Insight Of Weird Gratitude © Surazeus 2026 05 24 Excessive thoughts of bonus ardency expose conceptual pride of World God Mind that flashes vaguely true in radio songs with urgent insight of weird gratitude sent out in instant grams of doctored faith as scenes of beauty that inspire my heart. Because my body is less dead that stone and limbs of motion fly away alone, I prize computer screens of flashing words as stars that channel divine Mind of God through startled neurons of my Dreamless Brain, so I build House of Wisdom from cracked bone. Strange music leads me through assertive rain down endless streets of sorrow slick with rain, from gloom of faith to glowing hall of fear where demons paint on holy walls of bone reverent icons to the Mother and Child who grows to rule vast nations with brave law. What apparition on angelic wings descends from vast blue heaven of regret with arms outstretched to welcome every soul reborn as wingless angels who contend in global wars of Hadean prophecy to prove their father is true god of Earth. No frame of steel-glass towers could contain magnificent ghost of modest disdain with godless beauty of cerulean skies where demons and angels as men disguised sell each other medallions of false fame, inspired by passion of the tongueless flame. Born upward by rush of violent wind that swells from secret cavern of our hearts, we claim authority of perfect light speaks through our mortal bodies of frail flesh with holy spirit of celestial truth that motivates our souls to seek real truth. One delicate twisted flame from God Mind expands bright fireworks in Hall of My Mind so I feel bright immortal Soul of God wake in my brain brief hour of ecstasy since atoms of my soul flare forth from eye of light at center of the universe. When orange nasturtium of my aching heart blooms bright from ancient rotten corpse of god, I feel the special spirit of my soul wake my brief hour of all eternity, so I dance with grace on landscape of the world and sing about weird beauty till I die.
Sunday, May 24, 2026
Insight Of Weird Gratitude
Leather Satchel Of His Heart
Leather Satchel Of His Heart © Surazeus 2026 05 24 Young boy fills leather satchel of his heart with forgotten tales his ancestors lived encased in seeds he gathers from the woods, then stands on mud shore of the timeless lake to gaze in liquid beauty of the sky that shows him face his progenitors wore. When sparrow in the elm tree by the lake sings sacred formula for thoughts of rain, young boy runs back to small hut by the stone where his grandmother sings with raspy voice, so he holds her hand as she smiles at him then vanishes in white smoke of the fire. White smoke becomes huge clouds above black hills that drench their jagged sorrows in cold rain which swirls in rivers over roots of trees where shadow of the young boy disappears till flash of lightning luminates his face that mimics demon mask of innocence. Three men, who shot old woman in her heart because she would not yield her bowl of gold, shriek terrified at sight of his red mask, so they fire rifles with bullets of rage at elusive demon that haunts their camp, but shoot each other in the gloom instead. Young boy fills leather satchel of his heart with memories of songs his grandmother sang encased in her bones he carves into flutes, then stares at wavering mask of his face that gleams in liquid beauty of the sky but ripples from tears that fall from his eyes. Twanging taut chord of his yew hunting bow, young boy recites songs his grandmother sang that recount adventures in mountain vales of Wolf Boy and Raven Girl who unite to protect the poor from greed of the rich and free the people from cruel tyranny. Young boy fills leather satchel of his heart with textbooks, rulers, pencils, and notepads, then walks small-town streets to the public school where he attends classes on liberal arts to study nature of the universe by utilizing tools of measurement. Songs of my grandmother glow in my heart ten thousand years of conscious energy that conjure virtual model of the world which I improve with weird secrets I learn so I can bequeath vision of the truth to children who spring from dream of my heart.
Stream Of Silver Light
Stream Of Silver Light © Surazeus 2026 05 24 The tall slender candle of mute desire gleams in virginal window of respect while Seraphus and Celestine sit prim at round glass table in their hotel room that overlooks silver Sequana River to eat lamb and wine in memory of Troy. Lounging on large white stone of secret faith inside small cave that gleams with emeralds where the River Seine springs from heart of Earth, Sequana eats grapes and listens to wrens that scurry along mossy rocks in roots, but frowns when Neptunus calls out her name. Trembling with awkward shyness of desire, Seraphus and Celestine, face to face by white lace curtains of pure innocence, reach out their hands with cautious hope of love to open windows of their hearts with care, then kiss to taste fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. Crouching in shadow of her jeweled cave where healing waters spring from heart of Earth, Sequana softly breathes celestial air to calm wild beating of her wingless heart as Neptunus searches thick forest of trees while he declares intent to mate with her. Beaming with pleasure after making love, Seraphus and Celestine eat breakfast, then she sits draped in long red gown of silk and plays enchanting tune on lyre-guitar while he paints her as Sequana the Nymph lounging in cave where the River Seine springs. Pushing ivy veil aside with brusque hand, Neptunus grins when he sees lithe river nymph, but she throws jagged stones at his chest and darts away when he grasps at her thighs, then ocean-tamer chases her through groves of trees that slap his chest to slow him down. Strolling along river park of the Seine, as clouds blaze gold across the evening sky, Seraphus and Celestine shyly blush as they hold hands beneath the weeping willow, and watch swans glide on stream of silver light, smiling when one flaps her angelic wings. When Neptunus, leaping on horse-swift legs, almost captures river nymph in his arms, lithe Sequana dodges and slips away, then grins with long gold hair and silver eyes as she transforms to stream of silver light and dances freely in the moonlit grove.
Saturday, May 23, 2026
Fake Words On The Ground
Fake Words On The Ground © Surazeus 2026 05 23 Alert to shadow of death in tall trees, Celestine scatters fake words on the ground and pries thorns of happiness from her heart, then browses dresses in the chic boutique to purchase trend of upscale edginess tailored for the refined lady of faith. Exclusive demon lurking in tall grass decides to customize costume she wears with meticulous concern for cracked eyes, so Celestine dons brown jacket at dawn and sips coffee by the Venice canal where empty gondolas float in gold mist. Stopping in the middle of the glass bridge that spans the silent river of despair, Celestine wonders where she has come from and where she will go before the sun blinks with stunning insight of sorrow defied, or if she should entertain hope of death. With careful lines of elegant intent, Celestine divides fragments of lost time to measure wasted hours of earnest hope framed by parables of social respect in portraits that present uncanny scenes where nobody seems to know what they want. Staring at the clock in trunk of the oak, Celestine plans routine of lettered play, shattered by contempt for logical tricks, to puzzle formulas of bitter love, which proves her comfort zone is much too small to protect her heart from blind parasites. Now circumspect about her future path, Celestine neglects to seek twisted code, starved for new opportunities to tame fierce appetite for solving data traps through lurid analysis time presents as theories that explain why all brains die. If light hurts her eyes with bearable truth, Celestine waits by boulder of lost names for red raven to bring ribbon of ruth with furtive urgency of social power, designed to replicate our hearts of clay which guardian angels fold into false masks. Abated susurration of dead brains amplifies individual spells of faith that drip from wounded mouths of cautious clones despite knowledge that wave frequencies change relative to observer wearing mask with telescope embedded in her brain.
Diamonds Of Eternal Stars
Diamonds Of Eternal Stars © Surazeus 2026 05 23 The lonely traveler of everywhere wonders if his search for Rome will reveal foundations of truth built on bones of gods who still walk the streets in bodies of people because the Tiber still flows in their veins with grandeur resurrected from cracked stones. The fugitive from programmed time of chance maintains permanent residence with faith in ruins rebuilt into halls of glass that shimmer again on the Palatine where ghosts of warriors with ambitious plans participate in grand cathedral shows. The lonely traveler on endless roads admires quaint chapel with statue of Mary whose eyes are diamonds of eternal stars that gleam the nothing in our hungry hearts so we pray silently in candlelight with pious respect for beauty of death. Heroic dust of priests who ruled our minds will never assemble again into souls who climb high mountains of sincerity to tread golden stars of eternity with grim confidence in the afterlife where changeless ideas of things persist. Animal motivated by weird reason, I ride swift chariot on the battlefield and fire arrow of justice at the tyrant because Death haunts confidence of my path when I plow city towers to erase colonial empire of angelic pride. Secure within legalized walls of Heaven, Ziphion keeps watch in tower of desire to protect his family against invaders who brandish weapons of arrogant faith in holy righteousness of their lost cause because winners name the land for their father. Whatever her name and name of her son, the Mother and Child in temple of hope represent every family on Earth, so I forge key of faith from bones of god that opens every door of every home where we share songs from ancient books of flame. My heart filled with delight in the Great Being, though it glows indifferent to my success, seeks wisdom in the song of ocean waves which I translate to tangled sentences inadequate to portray the real world except as toy models of my childhood.
Real Face Of God
Real Face Of God © Surazeus 2026 05 23 If I could sing the sorrow of my heart without breaking innocence of the world, I would express harsh truth with shaking voice to render negative insouciant greed by which my fierce words transmit warranty against withdrawal violently reversed. No less versatile at weaving dream spells from fluttered fragments of weird memories, my heart procures precise reasons from fear to register our tangled fate with love irrelevant to thoughts of helpless rage concealed by frigid rules of false respect. If dire response to surgical concern requires social sacrifice through regret, then I would dare retrieve with sincere hope revenue of suffering supplied by scenes of brutal assault that impugn attempts by cruel aggressors to control my soul. No more aggressive than devilish greed from critical analysis of threats intended to injure secure desire, my heart devises secret strategy to turn acute observation of facts from mutant passion of potential faith. If I could optimize obvious path expanding radius of relevant pride with referenced records of financial growth, then I would dare pursue real happiness based on statistics no one understands, to play my game against accepted role. No further than the sudden end of time beyond conceptual theory of mute death could I extend insight of prophecy to see Real Face of God through telescope that renders only globes of spinning gas from which the star-eyed Seraphim are born. If time unspools synthetic creed of faith designed by mental therapist of death, I might survive this global war of truth fought between dream-blinded gangs of men who claim their god will resurrect their souls so they shall inherit Heaven on Earth. No longer treasured by world traveler who maps symbolic myth of noble deeds, fierce gods too long worshipped by gangs of thieves transform to idols of marble distrust that stand in museums of glorious lies so we see our own faces in their masks.
