Sacrifice For Moral Code © Surazeus 2026 08 20 Because the gift of prophecy demands sacrifice of treasure we value most, I replicate with pristine character mask of my mundane personality so I become wise scapegoat for the world that guides attention of creative care. To die as sacrifice for moral code, contrived to manage gestures of concern that channels guilt of selfish procurement, I play role of fate-wounded sufferer who struggles bravely calm to overcome mental challenges through resilience. Heap all your bitter sorrows on my head when you expose my culpability presenting efforts to master deep flaws through bright deception you accepted well as proof that fragile humans with bold hearts may transcend limitations of our souls. Through my fantastic tale of daring feats, which I present as honest narrative of hard-won triumph over weaknesses, you offer rewards for accomplishments that prove all people willing to work hard have strength to bolster status of their fate. Yet heights achieved through too aggressive game thrust fragile sense of victory beyond base adjusted for safe balance of the heart, therefore the higher we rise through hard work the farther from earned merits we may fall and crash so hard we shatter wordlessly. Sharp shards of my integral sense of self, scattered far across fraught landscape of pride, fail to hope-activate magnetic coherence for vital principles of framed insight to reassemble mask of my true self so I become sly thief you think I am. Alone in gloom of my besieged framework, without truth-binding creed that hard work pays social dividends of accepted prize, I question nature of essential faith composing public person I perform outside containment of my stale success. Failure to focus fractured facts of fate within well-ordered system of respect causes my soul disperse in mocking wind so I sink deep into bottomless abyss and vanish from theater of false pride in sacrifice that prophesies your doom.
Thursday, August 20, 2026
Sacrifice For Moral Code
Sublimity Of Self
Sublimity Of Self © Surazeus 2026 08 20 Should time maintain vibrational concern for fragile bodies of our transient souls, I might find courage to endure sharp pain of this excessive hour in swirling tides that toss my spirit on assertive faith with hollow laughter of wind on shore rocks. Ten thousand ghosts of mocking innocence attack my heart with bloody beaks of fear that drives me to run clumsily lame-quick against elusive obstacles time hurls to hide in shuddered shadow of despair at throbbing pain of crippled arrogance. Enclosed in tightened narrowness of hope that crushes me to shivers of weak pride, I wait for ghosts of laughter to disperse, bored with their hunt to tear my soul apart, then hold my tattered sense of self in hands that tremble to perceive my wounded heart. I know death will erase me from this world and leave no trace of me in wordless wind except faint scent of terror in foul sweat that oozes slick from naked pores of faith which makes me worry my liquidized soul drains as tears to empty me of myself. Grim-hungry rocks at mouth of my small cave drip thirsty to devour my pungent flesh so I escape harsh jaws of eyeless death and stumble in cold evening gloom of faith to find safe tree where fruit of ardent joy supplies sweet energy of urgent hope. With cautious steps of careful attitude I slowly creep across broad field of rocks, that jab my naked feet with leering lust, toward slender gleam of light on distant ridge that lures me to some terrible regret through cold Plutonian fog of bitter angst. Alone in vastness of our spinning globe, I linger mute beneath huge jagged stone, and watch immensity of twinkling stars stream white as milk in gushing arc of light across enormous nothingness of desire so I forget sharp anguish of my pain. I see small purple mushroom with long hood stuck tight to jagged stone of timeless hope so I consume its slimy fruit of faith that swells small scope of my tear-stained eyes huge through stark obsession for ecstatic love till I become sublimity of self.
