minerva princess bride while she sits enthroned in long blue silk gown so all the dukes and barons in the land kneel before her son as baby crown prince, then she sings hymn about her faith in God. Trapped in small room in the tall castle tower, Minerva turns away from the round mirror that reveals her wrinkled face and long gray hair, then watches her son riding large white horse as he leads army of soldiers with spears to build world empire under Christ the King.
Tuesday, October 21, 2025
Waves Of Psychic Energy
Waves Of Psychic Energy © Surazeus 2025 10 21 Awed by luxury of conceptual codes that angels devise from human despair, I subtract wisdom from blank nothingness to pay for rent required to live in Hell by weaving light in language of the brain so every soul may live through liberty. Surprised by laughter of the falling leaves, that dance with joyful agony of faith, I might review weird spirit of the stone preserving prophecies blind children scream without explosively powerful thoughts from almighty revelation of death. Concerned about divinity of trees that transform soil of bodies from our graves to rolling waves of psychic energy, I shiver lost in maze of memories because all bridges to the past decay and leave me stranded in the future place. Entranced by linear process of soul change, which pulses hot in bodies sewn from dreams, I look back down familiar road of fear to see I always live beyond despair by sounding terse with elemental words scattered among pebbles on river shores. Ungendered by contempt of my free will, more resolute that roaring roads of pain, I rise from frenzy through necessity to measure frothing fantasy of faith while tumbling with respectful attitude in universal moment we exchange. Mismanaged by perceptive eyes of loss, based on extensive flights of fortitude, I learn assertive art of writing lies with blood of dragons on cathedral walls that misdirect your minds from frantic crimes when I steal money from your bank accounts. Shocked by dire lamentations Gabriel sells to bitter raven at the conference that smirks on bust of Minerva all night, I swim with holy frogs in pond of scum to relive evolution of my soul four hundred million years from fish to god. Confused by words God never speaks to me, except through murmur of cold ocean waves, I study perfect beauty of the brain which conjures virtual model of real Earth till I am fooled by pure love to believe my consciousness just might survive my death.
Safe In Hungry Obscurity
Safe In Hungry Obscurity © Surazeus 2025 10 21 We unknown singers of our crowded world, who channel spirit of Apollo clear in visions that project our fantasies about weird socialist Heaven on Earth where all are equal in justice of truth, are now safe in hungry obscurity. Marching together with our flag unfurled, that signals program of the puppeteer to legalize uniform policies which equalize what each person is worth, we follow project of messiah sleuth to ensure world social security. Though we live in hierarchic-powered state, which layers classes in high stacks of wealth where the rich will always exploit the poor in fiscal empire managed by Elite, we view Heaven as socialist ideal where all are equal under one fair law. Bound by families we choose based on fate, who share concerns in sickness and in health with principle of love fusing our core, we thrive through crafting work in one heartbeat when we finalize our communal deal sealed to help us transcend our tragic flaw. If Fame discovers power of our verse to wake the people from broken world views, which sparks good revolution against greed, she would drag us from safe obscurity and expose our compassion-tender hearts to brutal ridicule of angry mobs. Far more than a blessing, Fame is a curse that would force us to pay more than our dues in noble project to design new creed that would provide conceptual surety for each soul to analyze their own star charts in seeking rewards beyond normal jobs. Trapped in trajectory conformed by Fate to become special type of character that we design through every choice we make, we singers of the world, mapping our tales, glow bright with passion of sincerity when we create vision of paradise. Through fertile luck our choices generate, inspired by tragic fate of Lucifer, we emanate the real to fell the fake, then navigate past death on shining trails which keeps our souls safe in obscurity, purchased from fear with selfless sacrifice.
New Human Of America
New Human Of America © Surazeus 2025 10 21 Regardless of why trees fall in the woods, bank managers insist we pay on time, for poor people living in cattle barns revolt against the television scene by eating waffles with syrup and cream while the moon boat sails serenely nowhere. Spectators who pay the most for their seats cheer on aggressive contests of athletes to prove superiority through grace inherent in their struggle-polished genes which mold dynamic new identities that we perform in game of liberty. New human of America transcends class conflict on old crowded continent to forge more splendid race of warriors who fight for liberty of every soul against oppression of theology because we come from everywhere to live. Toward everywhere I go with brave intent to build new empire on the wild frontier opposed to tyranny of hungry wealth till Hercules pays Mammon to destroy the White House where Jesus once reigned as king and build grand palace with vast maze of mirrors. This tangled border between warring lands festers as open wound of bitter pride contrived from doctrine of the master race who march as soldiers of the bleeding flag to conquer wretched hills of minerals with program to extract wealth from our hearts. I hold the key that nobody has lost to open doors of cathedrals as tombs where serpent of fire with platinum wings reveals the way of passionate respect to reinvent our shared America where everyone here lives equally free. Though war tanks rumble over fields of wheat to chase swift deer across prairies of wheat, bright flowers of the people bloom again as we assemble on the river shore and sing of beauty in courageous eyes that see utopian heaven we could build. The people of America are formed from all the peoples living on the Earth, now unified with secret language code which binds dramatic tension of respect in new world order of the dreamless eye that opens in eight billion minds we share.