Broken Wings Of Faith
Broken Wings Of Faith © Surazeus 2026 05 23 If I could tell you the mysteries I saw while floating under water of the heart, and how far down the swift river of time I tumbled before I crawled back on land, then I would be the master of all truth who needs nothing more than insightful faith. Raguel wanders the country road of dust and pauses by the broken stone of trust when he sees oldest woman in the world in gray coat among flowers of bright red where she gathers berries from bush of fate which gives him strange feeling that he is late. Rebel angels wounded in brutal war crawl moaning from pain in valley of fear, so Raguel raises silver sword of faith to battle anguish of Gehinnom wraith who howls in rage at justice of time that scatters his soul at the porch-bell chime. Michael pauses during Weird Devil War to inquire with snarky sincerity what Raguel means when he talks about faith, but the Stoic Watcher stares into space and wonders if El even has a face, that wise old Father of Storm in the sky. Emerging from river of surreal dreams, Raguel stretches his body to the moon, wades on lush shore where scarlet poppies bloom, and dons white robe of his angelic rank, then lounges on platform of his sky ship while cherubim repair the silk balloon. Hanging from disk of his floating sky ship, powered by hot air in huge silk balloon, Raguel flies up from flat-top pyramid to patrol sprawling maze of city streets so people in gardens and markets look up and wave to Sky-Walker Angel in Heaven. When gang of thieves attack the caravan of wagons loaded with rich goods for trade, Raguel fires arrows of law from the sky, so they flee wrath of the angel in Heaven, and people on Earth praise the name of El who brings justice to honest citizens. Sharp arrow that Beelzebub fires in rage cuts rope from which hangs the Watcher in Heaven so Raguel falls on broken wings of faith and floats deep in the dark river of change, then wakes in my heart three thousand years later and prepares to enforce justice again.
Friday, May 22, 2026
Frame Emptiness Of The Sky
Frame Emptiness Of The Sky © Surazeus 2026 05 22 When Ziphion finds emptiness of the sky inside the window frame of glowing time, he reaches out one hand high as the cloud to touch the vastness of eternity, and finds ripe apple of secret desire solid in obsessive grip of his hand. While Ziphion eats apple of cognizance to taste awareness of eternal now, the silent hills walk toward his secret grove to give him stones that cannot display time till cracks in foundation of truth appear to reveal immense beauty of the wind. Yet Ziphion walks alleyways of the slum to give loaves of bread to frail wanderers who bless him with gratitude of the dead as they gather around the Wounded Tree where the Grandmother with gray hair explains that Gad sees everything from the high tower. Therefore Ziphion defends poor laborers from exploitation of the Elohim who gather as councilors in the hall to advise the humble Gad Emperor issue edicts that give them greater power to control how the people live and die. Till Ziphion wakes with vision of the truth that his father enslaves tribes they attack, the people groan under oppressive laws, and cry out for justice to the deaf hills, yet the wind still blows with indifference to cool their brows as they sweat in the fields. Though Ziphion feels Justice burn in his heart with righteous indignation of the fool, he raises sword of liberty with courage and fights his father, Lord Gad of the Sky, till he frees slaves from tyranny of greed and pays them for tending lush fields of wheat. After Ziphion overthrows the cruel tyrant, he wears crown he takes from head of his father and reigns over farms and ranches with wisdom, attending council on the ziggurat as member of the Holy Elohim where he attempts to legislate fair justice. Thus Ziphion cares for people of his land, nurturing talents to develop skills through strict education in schools of truth so every person who lives inside Heaven contributes passion of their eager hearts to frame emptiness of the sky with faith.
Forest Of Ancestral Dream
Forest Of Ancestral Dream © Surazeus 2026 05 22 After recording the latest events that map the swirl of human interaction in long Chronicle of Spinning Earth, Ziphion drives home to the red-brick house where Nerthus cooks spaghetti and peach pie to eat and think about fall of the empire. If words illuminate shadow of light, transformed by process of time from desire, then I will activate sentence of faith through mental mechanism to deduce deeper essence that animates the world so I perceive visible force of life. Ziphion composes jurisprudent verse as lyric for chorus of history to clarify current state of affairs through voices of the living and the dead in citational chain of precedents to shape parameters for moral law. Declaring edict for moral behavior, Nerthus expresses in songs of the tribe collective memory of civilization that Ziphion etches in tablets of stone erected on walls in Temple of Truth as map that guides us on the righteous path. Through tales of failure and success men play, Nerthus bridges with masks of characters vast distance between reality and illusion to expose delusion of paradise we design to conjure our Future World where all are equal in one global law. Awake in forest of ancestral dream where my ancestors lived ten million years, I hear peals of thunder over dark hills, so I construct tower of honest law to observe and measure vast world of forms, then sing spells that explain what could be real. Words showcase promise of Heaven on Earth, so Ziphion cites scripture of long-dead gods to vouch for noble spirit of Blind Justice which summons divine mind from hearts of men who forge bonds of communal authorship when we reclaim freedom to live and build. Our words hold worldmaking force of respect, Ziphion declares on pyramid of power, so we build mental models of our world where every human lives equally free to swim in waters of the divine soul and lie side by side in graves of the past.
Thursday, May 21, 2026
How Fleeting Life Is
How Fleeting Life Is © Surazeus 2026 05 21 If nobody cares why the caged bird sings, Christine whispers to the telephone pole, then I shall never pick flowers again for how they wilt in the porcelain jar just makes me sad at how fleeting life is, for I want to free cloud-ghosts from their cage. Startled each time her old telephone pings, Christine gazes down into the black hole at aching whistle of the distant train to ask the ghost with the broken guitar for help solve the theological quiz that provides role for her to play on stage. Shocked by displacement of her naked soul at sudden extraction time executes by flashing whirl of hands on the glass clock, Christine decides to wear tattered swan wings when she dances gracefully in spotlight that erases her uniqueness from dream. Entranced by song of the gold oriole encoding riddles of deep attributes that ripple dark waves of the spooky loch, Christine enters vast cathedral and sings tragic tale of the Queen and the Cartwright who fall in love by the moon-misty stream. Transcribing code of sweet nightingale tunes that echo in forest of burning masks, Christine ponders weird mystery of the sea from which fertile organic life transforms till she contrives formula that describes how atoms beam conscious glow of the brain. Recording proverbs in snake-writhing runes that calculate process of mental tasks, Christine embodies Goddess Liberty who shelters our bodies safe from dream storms that forge fierce empires from down-to-earth tribes who put aside their differences to train. I prefer not to fight their futile war over who controls lush meadows of wheat and who adjudicates cases of crime, Christine declares in court of social law, then chooses to host wandering refugees who huddle at the feet of Liberty. Setting caged birds free through the open door, Christine rules Earth from the Perilous Seat while Percival designs world paradigm that honors brave wisdom of Onatah who gives every person their new house keys which powers growth of world democracy.
Doors Of Weeping Ghosts
Doors Of Weeping Ghosts © Surazeus 2026 05 21 Every house in every city on Earth is guarded well by doors of weeping ghosts that hum with wordless voices of the past, so I wonder if my brain consciousness is more artificial in how it dreams human memories as if they are my own. Though the Earth seems to swallow all our tales, and hide them in our doors of weeping ghosts, we slyly search for serpent in the grove to answer riddles born of intellect so we can find the secret key of lies that may release our memories from the rain. The wind that hums with hunger of the earth, trapped by despair in doors of weeping ghosts, never turns kind from mercy of the clouds, yet when it speaks the names of those we love we dare record them on old temple walls so our descendants may remember them. She smiles at me with sunrise over hills so I may unlock doors of weeping ghosts who hide in shadows that our bodies cast so we feel shiver of their hidden pain since suffering teaches us to understand cost of memories we dare not leave behind. While I strum broken lyre of Mercury that carves our thoughts on doors of weeping ghosts, I channel tales of tongueless characters who wander lost in pages of old books till my voice resurrects their souls from words and gives them life in hearts of listeners. Few would forget stark cries of anxious hope that still vibrate from doors of weeping ghosts each time we dare approach with reticence from calm respect for bitter rage at death to enter hollow hearts of fortitude and measure memories we sold long ago. Yet Arabella climbs the broken stairs with hope to open doors of weeping ghosts against authority of fearful men who wish to hide vile secrets they conceal, though cracks in walls of faith cannot dispel divine rays that expose vexatious truths. I number every home on signless road with rooms enclosed by doors of weeping ghosts to map our global maze of morbid myths that present tales of failure and success, though Death heaps all our bodies in one grave while Earth keeps spinning in the songless void.
