Grand Event To Play © Surazeus 2026 04 05 Flowing on away into evening light that floats suspended in green glowing leaves, my memories dissolve to empty scenes of passion for the grand event to play in huge museum on the river shore, crowded with white statues of long-dead gods. I love graceful goddess who has no face because she understands the gift of life encasing light of stars in frame of flesh urged by desire to procreate its soul which glows inside weird tangle of my brain with scenes of their achievements to survive. When shy Psyche visits garden of pears to find the language of her aching heart she buried under hollow stone of hope, she finds me holding darkness in my hand so she gives it wings to escape my mouth, then takes my hand and smiles with knowingness. Water of Heaven flows out of my eyes so I drink laughter of the flashing stream where swirling portal to infinity reveals strange beauty of this spinning globe that nurtures my body with starry breath even as I dwindle to silent books. My hungry spirit of barbarity will vanish into clocks of factories contrived by wizards of the wingless horse to build ten million time machines of fate so I can drive from sea to shining sea just fast enough to almost escape death. Haunted by indifferent Nature of change, I cobble new narrative for my life by stringing random events in taut thread that twangs from magic touch of Orpheus to make sense from harsh events I endure that seems to give my journey some grand goal. Sweet dissonance of clashing purposes reveals ambitious strategies for growth contrary to oppression of the state that crushes honest people under plots designed to figure characters from tales who choose the lighthouse as clandestine fate. Unraveling years of our weightless curse expands dim consciousness of signal lights that flash through gloom of swirling alphabets toward which we sail on fractured view of truth with brave intention to restore from ruin abandoned temple of the laughing god.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
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Sunday, April 5, 2026
Grand Event To Play
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Orpheus sits around all day in his quaint suburban house, refusing to participate in grand events to play role of the psychopomp in insane times.
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