How To Thrive With Love
How To Thrive With Love © Surazeus 2026 08 20 Thoughts tumble over rough cliff of my mind to form mirror mask of shimmering calm that veils turmoil of feelings in my heart so you see placid face you want to see concealing soul that swirls with clarity while I plot how to advance my career. No Christ nor Arthur star in my life play as grand exemplars for how to behave, so I accept Odyssean flaws with grace that drive my soul against Neptunian pride on zealous quest to find my secret home that strands me on your grim Plutonian shore. You are my bright-eyed siren on sharp rocks whose heart-enchanting song of mute desire reveals how I lost what I most adore while urging me to soldier on with hope around obstacles of indifferent fate since you are beacon of my journey home. Frail ship of my enduring heart maintains integral structure of my fractured mind, so I stay balanced as I surf wild waves of constant change in fortunate progress, star-guided toward weird paradise I built as haven for your soul till I return. Bombs dropped from planes that laughing angels fly may deconstruct framework of our world view based on security of our hearth home, but kingdom of our faith consists of code programmed to bind our hearts with marriage vows as shield against invaders of our land. Hearts bound by loyalty of trusting love, we stand secure in knowledge of our faith that gives us strength of honest arrogance to endure relentless attacks of dream thieves so we preserve pale of our nation-state till haughty angels fall from flaming clouds. You are Calypso and Penelope combined in one courageous soul of hope, so I commission me with solemn oath to guard your life against oppressive greed of men who view your life as profit tool, for you are person I respect with love. Long after angry soldiers with cruel guns, sent by exploiters hiding in tall towers, retreat from field of battle we endure, we rebuild haven of our humble hearth, then grow again through our creative hands by teaching children how to thrive with love.
Wednesday, August 19, 2026
Intense Desire To Live
Intense Desire To Live © Surazeus 2026 08 19 I feel the ocean seething in my brain when I somersault inside the black hole that pulses with intense desire to live to wake up bound inside this coil of flesh that urges me to compete for fresh fruit so I generate life before I die. I feel vast emptiness of everything swell huge through singularity in still point at the center of all light when galaxies flare forth from flash of thought then spiral into strands of clicking genes that mold bipedal gods with grasping hands. I feel urge to transcend my frame of thought so I run laughing on long wooden dock, then leap high into heaven of gold clouds on time-rewinding wings of Icarus, but fate pulls me back down to solid state where I laugh wildly on my back in grass. I feel expanding scope of consciousness envelop Earth with gleam of mental code so I dream every soul who ever lives as universal mind of mindless self who sings in one harmonious melody hearts of eight billion separate human beings. Suryathi, bright-eyed Goddess of the Sun, ascends from gleaming fields of blooming rice to fly on bold Apsara wings of faith above vast complex of tall tower spires and scatters coins of gold on villages where farmers bless her generosity. Gold river dragon rises from clear stream, eyes gleaming bright as diamonds of star truth, scales writhing lithe as flames of holy thought, and sings uncanny spell of heart insight that sparks strange vision of world prophecy which I sing as I stroll long road of light. Queen Mary steps from wood ship of desire and strides wet stones in swirling fog of fear to claim with faith the jeweled crown of thorns she wears as wise Minerva born on Earth, then tells me with soft voice of ocean waves that I will build new kingdom of free will. Since I am temporary node of thought that vibrates spirit of genetic code as deathless angel in my mortal shell, I order hamburger with tater tots and eat lunch at bench in the river park, then play guitar and sing of human hope.
Delusions Of Global Conquest
Delusions Of Global Conquest © Surazeus 2026 08 19 If I should find myself under attack by gangs of thieves hostile to my free will, I may hope Aphrodite would appear to whisk me away in cloud of concern, like she sheltered Paris from Menelaus, because my heart is full of love for life. I pray to Goddess of Beauty and Love to veil my fragile soul of naive hope from social predators, armed with state laws, who try to scam my innocent respect with lucrative return on vested funds, and bear me to safe haven in her heart. Were clever Eris, Trickster of Desire, to toss Apple of Chaos at my feet, so Goddesses of Wisdom, Love, and Power, were to tempt me with treasures of their hearts, I like to think my mind would analyze best scene that fosters spiritual success. While I decide which path I want to take that guides me to domestic quietude, I must descend to Underworld of dreams to ask Achilles and Odysseus which goddess I should choose to risk my fate, whose fortunes present results of Free Will. Perhaps I may find Dante by the pool, where Narcissus listens to Echo sing, so he will guide me to the Promised Land in lush Edenic vales of Idaho where I travel on the Oregon Trail to escape slaughter of religious wars. With spirit of Adam I tend fruit trees to fight deceptive serpent with gold eyes, inspired by Jesus son of Jupiter, because I choose to consume Fruit of Faith that opens my Third Eye of Star Insight to help me perceive essence of all things. With courage of brave Arthur of the Stone, descendent of Jehovian Fisher King, and Marya Magdalena, Mermaid Queen, I bear the bloody cross of holy war to build ten thousand towers of white stone, constructing Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. All these delusions of global conquest, that drove my ancestors two thousand years to colonize every nation on Earth, now dissipate in wordless glow of dawn, so I drink from the Holy Grail of Truth in my self-made role as Messiah Sleuth.