Wednesday, May 20, 2026
Raven In The Apple Tree
Raven In The Apple Tree © Surazeus 2026 05 20 Because the raven in the apple tree speaks ancient language of water on rocks that frame mysterious beauty of the world in tangled sentences of faithless words that mirror reverse image of my soul, I always walk backward through every door. Though I left homeland of Gothinia one hundred thousand years ago at dawn, I still feel frosty wind of snow-capped mountains swirl down across the endless steppes of sorrow which makes my heart ache with strange memories that leave me stranded on the Caspian shore. In eerie darkness of the endless night, as sparkling waves of hope swirl round my legs, I see bright angel descend from the moon in wind-blown dress of ambivalent wings to embrace my body with eager love that sparks soul of our child inside her heart. Yet star-eyed seraph hovering over me bestows on fragile mirror of my soul sacred name that signifies my dire fate which glows as lamp I bear in trembling hand to light my way across rough wilderness till tread of my feet blazes road of hope. Each road my feet blaze sea to shing sea becomes wheel-worn way across the land now paved with asphalt in the blistering sun where billions drive cars in circles of faith along passionate river of true love where we construct homes to shelter our hearts. When flock of swallows threads words of my heart across the endless steppes of shining wheat, I follow trail of wings through loneliness to find home of the sun beyond the sky with ache of longing in my homeless heart to eat sweet apples with you by the lake. While you dance gracefully in flowered field and laugh with ache of joy to be alive, I play uncanny melodies of love by twanging taut strings on turtle-shell lyre to sing of beauty in your smiling eyes that wake my heart from grave of bleak despair. Electra smiles bright as the morning sun as we embrace with hope by flowing stream to kiss in harmony with sparrow song that drenches our lithe bodies in sunlight so when we sink in nothingness of death we leave our children alive in the world.
New Heaven On Earth
New Heaven On Earth © Surazeus 2026 05 20 The strange star-eyed angel, nobody sees walking crowded streets of America, hands out slick pamphlets about Kingdom Come, to sell illusion of national pride to Vikings working in car factories who prefer to build New Heaven on Earth. Physical objects of material substance, delimited by bounds of time and space, arrange molecules based on ideal forms designated by words we conjugate in sentences that conjure virtual model we write to describe New Heaven on Earth. Prometheus climbs pyramid of eyes, where Ishtar rules all nations of the Earth, and casts flames of fire in cables of thought, weaving world wide web into internet that links billion computers in One Mind which dreams itself as New Heaven on Earth. Bound tight to tall mast of his sailing ship, Telemachus sings with Sirens of Hope who ask him to legislate equal rights for people of every gender and race who struggle to survive in game of wealth that we all play in New Heaven on Earth. When I ask Jesus when he will return to manage United Nations of Earth that ensures freedom and justice for all, he explains how his spirit incarnates in leaders who nurture skills of all people who help construct our New Heaven on Earth. Ishtar on shining ziggurat of Ur extends both arms in welcoming embrace as Rising Sun of Truth illuminates jeweled crown of her mind with countless eyes that link our minds with grand vision of love so we unite in New Heaven on Earth. Though greedy dictators around the world seize control over sprawling governments to exploit the people for their own gain, cruel tyrants always fall from mad despair, so we transform broken America in Zarathia as New Heaven on Earth. Cherub of Wisdom, shining eyes of truth, hovers over land of Zarathia with vision of hope that inspires our hearts to cast greedy thieves out of government so we can build from problems of the past democracy in New Heaven on Earth.
Tuesday, May 19, 2026
World Tree Of Everywhere
World Tree Of Everywhere © Surazeus 2026 05 19 Despite slow maladjustment of the mind, contrived by journal entries of dead trees, Niskus, son of Neptunus, steals fake coins from the mad king in cold castle of stone, and gives them to poor people by the river who buy televisions that never work. Leaving creepy basement of skeletons that crawl wailing from television screens, Niskus searches for the mysterious road that would lead him back home to Ruritania where travelers and thieves in tavern of ghosts discuss philosophy of Heraclitus. Because every vast city on the Earth has merged in one global metropolis, Niskus walks beyond walls of paradise to wander in savage jungles of beasts through stifling heat of arrogant dismay till he finds cave behind the waterfall. Resigned that he was born cursed child of fate, to avoid brutal tests of worthiness Niskus hesitates to search labyrinth of broken idols for the ancient relic that proves his journey is not for false heroes, stuck in bright mirror world of anywhere. Happy in sprawling library of ghosts, deep in mystical forest of proud bears, Niskus decides to play reluctant hero commissioned to rescue Princess of Pears because she is the secret heir of Hera, destined to fight all evil overlords. When he finds necklace of seven sapphires, that seem to twinkle eyes of the Blind Maiden, Niskus chants magic spells from Book of Dreams to release trapped soul from jewels of hope, so Litavis appears before his eyes who demands he solve riddle of the pear. Wearing Cape of Invisibility to help her escape marriage to his father, Niskus takes her to mountain of cracked skulls where they join secret school of alchemy to learn lost magic of the emerald so Litavis gives birth to our new world. Once they both find World Tree of Everywhere, that blooms from rotting corpse of Neptunus, Niskus and Litavis construct quaint cottage from gingerbread, gumdrops, and candy canes, then raise three children in Garden of Eden who carry on their family legacy.
Monday, May 18, 2026
Treasury Of Broken Dreams
Treasury Of Broken Dreams © Surazeus 2026 05 18 Though travelers with magic telescopes may ransack treasury of broken dreams, we will all gather for Thanksgiving feast to feed ancestors in the Underworld who watch our lives in television shows, then weep when Albert plays the violin. If stock traders who want strawberry pies still pilfer treasury of broken dreams, their teenagers may threaten suicide, then hitchhike to the Allegheny Forest with hope to join the Rainbow Gathering where bankers exercise fake privilege. Yet brave physicians in the marathon, who find no treasury of broken dreams, decide to maximize their lottery pursuant to new federal regulations pertaining to unauthorized regret that has no place on the luxury yacht. Though pioneers study the molecule, which unspools treasury of broken dreams with nominal profits we monitor, memory modulates how Nirvana frames daily routine of laborious survival that we engage with frantic narrative. Honest puppeteers on gold pyramids, who hoard our treasury of broken dreams, strictly stick to religious protocol when they record satellite images essential to our stellar syllabus designed to synthesize disparate creeds. Persistent ministers with social cause, who conceal treasury of broken dreams, deny ownership of symbolic jokes outlined on our quarterly questionnaire that models pinnacle of mutant minds which employ objective analysis. Surprised musicians without gasoline consider treasury of broken dreams reliable source of illegal thoughts which none dare think of on their honeymoons despite expansion of mental control that dismisses the brutal holocaust. Sharp-eyed guardians in tower of the watch calculate treasury of broken dreams with intent to fund national health care and free education for all to learn creative skills of weird ambivalence because Jesus now drives the ambulance.
Shepherd Who Nurtures Sheep
Shepherd Who Nurtures Sheep © Surazeus 2026 05 18 Because his heart begins to atrophy at how his body writhes with bitter hope, Thyrsis considers why sheep love to play in meadow near the oven factory, then plays heart-wrenching tune of futile love that will never be heard on the radio. If his sheep ever die out from disease, Thyrsis decides he will never go work in vast hall of the oven factory where his father worked for thirty-eight years till he died on his way to work one dawn, stricken by the corona virus plague. Aching to transcend sufferings of this world, and experience sublime beauty of nature, as recorded in ancient pastoral poems, Thyrsis explains to Daniel on the phone that his name is no longer Thomas Jones, then sighs as he glares at jets in the clouds. Strumming guitar while watching his sheep graze, Thyrsis improvises song about Daphnis who grows in love with graceful Xenea till her mean older sister, Aphrodite, aims gun at his head to drive him away, so he jumps off the Tallahatchie Bridge. Parking white Honda on the country road, Chloe hobbles through meadow of tall weeds to bring bags of hamburgers and root beer, then grumbles how she wishes he would work again teaching English at the high school, then nestles in his arms when Thyrsis grins. Instead of explaining to her again how he wants to get in touch with the Earth, and savor calm of timeless afternoons as bees gather pollen to brew sweet honey, Thyrsis hums enchanting tune he composed while contemplating how all empires fall. We build global economies of goods based on extracting from soil of the Earth precious minerals and nutritious crops, so someone must operate farms and ranches to sustain firm foundation of exchange, or it will all collapse from weight of greed. The shepherd who nurtures sheep in the field still remains one of the oldest professions that men have worked since dawn of history, so I will carry on noble legacy attended by the savior of mankind though civilizations on Earth collapse.
Sunday, May 17, 2026
Volunteer God Of Nowhere
Volunteer God Of Nowhere © Surazeus 2026 05 17 No time traveler from the distant future would hesitate to play tactical games with people who claim they are always right against common sense of state tolerance though few survive surgery of the heart since I am volunteer god of nowhere. Attempting to prevent psychic abortions from synthetic analogs of free will, men who strive to control bodies of women bankrupt birth clinics all over the country so thousands of mothers die in childbirth when they fool volunteer god of nowhere. Taxable income of clever programmers procures mental oxygen of dream code for sale in the marketplace of ideas contrary to logistics of state health combined with growth of social luxury performed by volunteer god of nowhere. Leverage administered by frantic pundits, concerned about decay of family values, reformats world view of functional artwork to highlight glory of fake billionaires who challenge legislators to compute new script for volunteer god of nowhere. Compliant clerks in consequential banks discuss biblical prophecies that shape how citizens view political strife, now less adaptive to brave compromise except to exploit activists for labor who pray to volunteer god of nowhere. Crowned King of Nothing by state architects, with letters from dynamic embassies, government Jester stores digital dreams in legal journals of soul institutes to test our loyalty against Big Brother who envies volunteer god of nowhere. Moderate vision of objective facts, designed to imitate orthodox creeds, fails to focus attention of our fears on ethics forged by patriarchal goons to build empire of wealth on bones of slaves jilted by volunteer god of nowhere. Deserted houses along the cracked road invite hungry refugees from state wars to open movie theaters with foreign cash, dependent on oil of the desert genie who laughs at wishes we articulate, insured by volunteer god of nowhere.
