Code Of Our Zeitgeist © Surazeus 2026 02 28 If unexpected laughter breaks the door white rabbit of wisdom will ask for more, but you request I play the fountain fool, so I hide in light to invent the tool fallen angels use to heal us with hope despite unspooling anguish of the rope. Yet someone strange lurks in evening shade, so I stand surprised where the book was laid three thousand years of people walking past till my eighth cousin asks the join the cast, so I draw the gun on theater stage to shoot the darkness of innocent rage. Startled by blast of the lost prairie train, I count every drop of the midnight rain where gray smoke curls from the haughty cigar so I erase my ghost from the speeding car before last bottle of liquor is drunk at flash of lightning in the stolen trunk. Regret defines my journey to the west with nothing but photos in the cracked chest so I stop in the small country town to ask old librarian to sell me her mask, but she serves honey-ginger tea instead and explains why her sweet daughter is dead. Though forty years flash by in sudden twist where I play role of the ventriloquist, I drive to the bank in Beverly Hills with no intention of paying my bills, because ancient willow witch knows my name since she it was who trapped me with world fame. Before the camera with elegant grace I play starship captain of outer space who saves her crew from demon of the world where enormous dragons of time lie curled, till Beowulf asks me to marry him so I adopt as pet his gold-eyed Grim. Beside the fountain of Neptune in Rome we talk about where to build our new home, while planes sent by kings in gray business suits bomb the museum where devils play flutes, so I stare at painting of Phoebus Christ who tries to program code of our zeitgeist. If long-expected marriage of true minds occurs in glass cathedral no one finds, I may ask Tiresias for a discount to purchase freedom with my bank account, but someone declares the old king is dead, so I eat fried egg on slice of rye bread.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus interviews the movie star at her home full of antiques in Rome whose eyes dart nervously as she smokes the last cigarette of fate.
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