Star Eyes Of My Night
Star Eyes Of My Night © Surazeus 2026 08 19 Because she is the star eyes of my night, beaming visions of vain hope from her heart, I search with hope for algorithmic ways to redesign our social narrative so we admire perceptive qualities of common people struggling to survive. The plumber adjusts invisible pipes to channel water from the River Styx through sink faucet in kitchen of concern so I can cook spaghetti on the stove with tomato sauce and parmesan cheese when we drink wine and ignore falling bombs. The workers who repair our broken homes with frames of wood and nets of copper wires work with their hands to reshape forms of hope against oppressive tyranny of words stacked by large language models of pride so we drive our cars to the grocery store. The mechanic tweaks engine of my car so gas in combustion chamber explodes to power spin the piston engine sparks in twirling cycle of aggressive force so we zoom fast across map-measured space in time machine of legalized control. The farmer plows soil with hard dragon bone and sows sharp teeth in furrows of mute verse so angels and devils both spring with hope from field of dreams to colonize the world and build vast maze of streets with numbered doors where idols of dead gods direct our lives. The driver maneuvers delivery truck on web of highways sea to shining sea, porting raw materials to factories, providing merchandise to shopping stores, and stocking homes with valuable assets where we dwell in domestic quietude. The baker gathers wheat that Ceres grows to grind grains into flour of secret code they program into loaves of fresh-baked bread that we eat with fried fish and tartar sauce when Jesus preaches Sermon on the Mount about caring for homeless immigrants. I dream I meet Jesus on signless road alive as you and me with pulsing heart, so I ask if he will return again soon, but he shows how his spirit incarnates in leaders who nurture each human being through state that gives all freedom to live well.
Tuesday, August 18, 2026
How Psychic Angels Talk
How Psychic Angels Talk © Surazeus 2026 08 18 The peaceful loneliness of the sidewalk, where I wander between asphalt and grass, reveals to me how psychic angels talk when they calculate our terrestrial mass, so I visit Emily in her yard where she grins and deals the Magician card. Strange blueness of the midafternoon sky, that glows behind web of telephone lines, explains futility for asking why death occurs in this world no God designs, since Jesus tells me no one is up there, so we must show the living that we care. Grim grayness of the town-connecting street, that tricks me to go anywhere I want, extracts despair from my heart with each beat which powers angel wings I dare to flaunt, but I cannot fly, so I journey on, strumming guitar as the national pawn. Indifferent angst of sunrays in glass doors, exposing vanity of daily work, tricks me to find salvation in bookstores where prophets without holy books still lurk, but when I visit his still-empty tomb Zeus tries to sell me riddles that spell doom. Since Jesus has been dead two thousand years our personal relationship is stalled, so his granddaughter cleans the world with tears when she appoints me as her castle skald to sing of Mermaid and her Holy Grail who dwells in haven of the mountain vale. Proud dignity of the telephone pole provides new framework for our old world view that every human has appointed role to kill each other over what is true, so I must deconstruct class privilege when I rebuild United Nations bridge. Locked doors of houses in suburban zones discuss catastrophe of being alive, so I sell Bibles forged from dragon bones to save family photos on the hard drive as puzzle pieces in tale of our state fractured in church gangs by greed-driven hate. Strange quietness of wind on the bare hill drives me to stack stones in heavenly wall by adjusting duty based on free will while I sell apples in the market stall, till Emily steps from carriage of faith and asks if I have seen the Cosmic Wraith.