Underworld Of Happy Clowns
Underworld Of Happy Clowns © Surazeus 2026 05 17 Stuck in dark underworld of happy clowns, Achilles buys soda from time machine that always asks him if he feels all right because blind ballerina never frowns though arrogant Ares is always mean about taxing us for using sunlight. Amid mounting evidence of regret, Achilles rides the happy dinosaur to temple of radiant uranium while he plays keyboard with fake alphabet so we remember long-forgotten lore by selling us land in Elysium. Stuck in happily-ever-after land, Achilles wears strange uniform of pride to prove negotiation skills are good when ships wreck on the wild Oregon strand through infinite laugh on the playground slide since foxes play chase in the misty wood. Latest fashion of potential success, Achilles ponders with fire of his mind, prevents sweet summer romance of despair to stop his thunderstorm of happiness from cracking stone walls Apollo designed with arguments for why God does not care. Stuck in refrigerator of brave faith, Achilles augurs no calamity through leagues of silent forest, canopied by steel beams welded into web of truth, to sell confusion based on vanity though he pretends to know the Nicene Creed. Voluminous brain vital for regrowth, Achilles claims Cleopatra conceals when bankers buy our foreclosed properties, shapes its own fate with inaudible oath based on cognizance of electric wheels that disavow empire atrocities. Stuck with bland ultimatum Death decrees, Achilles catches snowflakes with bruised hands to dance with glee at permanence of death, contrived by speedometer of glass bees so he can use his psychedelic glands to free Sibyl from cage of wordless breath. Vague outlines of clouds that imagine us, Achilles sketches in sand with cracked bones, express consistent energy of joy because we choose to ride Hadean bus from Oslo to Paris with rolling stones though my ghost still dwells in palace of Troy.
Time Of Broken Clocks
Time Of Broken Clocks © Surazeus 2026 05 17 If I am born in time of broken clocks in log cabin beside the sparkling river, my heart will crumble into flakes of rust each time I walk past ticking stone of fate that drinks the salty tears of fallen angels who stitch fractured watches on tattered wings. Though I drift lost in time of broken clocks in cathedral of shattered pendulums that toll no twisted hour of unspooled grief, I ride the graveyard carousel till dawn on weeping horse with crackling bones of glass till my hands become turtles in the pond. Before I laugh in time of broken clocks as midnight stitches paper masks from moons, composed from writhing clumps of bitter snow, I swim in ocean of unmoving hands that drown pulsing face of eternity with graphic weight of arbitrary words. After I cry in time of broken clocks, while stumbling dark halls of the floating castle, I find hourglass on legless desk of fear that coughs ashes where it once poured pure gold at sudden misalignment of six kites that veil blind cherub hovering over me. Never awake in time of broken clocks, I climb staircase that melts upward in clouds of black water, comprised of eyeless gods, to cluttered meadow where electric birds with lanterns glowing in transparent ribs explain why every faceless human dies. Stuck alone outside time of broken clocks, I crawl across the windy plain of homes where violins grow roots through their floorboards to reassemble puzzle from our dreams into graceful church with four tall white steeples where no one ever sings hymns about death. Trapped by truth outside time of broken clocks, I map sizzling rivers that flow backwards through libraries where every book bleeds sand instead of pages wrapped around glass moons that hang suspected above bovine fields where eyeless statues play chess with my shadow. Since I will die in time of broken clocks, I polish mirrors in numberless houses that are filled with thunderstorms of desire brewing inside brains of innocent boys who aim guns at photographs on dead trees and shout to imitate sharp sounds of shots.
Shape Of My Hungry Flesh
Shape Of My Hungry Flesh © Surazeus 2026 05 17 If this world of water and wind and light is all for me, my shadow on its hills, then I will write my name across the sky, but keep it secret that I fall from clouds each day I rise up from soil of its hope and wander among ruins of the past. This great tree reaching toward the faceless sky, that drops ripe apples in my hungry hands, harps brightly humming in soft gusts of wind because its roots curl down to core of time, entwining bodies my ancestors left when their spirits beamed back up to the stars. My lamentation echoes between hills where I rest in heat of the glowing sun since fire is fundamental principle that animates all beings with conscious life for we appear from strife of opposites to spiral through cycles of birth and death. This animating flame of energy that flares forth from first flash of the big bang evolves into shape of my hungry flesh so I sing clear with loneliness of heat that urges me to roam around the world till I know curve of every sparkling stream. I record elements of day and night through unlocalized images of time which conjures thunderstorm of social change to flash assertive rain on towns of men who bury sorrow under roads of wealth when floods erase buildings from ancient land. I walk the signless road of everywhere to visit every city in the land that flourishes from sea to shining sea so I record name and deeds of each life to preserve their memories after they die and vanish into dust on rain-drenched hills. Now I am dreamer of all that is lost, obsessed with singing tale of every soul who rise as generations from the sea in endless waves of strife to gain world fame at piercing cry of hope that cracks the sky, then sink in silence of indifferent graves. Ephemeral flames of bodies glow at dawn when our brains fuse with stones of nameless roads till millions who strive to survive each day are merged in idol of one faceless god who represents our spirits in weird myths that gleam as shadows on tree-shrouded hills.
Saturday, May 16, 2026
First Mother Of Earth
First Mother Of Earth © Surazeus 2026 05 16 Sitting in church on Sabbath afternoon, heart beating at reception of weird light that beams slantwise through window of all time, I see descend on flaming wings of faith First Mother of Earth with eyes of bright stars who fills my mind with visions of survival. When the pastor declares with Father Voice that good obedient wives with humble hearts should submit to will of their husbands with love, I stand up and reach out my aching arms to embrace First Mother of Earth with faith who animates my heart with ardent truth. Breathing celestial energy of faith, I turn away from male authority and exit stage of global patriarchy to walk the signless road of everywhere in brave quest to find the Garden of Eden where First Mother of Earth tends apple trees. Offering assistance of my strong hands to help First Mother of Earth tend fruit trees, I narrate my name and path of my life that seems so random in my clumsy hope, so she accepts me in Garden of Eden where I stand guard in Watch Tower Of Faith. When gang of thieves surround our paradise, demanding we submit to righteous rule of their male privilege with guns of hate, I open gates of heaven wide, and bow to welcome them to feast in Hall of Faith where First Mother of Earth offers them wine. While I play Lyre of Mercury and sing on stage before crowd of wild revelers, First Mother of Earth offers guests sweet wine, so they dance with joy at their victory till they all slump drunk and limp on the ground, so I hang them upside from the tree. Screaming in rage at clever trick we played, arrogant men demand we let them go, so I explain how First Mother of Earth has always ruled cycles of life and death, then slit their throats and fill grail with their blood which I pour on roots of the Knowledge Tree. Though men form gangs in terror of Kind Death, and take over national governments to legalize their spurious right to rule, First Mother of Earth, with power of Nature, sends the Grim Reaper to erase cruel thieves, so children may thrive in Garden of Eden.
Energy Of Fervent Faith
Energy Of Fervent Faith © Surazeus 2026 05 16 From book that records every human dream I extract energy of fervent faith to travel life of every conscious soul till I arrive at zero mark of time that flashes from the negative prelude so I know how you feel inside your heart. From ocean waves that sing electric light I gyrate energy of fervent faith to measure patterns left behind by change which undulate in bodies we become so we invent new questions to preserve truth that water sparkles our brains awake. From seeds of apple trees in pungent soil I blossom energy of fervent faith to reassemble mirror mind of God fractured by experience of painful death through tilted curvature of messy love since drops of rain reflect my divine soul. From lake of dreams on adjustable wings I spiral energy of fervent faith in vain attempt of pulsing fortitude to repair broken hour of misfired words though tangled bodies writhe with attitude that we shall live forever on this Earth. From iron core of spinning pulchritude I magnet energy of fervent faith through flashing coils of rainbow avatars to choose my own assertive destiny when star stone fractures crystal shell of time so I may resurrect from dragon eye. From radiant brain of my angelic ghost I typhoon energy of fervent faith to weave ten billion globes of conscious souls from whirling galaxy of goddess light who generates our bodies from her lust to wake in flashing diamond of her womb. From hurricane of political change I ordain energy of fervent faith when hungry people conjure paradise from ordinary routines of concern while clouds glide over hills of apple trees where we journey signless road of desire. From Garden of Gethsemane at dawn I plunder energy of fervent faith to prove my random way of life is right though I may wander clumsily nowhere so I sing vision of some perfect world that we could build from fragments of weird dreams.
Dream Code Of Cleverness
Dream Code Of Cleverness © Surazeus 2026 05 16 Though I still learn dream code of cleverness to understand sublime beauty of Earth that dreamers write in magic spells of truth, I know ideal Heaven of perfect peace, where every soul is equal in brave grace, can never be achieved in swirl of life. I carve on stone dream code of cleverness to outline patterns of social behavior that strengthen bonds of each community as bold foundation for strong institutions that support each generation of humans who spring from heads of our grand fantasy. While I program dream code of cleverness, that designs blueprint for new global state based on liberty and justice for all, I sense chaotic swirls of potent wills that clash in brutal contest to control essential elements of life on Earth. Stricken down by dream code of cleverness, I fall from grace in Tower of Paradise with tattered wings of Icarus in my heart to hollow space of Hell where I may reign as bold authority who speaks Good Law in brave rebellion against the Blue Sky. So I translate dream code of cleverness in solemn riddles of transcendent odes that honor ideal forms of human souls so lovers almost kiss in timeless youth, entranced by holy songs of nightingales with ache of hope for our paradise lost. Though God and Satan, as soul stereotypes of mortals, compete to rule crowded nations in contest between Nurturer and Oppressor, I tend my garden on the river shore with my Wise Companion in home we share where we raise children of our loyal love. Unraveling dream code of cleverness, I deconstruct systems of mind control inherent in language rich elites use to exploit common people as sad slaves, so we can reframe psychic privilege that narrates success of all who create. Reconstructing dream code of cleverness, I design new world view with sacred myths that highlight creative actions of builders in whole ontology that integrates all gods in ecumenical religion that supports United Nations of Earth.
