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.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
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Saturday, May 23, 2026
Fake Words On The Ground
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Orpheus and Celestine browse the Royal Library of Belgium where they stare entranced at the Fall of the Rebel Angels that Pieter painted for her.
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