Psychic Rivers Of Regret
Psychic Rivers Of Regret © Surazeus 2026 08 18 Soft vibration of crystal words reforms how human brains perceive the Face of God that gleams from golden clouds of arrogance to mutate how we talk about our souls as light that glows from fragile shell of glass which blinks out when the brain ceases to dream. If angels dare to explain how the brain could process sentences of fractured truth, we humans might remember why we hope to share conversations about rebirth in humming mountains of social thoughts when we meet ourselves in the spectral zone. I hear ephemeral voice of weird faith when I float high on invisible wings to teach the faceless ghosts of everywhere strange secret of conceptual innocence inherent in fake law of gravity that might invalidate my divine creed. Since no one speaks about the fall of stones which float on psychic rivers of regret, we gaze in eyes of people starved by fear, trapped in the prison camp of global faith, who sell each other empty books of tales which they burn to keep warm on winter nights. Foreclosed quality of inhuman speech, concerned with quality of suffering, pronounces new law of humble rapport between exploiters and victims of fraud who argue semantics in the locked church to deconstruct confession bombs of truth. If we use language to communicate hunger for substantial faith in the known, we might confuse young children without keys who prove flowers and glaciers design how we give and take in contests of love for return on investment despite death. Haunted by attentive ghosts of lakes, shot by angel of spiritual rewards who deems them unfit to work in food stores, I gamble for salvation with word-luck, heart tangled in language matrix of truth, when I overhear words of flightless souls. Awake with breath-turn of the mountain vale, I measure atom-wind of spiral waves to sense pure essence of the conscious brain which translates seething tides of wordless hope to jumbled logic of cathedral hymns which humans sing to pretend no one dies.
Monday, August 17, 2026
Ideal God Of Joy
Ideal God Of Joy © Surazeus 2026 08 17 Through time-expanding laughter of my heart I redesign perspective of my brain to frame traumatic events of despair as opportunities to learn and grow while I strive with encouragement of faith to transcend limitations of the self. Bright light of this brave proverb blinds my eyes so I cannot perceive progressive way to maintain balance over shifting sands, so I shade straight attention of my heart with cautious code that helps me better see road I need to take through shadow of fear. I ponder weirdness of reverse effect that proves through success of daily routines how this much more cynical attitude, that death will dismember my fragile soul, guides my way around brutish obstacles better than faith in providence of God. What does not kill me tends to injure me instead of filling me with noble strength, yet cautious attention to dangerous threats provides sharp wit to analyze landscape cluttered with soul-consuming traps of pain, so I can navigate to safer ground. This principle, that fear increases sight so grim despair beams soul-liberating light as guiding star that helps me evade death, seems to contradict creed of piety that commands I attend events with faith in some faceless God that glows in the sky. All my ancestors once lived long enough through cautious attention to reality to generate new life before they died, so sharp-eyed vigilance of prudent care, which they programmed into my psychic genes, still dictates how I decide to proceed. Though techniques of survival we accrue through countless generations of rebirth provide complex algorithms of insight, our progress to transcend frail human state seems to retard evolutionary growth so few attain divine enlightenment. I need no name or complex tale of growth depicting process of cause and effect for me to moralize in mental code spirit-expanding scope of consciousness enhancing how my mind perceives this world as I grow into ideal God of Joy.