Crying Elm Of Sorrow
Crying Elm Of Sorrow © Surazeus 2026 05 16 We see him under the crying elm of sorrow as if his body has transformed to stone, yet nobody understands what he says, so we cover him with eglantine vines that bloom with delicate petals of faith that remind our hearts of Ithilien. Horses under the crying elm of sorrow discuss philosophy with Socrates who teaches them to question what is real but they are too innocent to rebel when humans harness them to pull fruit wagons in our journey home to Ithilien. Emerging from the crying elm of sorrow, we gather on the lake shore every summer to dance by starlight among apple trees and share stories about our families, then part with tears to our home villages scattered through valleys of Ithilien. Strange ghosts under the crying elm of sorrow, far off in shadowed woods of yesteryear, speak with voices more enchanting than flutes which haunt our lonely afternoons at home while we tend lush gardens of vegetables that bloom by rivers of Ithilien. World Queen under the crying elm of sorrow sings heart-aching melodies about loss to children who sit at her feet with eyes wide as the silver moon behind rain clouds who remember her voice when they grow old and wail for spirit of Ithilien. Phoebe walks toward the crying elm of sorrow with hesitant steps of perceptive grace to offer bowl of milk with kind intention to old bearded Wulfgar, wounded by war, who accepts her gift, and weeps as he drinks to think of souls lost in Ithilien. Stalled car beside the crying elm of sorrow, that Mercury once drove across the land to perform at concerts in every city before adoring crowds of hungry ghosts, now rusts in silent stillness of hot air and decays in woods of Ithilien. Dancing under the crying elm of sorrow, Draupadi glides with grace of secret love to express lamentation of her heart for all the people killed in civil wars whose names vanish in spring winds of tomorrow though they linger mute in Ithilien.
Become The Eyeless Ghost
Become The Eyeless Ghost © Surazeus 2026 05 16 Tangled in roots of the ancient pear tree, scroll of sorrow swells with hydraulic tears of nameless people in forest of shadows whose suffering has become the eyeless ghost that haunts the solemn courtrooms of old law, so I preserve the scroll in hall of glass. Each time I gaze at ghost of some dead soul, whose face is painted with colorful goop smeared on wood panel and hung on the wall, I see reflection of immortal soul encoded in the human genes we share, so I smile till their soul wakes in my heart. Arrhythmic beat of wounded angel wings asserts free will my heart preserves in code of static words that I repeat each day in rote routine as groove of legacy which scratches when I skip confining phase to weep with nostalgia for frantic dreams. Trapped by hope in dark evening of the mind, I chase fireflies twitching in sunset blood to hide from shadow slithering among trees till I find Apple Witch with golden eyes reading book of spells by the garden wall who gives me last martyred peach of her heart. Though I wander somewhere in her dark woods without purpose, except to understand why every living creature has to die, she calls my name no one else knows but her till I wake in circling aura of her heart where she makes me wear mask of her desire. Trees represent stillness of stoic grace we cannot keep with our time-anxious hearts, she explains to me with confusing words, so I sew leather skin of angry bulls into basketballs on courts of warfare that symbolize this civil war we fight. Magnified by strategies to gain fame, her mission readjusts focus of fate to avoid flaws in dilemma of truth that vague concepts trap our minds in grand creeds in which we dare indulge against regret with inconclusive utterance of faith. Thus I shall quaff moon ale from pewter stoup to taste sweet blood of angels with mad hearts who fall from Heaven every day or two then trudge to work at the cold factory to transform bones of dragons into tools we use to build empire of howling ghosts.
Friday, May 15, 2026
Mission To Play Clockward
Mission To Play Clockward © Surazeus 2026 05 15 Floating formless in alphabetized wind with stringent arrogance of morbid laughter, I map bluffed apertures of my fake mind to guard peach pie of my celestial daughter who assures me she knows how to perform unexpected code through cuneiform. Asking how our bodies are born seems gauche but Jesus always makes it seem so awkward because my character is still ebauche despite my holy mission to play clockward if my soulmate says I am sinister since I choose to become world minister. Without angel wings I am more adroit at building boats with glass hands of the jester who defies oligarchs when they exploit objective ambition of the beast-master who trains his daughter to be dexterous though she thinks no state can be prosperous. With crystal eyes I know I cannot lose through fraught calculation of sincere passion disguised as fractal ballet of the rose which inspires me to go against the fashion and play Light-Bearer role of Lucifer who defies tyranny of Jupiter. Born to always play the wise scullion who never escapes crystal walls of Heaven, I organize our world rebellion with wise direction of the Silver Raven who teaches me the method used to save mankind from laughing demon in the cave. Too clever to win with the wizard card, that illustrates well the human condition, when I accept Minerva as my ward, I harmonize tumult of god ambition against better judgment of the Blind Queen who demands I design her time machine. Looking for another mirror to break through psychic anguish of the sordid circle, I wear glass mask of the angelic freak who prophesies American debacle erased from history by the famous scribe who buys insurance for our Dream Archive. Make me your lyre tuned to the ocean flood that tones each flushed season with solemn humor so I hover over your world and brood to escape celebrity of fame glamour that curses impetuous souls with fate to play the Fisherman instead of bait.
Thursday, May 14, 2026
Weird Spirit Of The Stone
Weird Spirit Of The Stone © Surazeus 2026 05 14 While crawling through thick tangled bush of hope, Samael breathes deep celestial air of faith when giant serpent with electric eyes slithers along river flow on short legs, and gasps surprised when she arches high to commune with weird spirit of the stone. Rainbow-colored feathers along her trunk flutter in sudden breeze along the river as two-horned dragon with electric eyes expresses weird heart-aching song of trust when she reaches short arm to grasp ripe fruit offered her by weird spirit of the stone. Amazed that he can see for the first time angular face on long thick coiling trunk, Samael gazes at dragon with two horns that sings mercurial melody of love in sweet eerie wail that reverberates with passion from weird spirit of the stone. Peering through leaves of the thick tangled bush, Samael sees large woman with curling hair who stands before serpent with crystal eyes and offers watermelon she devours, then caresses her neck as the snake purrs since she adores weird spirit of the stone. Seven men who grip brass spears in their hands, with diamond spearheads sharp enough to pierce and penetrate scaled skin with rainbow feathers, surround curly-haired woman and huge dragon with grim intention to enslave them both so they can claim weird spirit of the stone. Blowing cool breath of his worshipful heart, Samael plays mind-entrancing melodies on dark-green jade flute his grandfather made, diverting attention of dragon-hunters who stare at him in mute paralysis as he channels weird spirit of the stone. Twirling swift with sudden assertive grace, Samael strikes with sharp blade he forged from steel to behead seven hunters in quick play, then bows low before electric-eyed dragon and curly-haired woman with bag of fruit who embody weird spirit of the stone. Pregnant with baby from seed of his soul, Lilith dances slowly with elegance that emotes her serpentine curves with sinuous cadence of fluid motion while Tiamat coils with delicate grace, and Samael guards weird spirit of the stone.
Woke In The Anxious Zone
Woke In The Anxious Zone © Surazeus 2026 05 14 Woke in the anxious zone of my bruised heart, mind twisted by healing wisdom of rainbows, I gather ghosts of children killed by bombs so they can assemble puzzle of dreams from fragments of distempered photographs that conceal immortal soul of their genes. Woke in the anxious zone of dancing homes, doors flapping wild as wings of Icarus, I number every home on signless roads that all lead to ziggurat of Ishtar where she designs new masks for us to wear when we perform our role in game of life. Woke in the anxious zone of wordless books, soaked black with blood of people killed in wars, I organize in conceptual framework every trope based on character and scene that stereotypes our personalities in standard plotlines where everyone dies. Woke in the anxious zone of flashing bombs, unspooled by formulas of righteous prayer, I support United Nations of Earth based on justice and liberty for all through equal opportunity from birth for every soul to optimize their skills. Woke in the anxious zone of radio ghosts, brains buzzing voices of demonic faith, I chat with every person in the world to understand strange motives of their hands concerned with shaping thoughts in clever toys when sorrow challenges our right to love. Woke in the anxious zone of humming trees, designed to conjure fruit of sacred truth, I translate riddles of the Eyeless Snake who whispers code I forge in key of jokes so I can open box Pandora made where my heart flutters arrogant wings. Woke in the anxious zone of singing skulls, crystal egg of draconic fortitude, I join justice squad that Orpheus leads with Apollo and Hamlet to detect crimes committed by greedy oligarchs so we administer justice on Earth. Woke in the anxious zone of my glass eyes, that beam time-animated globe of Earth, I cartograph whole history of mankind to analyze rise and fall of great empires till we create Heaven that unites all in vain attempt to manage civil strife.
Wednesday, May 13, 2026
Fields Of Singing Skulls
Fields Of Singing Skulls © Surazeus 2026 05 13 I want to dance in fields of singing skulls who tell me about how the world could be so much better in how people may thrive with joyful passion of pleasure from pain even in the sorrow of freezing rain that makes the ugly Earth more beautiful. I stumble lost in fields of singing skulls who tell me about the glorious war when glamorous Satan with serpent eyes rebels against grim tyrant on gold throne yet strives to crown himself king of the world as architect of his own suffering. I exercise in fields of singing skulls to transcend limitations of this flesh so I can gaze in mirror of my mind and see the glorious god I could become if I strive hard to overcome weak faith though I may fall from heights of false success. I meditate in fields of singing skulls about the state of Limbo where I dwell in wretched circumstance of endless strife because I know with faith that I deserve to dwell in Paradise of peaceful grace forever inaccessible to me. I strut with pride in fields of singing skulls to climb great mountain of assertive will that purges weakness from my noble frame, proud my attempt to reach the height of fame proves I deserve rewards I cannot win that valorize my failure to achieve. I lounge with grace in fields of singing skulls to fetishize my longing as my goal since fruitful Heaven is beyond my reach therefore my journey to the Promised Land is all that matters to my wounded heart that beats torn wings against cage of despair. I drift forlorn in fields of singing skulls while I design grand world inside my head that matches splendor of my divine heart though efforts to attain this paradise are doomed to failure of my vague desire when I remake this world in my own image. I play guitar in fields of singing skulls to channel weird mercurial vibe of faith through haunting wail of untuned honesty in total acceptance of punishment inflicted on me by indifferent Nature who provides apples I can never reach.