Monday, October 20, 2025
Gliding With Demon Breath
Gliding With Demon Breath © Surazeus 2025 10 20 Too far beyond tomorrow I have flown on excess sorrow of the rolling stone, so I build bridges between lonely hearts while selling illusions from apple carts because the living room light flickers faint at sudden appearance of the sad saint. Grief carves accelerated counterpoints in timeless passion on my boneless joints till I leap in deep lake of honest pain to drink electric wisdom of dawn rain so I can represent facts about life with inventive process of psychic strife. My heart cannot afford to lose its faith in randomness of events twined by the wraith who teaches me to summon wingless birds based on arrogant loneliness of words that bind my body to this shaking globe which I feel spinning though I wear my robe. Dire exaltation shouted in springtime traps me in public pageant of bold crime because I dream the world will end in flame consistent with random rules of the game we play forever in each life reborn till I wander away with heart forlorn. Though treachery of nostalgia lures my heart to long for sacred past that falls apart, I pause to hear the heartless siren wail as she laments the project I would fail, so I imagine every way to die while gliding with demon breath in the sky. In charge of my own secret consciousness, I try to build Bridge of Forgetfulness, but ghosts of laughter dance on my lost grave, so I hide while singing in the grandiose cave about how people weep in castle towers where I must practice divination powers. Escaping to the place where I was born, I walk beyond horizon of gold corn, to chat with frog of gold hypnotic eyes who weaves my network of psychotic spies when the bitter king tears down the White House in vain attempt to confiscate my spouse. Sly proverb that declares with sanity how we must learn from dire calamity to live the present through enlightenment, till pride chains our souls with entitlement, surprises me with falseness of its tone analyzed by sneer of the mountain crone.
Hollow Heart Of Liberty
Hollow Heart Of Liberty © Surazeus 2025 10 20 If dry stones in the waste land sing to me with voice of angels in the wordless heat, I shelter hollow heart of liberty among the heap of broken images where branches twist from roots of silent grief in angry trees that never blossom fruit. Strange shadow of my soul under red rock considers something different from our truth based on stark fear in the handful of dust that swirls in fresh wind of the verdant isle where hyacinths bloom from grave of the girl whose wet hair shimmers in my morning dream. Though I could not speak of my aching love, nor could my eyes see visage of her soul, I gaze into the silent heart of light to hear weird song of ocean waves call me with eerie voice of wordless ecstasy while I float mute in nothingness of time. No clairvoyant with pack of tarot cards, posing as graceful Lady of the Rocks, attempts to read the fortune of my stars then prophesy my hanging from the tree when Fame discovers my safe hiding place and drags to the public square of faith. My secret horoscope in Book of Jokes, programmed in riddling code of urgency, lures me to walk Bridge of Forgetfulness where faceless people, long undone by death, still follow guiding star of rainbow wealth that leads them to the wrecked ship on the shore. Now no one sits on burnished throne of sight that shimmers on high ziggurat of power before fraught table of the sacrifice where the Holy Grail topples on its side and spills blood of salvation from the book at stalemate end of our chess game with Death. Paused on the busy street in cool twilight before the bookstore glowing gold with hope, I wonder why in sixty years of life I have never heard the nightingale sing, so I place diamond ring of solitude on fractured marble mantel of my heart. When long-departed nymphs of faith return with Holy Book of Fairy Tales form Hell, I sit beneath the apple tree of time to meditate on the meaning of life as I become Buddha Tiresias spawned from the hollow heart of liberty.