Become Flowers In Rain
Become Flowers In Rain © Surazeus 2026 08 17 Before marble tomb of some long-dead god, whose descendants crowned themselves kings of hope, I listen to wordless voice of the wind tell me about strange vanity of men who manage other men to do their will till they die and become flowers in rain. I find ten thousand tombs of long-dead gods scattered across new temporary states where living gods rule from high offices concerned about survival this fraught hour while thousands strive to gain that seat of power though butterflies explain wisdom of love. Should Time reallocate energy sparks enough for me to play on stage of fate wise god who manages affairs of state, I will accept with grace her calm command to plan program that funds creative work which nurtures talents of committed souls. Should I succeed in my inspiring plot to implement social program for scheme that provides urge of hope for every soul, people may mold metal in my shape to capture in changeless idol of hope bold spirit of my vision for their lives. Yet I prefer to play my private role as plain artificial world generator when I design with sentences and shapes tales that map complete history of mankind on time-animated atlas of hope so we analyze our progress so far. When I was young some thirty years ago I exited maze of the social grid and traveled east on the Oregon Trail, where my ancestors in wagons went west, to find my homeland that does not exist, but dance till I become flowers in rain. Though empires rise and fall in tides of change, which elevates some mortal man as god till they dissolve into stories in books, I keep on walking down the signless road to map our journey till the sun explodes and we become atomic ghosts of light. She asks me if I know how I should feel, so I write verses of riddles in sand to record dream of my epiphany that programs how my brain perceives the world till waves of time wipe all my words away and wind sings on beach of eternity.
Sunday, August 16, 2026
Gospel Of The Caring Smile
Gospel Of The Caring Smile © Surazeus 2026 08 16 Each dawn when Odin smiles at ghosts of men I look from office window of my hope and wonder who the strangers are who walk nowhere across narrow scope of my mind with casual indifference to suffering people in distant lands endure with grace. No matter where I wander in the world I meet the Gray Wanderer on the road who offers small box with the angel tongue, or in the room where picture frames slip slant at sideways readjustment of the mind because he always seems to know me first. My brain will flash with secret memories at sudden gust of wind from the Great Voice which erases words of fake languages and traps their concepts in smooth river stones so they become the horse of poetry who gallops laughing on the hill of skulls. Because half-open door of secret faith exposes potent passion for sweet fruit, I file restraining order against Death who wants to help me generate new life, but I am happy in my forest hut reading the last book my god-soul once wrote. Startled at vision of the Wanderer, whose time-mapped visage of assertive faith smiles back at me from mirror of the mind, I hide bright halo shining on my head with flashing cables of the world wide web to prove my true street credibility. Inspired by words of blood in holy books to find the Garden of the Unicorn, I stand in middle of the busy road and wave to faceless people driving past because no creature in this world can last except for our first god, the humming toad. When I feel lost in haze of innocence that shrouds rugged hills of Arcadia, the one-eyed Wanderer of Anywhere provides advice with riddles of the fool who always knows more than the haughty king because only the weak claim right to rule. If Odin rides the train over the Alps to visit Shrine of Mary by the lake, he may be startled by epiphany that Womb of Woman generates new souls, so he tours television studios to preach the gospel of the caring smile.
Quick Ruin Of Our Age
Quick Ruin Of Our Age © Surazeus 2026 08 16 When death attempts to realign the clock through subtle syncopation of lamplight, I sell useless treasures of crumbled hope that drift in cold wind with unfolded sheep while children wander beyond the frontier to prove paradise remains when time cracks. I build booth in swamp of reluctant prayer to swim at ease in waters of despair which proves soul of the world still animates mortal humans striving against regret to become one spirit with the Great Being who walks invisible in singing fields. Through glory of the Great Awakening I seek to comprehend vast Mind of God that teems thick with billions of self-named souls who join discourse of blind philosophers to analyze true nature of the self when I ascend on winding stairs of hope. Invisible to eyes of mortal gods who meet every month in the time-locked church, I talk about our pilgrimage to Hell in grand tradition of fake heritage that drives our bodies to wear naked clothes discarded by the jester king of faith. Eroded by quick ruin of our age, that transforms fair things of our tearful pride to bleak consumption of hot desert sand, our world view readjusts its paradigm from ziggurat to castle to starship through which I will investigate the world. I search through every city left on Earth to find original framework of fate since ancient temples are now empty tombs beside the sacred river that still flows long after our ancestors turn to dust so we admire strange grandeur of decay. Brave idols, ruined by harsh hand of time, call out my name with ache of divine minds each time I drive past library of ghosts on my way to work in the marble bank where I map beauty of this world in tales that hide where saints and martyrs party wild. Caress porphyry heart of robot god to wake his passion with systemic code since we inscribe our secret fantasies on marble plates erected along walls which may reveal clandestine parables that always fool the poor to strive for wealth.