Righteous Way To Go
Righteous Way To Go © Surazeus 2026 05 13 Stuck on the righteous way to go to Heaven that winds through every city in the world, I study statues of Satan and Hamlet to understand romantic state of mind that could fuel engine of my beating heart when I want to leap from Tower of Hope. Lying stunned on the righteous way to go after I fall from Heaven for nine days, I wake alone in Valley of Despond with tattered wings of Icarus I stole to find my crash created my own space where I can sing solemn psalms of despair. Lost on the righteous way to go back home where ghosts of my parents forget my name, I cast my bread upon waters of faith but the birds with angelic wings of light die from sorrow of poisoned promises and I get nothing but handfuls of rain. Mapping the righteous way to go to Hell where Hamlet and Orpheus share bad jokes, I design new ontology of truth to conjure virtual model of the Earth that represents the way things really are instead of how Plato thinks they should be. Eager to name the righteous way to go that leads to paradise of apple trees, I plant seeds in the wilderness of pain that sprout into Seraphim of my heart who stand guard on the marble walls of Troy where Cassandra waits for me to come home. Still waiting on the righteous way to go through airport security with my passport, I think about my bride Persephone who meets Mona Lisa and Melusine to paint statues at the Vigeland Park beneath tall monolith of writhing ghosts. Racing time on the righteous way to go with the Third Man on cold Antarctic plains, I find Hammer of Thor stuck in the ice, so I proclaim myself King of Greenland, and dare mad Nebuchadnezzar to fight me whose statue of gold falls in the waste land. Abandoning the righteous way to go where Percival lies drowned on the sea shore, I ask wise Urania to marry me, but she is in love with Prometheus who operates power plant near Lake Tahoe that leaves thousands of people in the dark.
Tuesday, May 12, 2026
Psychic Energy Of Love
Psychic Energy Of Love © Surazeus 2026 05 12 Primal Spirit, born from infernal swirls in seething chaos of celestial flames, our Last Universal Common Ancestor that first evolved in hot Hadean Eon, still glows with psychic energy of love in every cell of my atomized body. Every organic creature, born from Earth with immortal soul of genetic code, operates machinery for protein systems with shared chirality of amino acids through fuel of adenosine triphosphate as universal currency of cells. Breaking water bonds with hydrolysis, adenosine triphosphate executes sharp energy beams sufficient to drive biochemical processes of life which animates our physical machine through pulsing passion of emotive force. Physical experience of our God Soul buzzes deep inside every cell of my body to spark aggressive assertion of will through brave actions of creative design since I feel original Force of Life pulse in each action I choose to perform. Since Primal Spirit first began to dream four billion years ago in spin of time, her spiral coil of genes accumulates glow of experience in stereotype tropes which illuminates righteous path of action so I pursue Course of Honor to grow. Driven by primal energy of hope, that flares forth from first flash of the big bang, our planet forms from solar nebula to generate prokaryotic cell empowered by stable machine of acids as self-dividing vesicle of lust. Inspired by psychic energy of love, I play the lyre of Mercury and sing hymn of praise to the Supreme Being of Light that glows with nuclear power in the Sun, so I worship Sun-Spider Solaria who weaves our bodies from atomic threads. My brain, nurtured by this chemical frame of my temporary body, embodies immortal flare of psychic energy that we mortal humans have signified with the weird word God to symbolize mindless passion of our desire to live.
Yellow Snake Of Truth
Yellow Snake Of Truth © Surazeus 2026 05 12 Dredged up from the past, strange memories, strangers recorded in ambiguous riddles, crawl wounded on hot highway of ambition, and latch their bodies with obsessive lust to pulsing antivirus of my brain where they plant seeds that reprogram my mind. Floating in colonial skyscape of hope, dispersed across vastness of timeless thought, I wear silver mask of the wise Ungod to play Music of the Spheres on bone lyre that shakes Poisoned Apple loose from my brain so I become the Yellow Snake of Truth. Brewing gloom in white hot Cauldron of Faith, with tears of angels, and mushrooms that sprout from corpses of gods men worship no more, I wear Mask of Folly carved from glass skull of the newest devil to walk the Earth who claws diamonds from ghost mountains of fear. When the Maimed King, still slouching on gold throne of obsolete power, clutches Holy Grail he stole from cracked Tomb of the Unknown savior, I sweep back Curtain of Uncertainty to reveal Faith Beggars wearing gray suits who preach about salvation of the vampire. Renamed Pilgrim of the Apocalypse, I react with wild laughter of King Lear against mechanical sterility of our world industrial society, then design weird blueprint to resurrect Zarathia from ruins of America. I bow with reverence of honest respect before Supreme Being of the One-Eyed Sun whose radiant light of life illuminates our spinning Earth with atoms of desire, since, unmoved by Eight Winds of Providence, he floats serenely on Lotus of Love. As latest descendant of Melkhizath, whose spirit animates my heart with faith, I contemplate Wyrd of our universe, which is the only version that exists out of all the possible variations mirrored by fractals of the multiverse. Still echoing softly in Cage of Voices, prophecies of the Sibyl with gold eyes shatter illusions of national pride because Spirit of Odin, bold Lightning-Caster, is worshipped by people of America, terrified of the Yellow Snake of Truth.
Monday, May 11, 2026
Wounded Heart Of Everyone
Wounded Heart Of Everyone © Surazeus 2026 05 11 The saddest soul in the world eats the stone soft as the wounded heart of everyone so no one else feels anguish of despair. Children swim in the river of weird words to understand why happiness of light gleams on surface of the burgeoning sea. Fragments of the broken mirror gleam blue in white dust of the driveway. Hungry trees explain to the girl in the yellow dress why wind gets trapped in words of holy books no one ever reads. Pipes where water flows slither under yards of fallen road signs. Each time he finds another jeweled crown abandoned in the field of rubber tires behind the car garage, he asks the crow for name of the faceless ghost in his heart. People driving cars wear innocent masks since rain sounds like clack of typewriter keys. Ghosts are not real, yet they are memories of people we would like to see again, the girl in the yellow dress tells the boy in tattered jeans. They walk along the fence and pretend to play piano on wires of awkward flirtation till they depart. When her aunt calls her Catherine again the girl in the yellow dress shakes her head. I am the incarnation of Isolde, but this time Tristan and I will not die of broken-hearted sorrow, for we choose the life we wish to live against cruel fate. When the boy sees the crow on the mailbox where he puts letters he can never write to his mother, he feels strange sense of fear, so he runs into night of broken lamps and hides behind the car-repair garage where his grandfather used to drink cold beer. Late each afternoon, before school is out, Tristan and Isolde meet at the garage where they eat hotdogs and drink seven-up while Light My Fire plays on the radio. Because no airplanes in the clear blue sky are dropping bombs, they both decide to kiss. She plays violin while he plays the flute as strangers making music in the night, till psychic energy swells huge as clouds that crack at sweet electric flash of love so silver rain drenches the world in hope. They never agree to marry or not.
Mauve Mask Of Morning
Mauve Mask Of Morning © Surazeus 2026 05 11 To wear mauve mask of morning without fear, concerned about wordless pain people hide, I sit before glowing computer screen and map whole history of humanity with points, lines, and polygons that depict static image of our now-changing world. I feel mauve mask of morning hide my face while I search among jagged stones of hope for deep well of immortal energy so I can bring cup of juice in my heart to Mother Gaya in four-pillared fane where she weeps over death of the blind moon. Without mauve mask of morning to reflect spirit of water that nurtures my faith, I play in backyard of my empty home, happy as the child with apple of light that mimics how the sun designs our minds with aching gratitude for mystery. I find mauve mask of morning in wet grass, so I sit in museum all day long sketching imitations of famous works to see if I can wake genius of art who gazes at me from blank eyes of ghosts trapped inside frame of conceptual regret. To build mauve mask of morning from sharp shards of rose windows shattered by happy bombs, I rearrange truths of reality so everything I thought was true as wind supplies oxygen when I breathe it in, learning nature of soul carnality. Behind mauve mask of morning Soul of God wakes in vast neural network of my brain so conscious sense of self I feel as me, programmed by dreams that my ancestors lived, fools me to feel immortal in frail flesh, so I run laughing in lush field of flowers. Shielded by mauve mask of morning with pride, I stand on global stage of hungry fame and sing transcendent spells of ecstasy that flash through my brain as epiphany, then vanish from dream of the turning world after I play my part programming truth. Inspired by mauve mask of morning from faith, I follow Death on signless road of fate with urgent passion, fueled by ardent pain, to build from bones of gods sheltering fane where I observe political events as trickster who plays the opposite game.