Weird Emptiness Of Truth
Weird Emptiness Of Truth © Surazeus 2025 10 20 Wide-angle view inside my empty heart reveals ten billion faceless ghosts of fate who ask if I remember shocking hour ten million years ago on river shore when we first faced the giant demon toad with gold flashing eyes and razor-sharp teeth. After Theseus defeats the Minotaur in glorious battle against monstrous hate, he works as mechanic at the car shop, fixing piston engines with crafty hands so we can drive our time machines to work, then back home to eat dinner with the kids. Regaling companions at fine restaurants, while eating beef steak and drinking tart wine, the Great Movie Director with grand words relates sordid tales of his past triumphs creating the best movies of all time about corruption of powerful men. Because laughter gives birth to foul discourse by insulting men of authority to prove they are just as mortal as us, I prance with wild exaggerated jest to mock the thief who thinks he is our king so I laugh when I fall on my own face. While the humble shepherd with curving harp sings reverent psalms of worshipful respect for power of Nature to create souls, kings wield their holy books as sharpened swords to kill rebels who laugh at their false pride till the Jester kills the Tyrant with one stone. We climb misty peaks of intelligence to peer in gloomy furnaces of fate where laws of metaphysics control change, so we can break through walls of worldly pride and dance with eager diabolic joy on graves of gods who writhe in agony. Observing imperfections of the mind, I scorn aggressive tyranny of doubt to weep with laughter from calamity that shakes foundation of our world empire through shock of willful liberty to sing about our suffering in the prison camp. Constrained by maxim of the wise buffoon that laughter raises saviors from the dead, I purchase at expense of brave virtue soul-healing relief of scandalous spells that photograph weird emptiness of truth so I see my face in eyes of your faith.
Sunday, October 19, 2025
Crown Of World Authority
Crown Of World Authority © Surazeus 2025 10 19 The slender awkward boy wearing gray suit sits pertly alone in front pew of church beside busy road in Oregon town, and reads passages of sibylline verse from book of his favorite prophet Isaiah while sunlight gleams in window of his heart. When time portal of green flames opens wide, he leaps through blank wall on angelic wings and finds himself in lush Missouri woods driving wagon pulled by the swift white horse loaded with rifles for the Promised Land to the white church perched high on oak tree hill. With silver revolver in leather holster, he plays folk songs on polished wood guitar where people dance on lawn before the barn after feasting on chicken and potatoes while black locomotive puffing white steam clacks rapidly through fields of golden wheat. When Raphael descends from swirling clouds, he fires arrow of faith at heart of Venus who writhes with anguish of the Weeping Mother pushed from the black Mustang by snarling Mars who burns rubber tires when he peels away while Cochise cradles her in his arms. When rain storm flushes broad river with tears that flood the city streets with roiling waves, Cochise presents raven feather high in boat which Orion rows in pouring rain to rescue thousands of people with care though Thor fires bullets of rage at them all. Robotic spotted owl with emerald eyes spreads wide assertive wings of gratitude to fill his heart with spirit of insight, so he grasps crown of world authority that falls from head of Jesus on the cross while satyrs string phone lines into his brain. While Orion in cowboy hat and boots herds cows along Ohio River shore, Cochise drives long silver limousine across the prairie where antelope roam to leave computers under Christmas trees for all the little children of the world. To frame the world as his own paradise the slender awkward boy wearing gray suit strips naked on the lawn before his church and chants recondite spells of psychic truth which prophesy fall of America till Thor assassinates shaman of faith.
Life-Giver Of Everywhere
Life-Giver Of Everywhere © Surazeus 2025 10 19 What special favor time may ask of me I will not sell in exchange for the key that opens portal of far-leaping faith so I can find the ancient psychic path down which I dance with brave Icarian wings to crumbling temple where the blind girl sings. Yet time still pesters me with tempting wealth through sprites that follow me with clumsy stealth to trick my eyes with glamorous reward at subtle harmony of the star chord which vibrates far across the universe as vaccine administered by the nurse. Despite how time attempts to thwart my plans to gather and unite wild highland clans, I carry treasure that embodies truth defined by state of intellectual swath emblazed across vast meadow of glass towers where lost refugees wander among flowers. Since fear explodes from factories of hope in billowed blooms of desire-tangled rope, Orion chases demon of despair up forever-winding heaven-bound stair to build from shadows of electric woods cloud puzzles invented by humble gods. Shocked by how fast our bodies age and die, Cassandra waits on bridge of the god eye to ask each passing traveler why fate contrives to lure our frantic fall in hate, but no one answers riddle of her heart so she weeps and tears up deceptive chart. Because he knows these spells contain no code that programs how our brains perceive the road, he kneels before idol of the blind god and offers loyalty of his gold rod as guaranty that time will crush our souls to swirling dust kicked up by hoofs of foals. From pyramid of ever-shifting cubes Fire Serpent rises above web of tubes where she unfetters wings of flower songs which illustrate morality of wrongs that spread from Life-Giver of Everywhere as sunrays that nurture fruit trees of care. Our world adorned with skeins of holy light weaves psychic bodies in matrix of right so divine colors restore inner sense with mythic vision of dream recompense that we share with good people we love most whose absence glimmers as the eyeless ghost.