Water Sings About Life
Water Sings About Life © Surazeus 2026 08 16 The intense way water sings about life may seem strange to the human without ears who steals pieces of the puzzle from death to build collective bridge of happiness so wanderers may cross the dark abyss that proves the blue sky always understands. Inhaling frantic hope to evade death, Marcella runs along the dusty road forever toward the house of broken doors till she floats up into the lattice sky and hangs suspended from hand of the tree that laughs with crack of thunder when she wakes. Whatever she says to the humble wall, that readjusts itself with shifting words, may vanish in sad silence of new books that no one ever reads till end of time, yet someone always knocks on her front door with jar of something they would like to sell. Elected to manage the farming town her ancestors colonized with the gun, Marcella runs the world from city hall by selling water from the serpent well as if heroic deeds are eulogized by the glass-faced princess of everywhere. After filling one hundred books with words that hum with laughter of the summer rain, Marcella walks around the broken house one thousand times to find the secret door that leads her to the room of howling wind as if she could reverse the curse of fate. When she floats in the great ocean at dawn to become drop of water in the flood that cleanses excess sorrow from the land, she finds her darkness enclosed in her heart, yet still Marcella weaves new coronet from thorn-sharp stems of roses she must wear. Selling gold coffin of the vampire god to the movie star who always plays king, Marcella gathers sunlight with frail hands in brave experiment to fool cruel death, but children never come home from their school so she lies under bridge of fate and cries. Based on how hungry people calculate pride through manufactured nobility, Marcella counts the many shades of blue that gleam from restless sorrow of sea waves so she can frame the nothingness of death with beautiful romance tales no one lives.
No Faithful Penelope
No Faithful Penelope © Surazeus 2026 08 16 Far removed from mundane concerns of life, Emma floats in cloud of beautiful thoughts, envisioning how people interact with creative wisdom of selfless love to help each other grow and thrive in joy, though men drop bombs on the town where she lives. Crouching low as she glides along brick walls to avoid explosions of sharp debris, Emma slips into the small grocery store where she buys butter, flour, eggs, and milk, then swipes her credit card with grateful grin, and hurries home to bake bread for the week. If time dissolves her happy memories, Emma sits at the piano and plays hymns her grandmother taught her how to play long before the days of exploding bombs, and sings as if this hour of strange despair may be the last she sings with bitter joy. Safe in lush garden of Hesperides, Euterpe plays the lyre of Mercury while Epicurus shows with diagrams how things are formed from atoms in the void, then she eats apple slice on toasted bread and listens to drone of planes in the sky. Painting people without faces or souls in orthodox religious-icon style, Emma hums and pets her frightened cat as buildings shake from blasts of falling bombs, then paints silver planes that blind angels fly dropping bombs on cathedral of her faith. When sly Petryshko arrives with warm beer, that he swiped from unmanned gas station store, Emma lounges with him on the back porch, and asks if he will tell her once again about his youthful trip to Pakistan where he hiked the Hindu Kush mountain range. Explosion from eyes of the laughing ghost knocks both of them stunned on the thirsty grass, so Emma cradles his head in her lap and smiles through tears at how his silver eyes gaze joyfully blank at Heaven of hope where he plays chess with Gabriel in the park. Since I am no faithful Penelope, waiting in vain for my Odysseus to return with wounded heart from noble war, Emma whispers alone beside his grave, I will not write your name on the wood cross that marks where you lie in my secret heart.