Sunday, May 10, 2026
Never Die Of Truth
Never Die Of Truth © Surazeus 2026 05 10 Because my heart will never die of truth, though my body and mind wither from time, I wander fields of wheat till I meet Ruth who teaches me psychic secret of chime. We hold hands as we stroll along the stream while troubles weave our hearts in loyal team. Before I wake up, stuck in Tree of Life while stealing apples from Lilith the Queen, I learn from Hephaestus how to forge knife of justice with my name in damascene. Though she casts me out of high garden walls I study secret of electric balls. In Desolation Canyon of Utah I build log cabin on Green River shore where I write love letters to Onatah who trades wagons of corn for iron ore. When I escape castles on noble quest I build democracy in the Wild West. Riding my bike in the small Texas town, I think about Brenda with eyes of gold who giggles when I flirt as clumsy clown then sing prophecies the Crow Witch inscrolled. I see mask of her face on golden moon when I ask Anne Bradstreet for sacred boon. Our great empire now collapses from lies since ideals of justice and liberty are twisted from tricks spread by foreign spies, which curses my tribesmen with poverty. We build from ruins of America new equal nation of Zarathia. I do my part while wandering road of fate, composing epic of philosophers to highlight heroes who investigate nature of life as truth geographers. Now I can vanish from dream of this world at thirteenth coming of the cosmic herald. We should not wait for brave Lyterius to save our nation from the tyrant thief since democracy is precarious, for justice requires sacrificial grief. I search for Ruth in prairie fields of wheat to calculate our wealth in the spreadsheet. Since our nation will never die of truth, we build new world view on verified facts adjudicated by messiah sleuth who notarizes all social contracts. As thirteenth descendant of the Crow Witch I chronicle truth with each hexastich.
Obsessive Eyes Of History
Obsessive Eyes Of History © Surazeus 2026 05 10 The random events of my mundane life occur so far outside standard template of socially accepted stereotypes, that I can only chronicle each phase without application of ordered stamps beyond frame of meaningful narrative. No conceptual meaning assigned by fate could be extracted from those bizarre scenes if I detail each particular fact against normal code of significance contrary to nuance of legal aim that motivates my actions to survive. Each maladjusted purpose I assert reverses message of psychic intent with imprecise explanation of hope beyond general drift of my argument, which is to say I could never attest to divine gist of consensual design. No story ever told in time-bound books, nor shows presented on the glowing screen, ever represents my experience in typical sequence of measured scenes that model paradigm of social tales contrived by fabulists of absurd myths. I will not compose memoir of my life, spinning meaningful narrative of fate from random assemblage of anecdotes that highlight examples of clumsiness when I interact with people in scenes scripted to humiliate me with farce. Each time I stumble into social scene, where fearful people wearing bitter masks direct burlesque of taunting disrespect that stars their caricature of my soul, I perform contrary to game they expect that exposes their hate through travesty. Thus I exit absurd drama they cast by vacating stage of their haughty pride and leave them to strut with false dignity before obsessive eyes of history that devours esteem of arrogant fools with terrible curse of soul-twisting fame. Long trapped in stories other people write, unwilling antagonist of their heroism, I leap from tower of religious faith to soar on urgent wings of Icarus till I fall singing in Ocean of Doom and rise reborn on island of my heart.
Falling Star Of Fate
Falling Star Of Fate © Surazeus 2026 05 10 Too late to catch the falling star of fate, that blasts illusion of our noble state, I leap across abyss of timeless truth to wear changing mask of messiah sleuth and play Lyterius on the global stage to free Liberty from the golden cage. After I trace the falling star of fate, that exposes ghoul of long-concealed hate, I gather wounded people of the land so with strength of numbers we take our stand opposing tyrant in castle of greed whose idol of gold crumbles into seed. Because I map the falling star of fate, that cracks base of our continental plate, I search for fragments of our old world view to assemble weird puzzle from each clue in blueprint for new world order of laws that applies fair verdict to each crime cause. Shocked awake by the falling star of fate, that reveals location of my soulmate, I overcome all obstacles of chance so we can meet and share romantic dance in sacred temple of fertility to generate souls with civility. Twisting time from the falling star of fate, that inspires our new nation to be great, I stand on street corner in every town to play guitar and sing about the clown who decrees we worship idol of gold that portrays Justice without her blindfold. Heart inspired by the falling star of fate, that provides gold for the heavenly gate, I stand guard at threshold of global change to help angels of Ishtar rearrange psychic system of world society with tools that help manage anxiety. Concerned about the falling star of fate, that smolders in garden of my estate, I pull sword of justice from glowing stone with hammer of vision adjusting tone, so I lead revolution of the brave against hungry monster in the dream cave. Empowered by the falling star of fate, that helps my magnetic brain navigate traps to treasures in labyrinth of myth, I crown Ishtar beneath the monolith as priestess who records our names at birth to manage United Nations of Earth.
Safe On The Serpent Way
Safe On The Serpent Way © Surazeus 2026 05 10 In this open field of battle for truth between bleak wind and sorrow of the mind, I build marble temple from dragon bones where the clock, not yet invented by hope, unspools salvation from seductive hearts of those who long to walk the signless road. Soft whisper of some voice in shadowed woods explains quickening of life in dark rain that causes mindless reel of being to spin with sharp machinery of the hungry mind because past events of outrageous crimes occur again today that shocks our hearts. Knife-eyed scientists of truth, who research excessive opinions about state power, scan vast emptiness of heavenly realms with passion to observe how souls are born from flash of chemicals in pulsing brains that emanate with conscious sense of self. Harrowing strain of electric regrets reshapes crowded tenements of lost souls who give up searching for the Promised Land while gazing upward at arrogant clouds that deny right to work and live at will in any town along the restless river. So many voices of the recent past wait mute in cracked texts of long-unread books that highlight fraught problem of ownership fought between factions of corporate states, so I walk barefoot on long pilgrimage to find skulls of gods buried under roots. When Sisyphus stumbles to his crippled knees and rock of salvation begins to roll, I will imagine how happy he is to push the stone of wisdom up the hill, then stand in line with joy to wait my turn while I ponder how matter radiates essence. Since Tiresias gives me wand of respect and retires to watch television shows, I strut the busy streets of business shops till I see tall gold statue in the park, but when preachers demand I worship it I call out for help from Abednego. Running from masked agents with eyeless guns, I seek for Spirit of Lyterius to wake inside hollow cave of my heart and guide my way safe on the Serpent Way, till I find myself at the pyramid where lightning strikes gold idol of the king.
Saturday, May 9, 2026
Woke In Angelophanic Realm
Woke In Angelophanic Realm © Surazeus 2026 05 09 Trapped in despondency of eager faith, I follow Zadkiel with purple wings along winding trail of hope-shattered stones to snow-frosted peaks of Strobilus Mountain where I find fountain of my sun-born soul that fills my mortal frame with divine light. Still chained to ragged cliff of anarchy, Prometheus calls my name in howling wind, so I open portal of my aching heart which lures his flame-stealing soul to attend phase of my project constructing world view that beams radiation of primordial god. Engaged with focus of attentive care in brave adventure of curious growth, which my ancestors practice through each life, I map weird vision of ontology that defines virtue of active respect based on constructive process of design. Through theft of fire from cave of ardent faith I build assertive walls of Ilium where we horse-traders evaluate pride, immune to blood of dragons in our hearts, based on clairvoyance of agnostic dread still pertinent to moments of insight. Interior vision from Spirit of Mundus, which postulates sacred garden of ghosts, provides supportive landscape for my heart to dwell woke in angelophanic realm where I translate encoded messages as cosmic revelation few perceive. Demonic shade, that emanates from me, guides me through mirror cave of mental math to mediate contract of my wounded heart with cosmic Seraph of immortal genes along the winding Serpent Path of faith where Numinous Phantom of my heart sings. When I receive weird truth that we choose fate, I recite sagacious riddles of insight while performing pageant of ecstasy through narrative exposition of deeds which portray my inner transformation based on the friendly silence of the moon. Freed from subterfuge of religious creed, I walk with Zadkiel on mountain trail to build devotional fane of respect for soul of my ancestors in my heart to glow as mirror that presents my face which masks ephemeral spirit of the Earth.
Glass Idol Of God
Glass Idol Of God © Surazeus 2026 05 09 Faint light of afternoon glows sultry green on pallid walls of silent living rooms where shadows of people whose names I knew fade into fuzzy memories few recall, preserved by songs in aching melodies that nobody ever sings anymore. Embellished beauty, inherent in words never spoken against oppressive fear, teaches me to distrust bitter commands that attempt to mute music of the streets which reveals cracks in foundations of faith then causes our great empire to collapse. Sirens once lured sailors to crash bold ships on rocks of lust to taste forbidden fruit, but now sirens wail to warn of attacks when angels of heaven in silver planes drop bombs of greed on halls of liberty, so the wounded wail in ruins of faith. Exempt from greed that plagues weak hearts of men, we wander toward siren song of despair to gather round waterless fountain pool where faceless people in travel-worn shoes leave empty suitcases in piles of hope while family photographs swirl in hot wind. Our bodies mutate from statues of gold to hunger-wasted zombies of blind faith so we exchange hope-tattered dollar bills to buy illusions of brave apathy that clutter abandoned churches where ghosts sing solemn hymns to glass idol of God. Mother of Dignity, wearing black dress stained with blood of angels, points to Glow Cloud fractured into puzzle pieces of truth, and asks why we are baffled by despair embodied by old woman on the cow who gives the thirsty broken cups of dreams. Exquisite rant against dishonest men, who succumb to surprise of carefree death, provides glimpse into how gears of the brain analyze mutation of our world view so we see everything differently now, since life is one long television show. Though I lost mask of white ghost in my heart that haunts waterless wells in horseless fields, I almost feel reborn from flames of change that blast institutions of social games, yet jagged quartz that writhes in all my cells traps my spirit in glass idol of God.