Control Chaos Of Emotions
Control Chaos Of Emotions © Surazeus 2025 10 19 Though world view we long cherished falls apart and principles we held true putrefy, our bodies still bristle with chemicals which buzz our brains with frantic strategies, so we will build new world view that includes methods to control chaos of emotions. Turmoil of social energy expands from wildly spinning core of hungry greed, so we cling to wood horses of blind faith, trapped on merry-go-round of psychic games contrived by thieves to hypnotize our minds in thinking their coup is legitimate. Oppressive tactics of their grasping hands almost confound our fierce attentive play when they attempt to misdirect our thoughts from crimes they commit against decency in frenzied project to control our minds till we rebel through agitated faith. Each day I rise from restless dreams of hope and walk down sunless road of fevered calm to transform matter of the pulsing world with urgent hands of crafty attitude, firmly focused on reconstructing truth from shattered fragments of our lost world view. Base principle that defines the real world on which I erect new temple of truth consists of fact we long have analyzed that every object is structure of atoms which spiral from first flash of the big bang to activate consciousness of our brains. Assertive actions of our crafting hands create or destroy structure of each thing by constructing new forms from elements or destructing forms back to elements in the constant cycle of birth and death that elicit effect from forceful cause. We base morality for how we act on construction or destruction of forms which result from cause of acts we perform when we investigate nature of things to analyze process of corporal change so we do what we will, if we harm none. Together sharing stories of our lives we build new world mythology of truth depicting characters of forceful will who fall from tragic flaw of selfish pride so we perform our role in global play where we generate life before we die.
Saturday, October 18, 2025
Amused By Fractal Trance
Amused By Fractal Trance © Surazeus 2025 10 18 After giving birth to ghost of her heart, Minerva raises Titan to respect lives of the people struggling to survive while farming soil of sorrow with brave hands that carve weird face of god in fertile fields embodied by trees that bristle with fruit. With ache of wisdom glowing in her heart, Minerva ponders why birds and cows wait for meteors to flash words across the sky that prophesy return of the Sea Queen who leads millions of people to protest aggressive tyranny of greedy kings. Ten million frogs croaking in swamp of hope swarm streets of cities in army of clowns who mock the dictator in plastic crown while he struts on the aircraft carrier and declares himself emperor of the world while he plays with Death in the Black House. Amused by fractal trance of lazy winds that shimmer off dark sea of earnest faith, Minerva promises abundant growth to people who luxuriate in rage against conceptual machine of dire wealth that fractures democratic wall of fear. Beneath high tower of the singing skull, awake with mute compassion for the poor, Minerva bakes apple pies for the church where Orion plays piano on stage about sweet angels who herald the king who never shows up to manage the world. Kneeling in cathedral of broken glass, Minerva prays with fervency of faith for communist Utopia of Heaven where everyone is equal without class though all societies on Earth are stacked in strict hierarchies of nobility. Magnetic breath of arrogant respect reverses stolen casualty of facts alternative to world-accepted truths against oppression of the weak and poor trapped by opinion that all should live free, true to themselves through brave sincerity. Emotional tension from tyranny determines cowardice of loyalty that fosters blind conformity to power when people stumble in obscuring fog that shrouds the city in official lies till Minerva leads fight to restore truth.