Saturday, August 15, 2026
Journey To Our Goals
Journey To Our Goals © Surazeus 2026 08 15 Though shapes of words have lost their glistening from over-thoughts of motionless desire, my voice molds fluid disbelief from light in solid symbols of harmonious truths concealed in potent melodies of faith designed by skeptics to describe our souls. There comes no time when we should cease our walk through empty shadows of our endless minds because we love to feel assertive force of constant motion when our blood flows hot through pulsing clock of timeless memories that motivate our journey to our goals. Still far across this nameless wilderness of wind-swept hills, where rivers silverate oppressive sorrows that would trap our hearts, we strive to overcome dire obstacles with heart-enchanting songs of timeless truth that bleeds from golden sunset gleam of fear. Without attentive focus of our hearts on distant gleam of Heaven beyond time, we might now wander lost in Somewhere Land except for guidance of the cloud-bold hand that gestures omens of our providence forth ever at elliptic blare of winds. Strange empire of steel towers sprouts from graves where bones of our ancestors sing of faith in wake of our progressive journey west that rises tall from humble homes we build till sermon of our free democracy rings clear on duty-darkened mountainsides. Through ceaseless motion of transcendent strife our vision dominates old tyrant states with principles of liberty and justice for every person born from womb of hope till tyranny sprouts from our bitter hearts at shock of horror from our power trips. Hearts twisted back in devil-tangled fear at quick expansion of conceptual games that crowds vast chess board of our social state with players who disrupt course of success, we vainly raise harsh legal laws of fate in weak attempt to fortify our state. When Orpheus leads us from the Underworld with soul-stirring anthem of noble pride for deeds our ancestors accomplished well, we hold hands with our faceless energies in bid to rise from cave of primal rage so we dance free in forest of fruit trees.
Ghosts Of River Stones
Ghosts Of River Stones © Surazeus 2026 08 15 Because golden butterfly of my heart still inhabits timeless Arcadia, untouched by concerns of urbanity, I summon ghosts of river stones with song that swirls from abyss of my aching heart to form stars that dream my eternal self. Awake through epiphany of this hour, my mind invents mundane significance that never exists in atomic things so I assign weird names to things I see which helps us understand how we should feel as we stroll shyly among the fruit trees. This Nature we perceive as pure and good our brains invent from scattered memories that we assemble into grand world view so we can celebrate his vibrant being which generates our conscious sense of self as our bodies thrive in matrix of dream. We strip dreams of external reference so they will bend upon themselves in wings of weird songs we express with pulsing breath through brave intention to become our words when state of emptiness negates our will that fuels feedback loop of positive love. Thus we pursue alternative venues through clever maneuver of leaping laughter that hollows our exploding hearts of fear so we declare great things we dare achieve when we become moonlight in leafless trees that knows where we will lie down when we die. Awed on high mountain of pastoral peace, I gaze at vast metropolitan maze where countless towers, built of steel-framed glass, glimmer eerily with electric lights which emanate weird psychedelic glow as heaven our ancestors never envisioned. Inspired by beauty in this maze of towers, frantic seismograph of my eager heart transcribes in arcane riddles of respect conceptual gyre of psychic lunacy that oscillates between spirit and flesh to weave complex paradigm of new myths. Empyrean vision of my dreamless brain compiles all human myths of clever gods through sensual verity of psychic tones so I multiply myself with human masks that wakes every soul who has ever lived in temporary node of my god brain.