Ghost Of Shimmer-Thought
Ghost Of Shimmer-Thought © Surazeus 2026 05 09 When I kneel at fern-wreathed curb of the well to see strange whiteness Robert once discerned, I see no godlike ghost of shimmer-thought behind mask of my simple mortal face, so I pretend with smirk of innocence that I perceive true essence of this world. Sun-dappled lilies of the valley bloom from graves where my ancestors rot to dust along lost roads of verdant urgency since patterns of transcendent ideal forms mold matter into transient beings of light which weaves meaning out of random events. While trudging endless road of prairie grass beside four-wheeled wagon of dreamy hopes, I seek glow of enchantment in bright hills that whisper secret tales in wordless wind, revealing secrets of this ancient land where grim demonic shadows of fear lurk. I sense weird spirit of faceless regard as meaning immanent in mindless things that I project with passion to express transcendent vision flashing in my eyes which dissipates in sudden gust of wind so I see river valley as it is. Vast cities in lands far across the sea teem with gangs of men fighting for control over whose god bestows their right to live with fierce ambition to claim providence for calm consumption of material wealth providing nourishment for psychic growth. No cities gleam on distant hills of hope beyond horizon of potential peace so I imagine divine providence beams rays of light on river vales of hope to highlight opportunities for growth where I may thrive far from castles of greed. This vision of new opportunity drove my ancestors in long wagon trains over rugged mountains of agony, across windy prairies of urgency, to build new homes on river shores of faith far from oppressive grasp of tyranny. Now tyrants reach their hands across the land to crush all opposition to their greed as spirit of Rome looms over lush vales to expand empire of social control, so I stand on wild beach of Oregon and laugh because our crowded world is round.
Wings Of Tranquil Honesty
Wings Of Tranquil Honesty © Surazeus 2026 05 09 Distantly arriving at nonsense now with the old book that wants to read itself, I ask nobody why we are alive, then drink apple juice on the broken rock, so I can take stock of the world today, Nature serene while humans fight for power. They seem to stand so still in peaceful calm, huge trees that gaze up at the empty sky where no giant man watches all I do, but their roots are tangled in hostile wars over who sucks atoms of material from corpses of organic animals. Their soft leaves of tender fragility, that flutter delicately in cool breeze, are engaged in struggle for dominance over who soaks in more bright rays of light that flush their hardened trunks with energy to scatter more seeds far across the land. They chirp so cheerfully in gentle trees, the birds that flutter wings of urgent hope where no guardian angels protect my soul, but their sweet songs express romantic hope to attract the most ardent monitors attentive to needs of their frantic faith. Their fragile wings of tranquil honesty, that swirl in controlled flights of fantasy, hurl their obsessive hearts in frenzied flight with agitated passion to proclaim voice-enforced shield of territorial bounds in struggles to control space of their dreams. When I walk out on porch of my quaint home at peaceful gleam of dawn that paints all rosy, I hear birds chirping in gently swayed trees, and feel strange calm of timeless innocence that soothes tense agitation of my heart from berserk fight for power humans play. Yet like humans they fight for dominance, contesting over who has right to live safe in fertile space of heavenly calm to generate and train children with love who produce food so everyone can eat then craft machines and tools with rich insight. To seek unperturbed respite of firm faith from overwrought obsession for control that drives humans to dominate our globe, I fight to defeat tyrants blind with greed, then shroud my heart in tranquil fantasy our state provides opportunities for all.
Friday, May 8, 2026
Why We Are Alive
Why We Are Alive © Surazeus 2026 05 08 In snow-filled library of Elysium, Sibylla gazes in black crystal ball that models white whole of our universe in spiral swirls of flashing galaxies, then gazes in my heart with sea-green eyes so I understand why we are alive. With laughing wind of sterile disregard I run down endless road to nowhere else through mirror that erases my true face, untouched by sorrow of my wounded heart that nurtures trees of fruit from brainless corpse because I question why we are alive. We schedule secret tryst in jeweled night beside dark river of restless desire that craves deep beauty of the hungry sea till flash of dawn bursts from my tearless eyes so I seek refuge in bright cave of thoughts which still calculate why we are alive. Bound by fierce empathy for nameless souls, who wander signless roads beyond stone walls, I walk with Death inside huge picture frame to sit by urgent fountain of concern and wonder if Blood Moon still misses me while wisdom conceals why we are alive. If laughter breaks free from mute book of lies with tangled threads of fractured memories, I may attend brave pilgrimage of love beyond all expectations of world fame to gaze in crystal ball of timeless truth that helps me resolve why we are alive. Sad water puppets in pastures of green explain how cows convert despair to milk though caught between eternity and now each time I feel attention of your gaze since we bear weight of careless hope within as passion that proves why we are alive. Though Phoenix of insistent innocence rises from smoking ruins of our state, we catch rain of Heaven in open hands to wash stark pain from melancholy minds so we pass through seasons of mental change that reframe code for why we are alive. While ocean waves breathe memories of my heart, and flowers transform sorrow to sweet joy, we hold each other close in warm embrace to weave our hearts with energy of love so when we walk in rain of bitter storms we remain warm from why we are alive.
Hidden Land Of Havilah
Hidden Land Of Havilah © Surazeus 2026 05 08 While wandering along asphalt highway somewhere between Seattle and Miami, I turn aside in unmapped wilderness to follow Pishon River of my heart till I find hidden land of Havilah where dead trees of Eden lurk in the mist. Sweet voice enchants my heart with ache of hope, so I follow mercurial wail of love to find young woman with eyes gold as stars dancing among lush pomegranate trees around clear pool from bubbling fountain spring, uncanny scene that inspires me with joy. All traces of corporate buildings and cars, connected by world wide web of dream machines, vanish in swirl of haze as I transcend liminal threshold of the multiverse to find myself as shadow of my mind awake in hidden land of Havilah. As I emerge from portal of despair, my progress is obstructed by horned demon, fierce Azazel, who challenges my right to walk the yellow brick road of success, so I claw brass wand, forged from ancient lava, from sands of time to fight his bitter hate. Shocked that I dare oppose his tyranny, grim Azazel attacks with snarling rage, but I dodge every strike of long sharp claws, and bash his arms and legs with wand of truth till he falls to his knees in wounded pride and pleads till I crush his soul with respect. Drinking water from sparkling Hippocrene, I breathe healing air of Havilah, but gasp surprised when crowd of cheering folk celebrate my victory against the devil, then star-eyed Astara with jeweled wand proclaims me their savior Lyterius. Crowned King in hidden land of Havilah by Astara who bears child of our souls, I reign well with justice in court of law, managing farms, ranches, and factories to produce and distribute food for all, and fund projects improving homes and roads. Waking up in modern America with memories of life in the ancient past, I wonder how civilizations change so generous spirit of communal life that flows from hidden land of Havilah may resurrect our nation from collapse.
Thursday, May 7, 2026
Blinded By Epiphanies
Blinded By Epiphanies © Surazeus 2026 05 07 I refuse to admit with steel-eyed pride my mind has been blown by epiphanies, so I walk down to where the sad bears hide to engage in psychic polyphonies for angels wearing masks with devil smirks who hide in kitchens where Apollo lurks. When I fall in love with the Femme Fatale who manipulates my heart with kind words, she invites me to join secret cabal dedicated to managing cow herds by writing reports with mystical code about transcendent hum of the God Toad. If I ignore the Damsel in Distress because I think her act could be some trap, my understanding of love might regress to primal state not found on any map, yet I will save her from the jaws of death despite how she defines the shibboleth. Intercepted by the Sassy Tomboy who challenges me to magic-wand fight, I avoid her kiss by acting too coy despite commitment to master Mind Flight by breathing deep celestial flare of trust that forges Heaven from conceptual dust. Inspired by resolve of the Mother Bear to protect her children from predators by teaching them how to ride the Night Mare, I misdirect aggressive creditors with glam fantasy of the Afterlife which causes them to clash in bitter strife. Attending shows with the Trophy Girlfriend to enhance social standing I perform, I strut to comply with the latest trend that hides my deviance from accepted norm to prove I am superior to all fools because I disdain use of fiscal tools. Attempting to woo heart of the Ice Queen, who hides trauma behind facade of strength, I work hard to invent power machine that channels her pain on healing wavelength to focus attention of her career on ruling world empire with the Blind Seer. With my heart blinded by epiphanies that flash before my eyes with deep insight, I compose tragicomic symphonies that no musician ever performs right, yet I realize another sacred truth which I chronicle for messiah sleuth.
Establish Secure Home
Establish Secure Home © Surazeus 2026 05 07 In service to strange country that I love I fix broke traffic lights on road of life to ensure moral signals of behavior function with fair assessment of our need to flow in harmony with every soul fixated on secret quest of their heart. I want to create, rather than destroy, structures of atoms that constitute this world, though everything grows and decays in its time as fragile objects of chemical gears composed of molecules that interact with constant motions of urgent desire. Intense vibration of attractive hope, that radiates from core of organic being, still pulses with first flash of the big bang that flares forth from primal spark of desire which motivates my progress to transcend bounds of my body through spiritual flight. Because neural network of my sponge brain conjures my conscious sense of self from dreams, composed of memories from ancestral lives, I must accept that I am limited to perform roles within physical frame that nurtures deathless light in mortal flesh. I study nature of this global world when I measure extension of existence to note how far I stand out within bounds of structured form, which contains my whole being providing instruments of arms and legs so I can move, and manipulate shapes. Thus I design proverbs of providence to express well through formulaic laws statements that describe essence of assertion inherent in state of physical objects through strict methods of scientific research which defines process of cause and effect. Hidden inside these solemn observations that assess status of relationships, bright vision of desire to replicate new bodies with immortal soul of genes motivates my emotion-funded project to establish secure home of love with you. If visions of the future we both share coincide with mutual assessments of fate, I choose to dedicate passion of love to care for health and safety of your soul through marriage of our individual minds in consensual program to procreate.
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