Room Of Mirror Minds
Room Of Mirror Minds © Surazeus 2025 10 18 Stuck hungry in the room of mirror minds reflecting countless coils of consciousness, I leap across abyss of faithlessness to spiral psychic energy which binds our lonely bodies in world family to dwell in Heaven of our fantasy. Blue ache of light on wall of timeless fate enhances troubled notion we exchange that we will find our beauty on the range by offering our souls as social bait for catching demon of the holy bridge through revelation drawn from our brave pledge. While mining parables from painful past we express dissatisfaction in foul state of this confusing hour of present hate by seeking for the treasure that will last with cautious hope for better times to come where we play games that are not zero-sum. Opening doors of the unspeakable, we fight for revelation of the truth, blessed by salvation through messiah sleuth whose love emancipates the gullible, restrained by limits of freedom we choose to maintain balance through eccentric clues. Through spells of language, our hearts dare to speak, we create social order we desire where everyone sings in one global choir, expressing insight to evade the trick when we are snared by the perceivable, highlighted by the unbelievable. Gathered in cities all across our land, we march against cruel tyranny of kings to replace handcuffs with dream-magic rings where the free hold ripe apples in their hand to taste extravagance through liberty so labor lifts us out of poverty. Escaping labyrinth of success through wealth, I build stone cottage on steep river shore preserving private love behind the door that opens on bright water of soul health which flows with casual arrogance of time so I drink to sustain my paradigm. I carry in my flesh old singing bones which my ancestors mold from bitter faith to help me thrive with heartbeat of the wraith when I break free from alabaster stone, but stand in ruins of America, symbolized by ghost of the chimera.
Global Tapestry Of Fate
Global Tapestry Of Fate © Surazeus 2025 10 18 Each individual soul who walks this Earth designs unique vision of the real world, and, though most never express their own view, their hearts sing special beauty of their joy which glows with light in their perceptive eyes which lingers long after they dissipate. Unique in infinite variety, the special nature of each human soul expands from standard template of one mind as we multiply through diversity into billions of complicated types from one First Mother who designed us all. Our eight billion brains pulsing with Her soul are woven together in web of minds to form one matrix of immortal genes composing global tapestry of fate which well depicts in vast array of styles how each person fits in puzzle of truth. Though themes for visions of private world views seem limited by state ontologies, comprised of religious doctrines revealed by tribal prophets in the wilderness, the ways each individual can express those themes blooms with infinite forms of hope. Blind Homer stands in tholos of Apollo and sings of heroes who meet tragic fates, while he strums turtle lyre of Mercury, in epic tale that shows how human will of fierce ambition to control the world succumbs to mindless nothingness of death. Eager to transcend stifling maze of myths, I ask Daedalus how to construct wings from quills world poets use to compose songs, but he laments the tragic fall of Icarus, so I invent swift airplane of desire with aluminum forged from dragon bones. Though it seems better to be chained by hope to the rock of salvation Jesus blessed, Prometheus strives to overthrow Zeus and wear jeweled crown of authority that binds our spirits to obey the Lord who controls the food supply as Loaf-Ward. From hibernation of complacent faith Orion wakes in cavern of the dead and breaks us free from chains of slavery to lead revolution for Liberty against all tyrants and kings of the world in tale on global tapestry of fate.
Friday, October 17, 2025
Aquarium Of Her Heart
Aquarium Of Her Heart © Surazeus 2025 10 17 While I swim in aquarium of her heart I listen to weird dreams of lonely people who walk together in dark corridors against slow current of incessant change till body of my soul erodes to words that ring with eerie music of the stars. Remarkable though wisdom seems to be with virile attitude for courtiers, who sell complicit books of rancid spells, I strip my soul of satisfied contempt based on denial smuggled past despair to prove my love is precious as lake mud. Forsworn from stories of desiccant hope, that fortune promises would wreck my plans, I dare row frail canoe in gloomy swamp where ghosts explore new options of intent, too eager to invest in roots of trees, while clowns record long documentaries. Resilient through tenderness of hope with passion from immediacy of fear, she teaches me to inhabit my body at intersection between truth and dare, so shocked effects of arrogant respect produce contextual riddles we exchange. Replacing pyramid of star-eyed gods with grim cathedral of the vampire king, I channel anguish of confused regret through crackling radios of whispered bombs, entrapped by fraught theology of faith that dazzle fools with dreams of paradise. Expecting Jesus to return today and marry Chimalma by Lake of Eyes, I set up camera on tripod of trust to film their wedding for the world to watch, yet Tlaloc woos Venus with magic ring that lets her hear our thoughts we would conceal. Stifled by contemptuous sermons of faith that twist our hearts in darkness of soft prayers, I fumble along cold museum wall to find mask of Lucifer I must wear which strengthens my heart with courage of love to fight against cruel tyranny of greed. Saturated with brave astonishment for radiant beauty of the human soul, I write my name on water of the heart so energetic light of my mute soul may sing enchanting spell of honesty while I swim in aquarium of her heart.
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