Nothing More Than Moonlight
Nothing More Than Moonlight © Surazeus 2026 08 15 To achieve fullness of being alive through tense serenity of nothingness, Godith hums wordless melody of angst in eerie tones of mist-enshrouded woods that wake ghosts of the dead from tombless graves while waulking woolen cloth with her bare feet. Engaged through spiritual apprenticeship in learning wordless songs of ancient stars, Godith gathers flowers from foggy glen where ravens name things that do not exist with sepulchral voice of aesthetic truth that seeks to purge the heart of artifice. This stone she holds in callused hand of faith is no revelation of hidden meaning beyond mind-expanding epiphany that glows with presence of the timeless hour when Godith wakes from suddenness of love with modern impulse to name everything. Through maximum expression of the self that contains multitudes of unnamed souls, and minimum conflation of the self dissolved in purity of aching song, Godith transcends both opposites to float along continuum of being awake. Annoyed that she must express ache of hope with human language in limiting words, Godith affirms force of assertive aim to name mindless things with word of insight that causes things to glow with cosmic mind so she creates her person with sly speech. As she approaches far vanishing point that separates immediate sense of self with timeless vibrancy of divine thought, Godith reduces singularity of our vast world to garden of her heart where things exist because she gives them names. Confined within conceptual walls of speech, where spirit of her brain frames with bold words elusive reference of ideal truth, Godith binds fluid memories of time with linear narrative for acts she plays as she performs her role in game of life. While gazing at moonlight shining through trees, Godith attempts to design metaphor relating peaceful glow of silent light to how her body feels with pulse of hope, but she decides with laughter of calm faith the moonlight is nothing more than moonlight.
Star As The Suffering Man
Star As The Suffering Man © Surazeus 2026 08 15 Despite strange joy of reawakening, through struggle to transcend egg of the mind, James stumbles half awake in mirrored hall where shadow of his non-existent ghost explains new formulas for gaining wealth, since we succeed despite our messy lives. Though Death stalks our steps from day of our birth, we ignore dark shadow of final doom, James mumbles at reflection of his soul, then drinks orange juice from skull of Nemesis whose letters keep arriving in the mail long after she climbed cliff of happiness. Or did she fall into wild sea of change, James ponders as he drinks coffee of hope, then stands in drizzle on the asphalt street to wait for the bus full of nameless ghosts who ride along Plutonian shore of fate to work all day in clanking factories. Perhaps they will make commercial of faith in which I star as the Suffering Man, James smirks while swallowing aspirin pills to numb terrible pain that threads his soul with humbling anguish of the devil laugh that strips his spirit of its proverb shield. Adjusting screws with sprocket of his heart, contrary to alignment check of faith, James assembles car engine of desire to build time machine that carries our souls faster across unmeasured space of fear so we can find elusive pots of gold. Strolling down Seventh Avenue at dusk past flashing neon signs that lure his heart to smokey bars where country angels dance, James notices the white horse of his fate floats huge beside him on wings of desire, so he decides to run for President. Proclaiming new agenda of his heart before huge crowd of people in the hall, James outlines steps of action he will take supporting businesses with tax incentives, then waves as thousands chant his name with pride, since we succeed despite our messy lives. After he loses on election night, rejected by the people of the land, James sits in wood chair by the mountain lake catching fish with Jesus Christ at his side as they plot revolution of the rich to enslave the people with credit debt.
Friday, August 14, 2026
Dynasty Of Cloud-Born Gods
Dynasty Of Cloud-Born Gods © Surazeus 2026 08 14 Tickled by how often people will claim they are descended from some royal chief, I hide my own bloodline from jeweled crowns to prove I am more farmer that court clown, for hungry people digging in thick dirt outnumber people lounging on gold clouds. Flight far of anguished hearts on raven wings expends fraught energy my soul would save for braving storms of spirit-wounding words against stone wall of paradise I build to guard my frail mind from oppressive greed when hordes of hungry wanderers steal fruit. Impulse to build strong castle of high walls drives me to carve huge stones from jagged cliffs and stack my sorrows straight in measured lines that block aggressive theft of sacred fruit so I fight thieves with sword I forge from fear to found brave dynasty of cloud-born gods. All humans, equal in hunger to eat nutritious fruit that sprouts from pungent soil, start game of power on similar ground, but some succeed in producing more fruit they sell for coins of metal stamped with pride to crown themselves brave kings with right to kill. All people alive today on spinning Earth descend from more successful clans who guard productive fields of crops and groves of trees through strict cooperation in their roles, well-organized by wisest of their group who manages their family institute. We are descendants of successful thieves who work together to construct high walls surrounding garden where they follow rules designed to manage individual will with shared needs of communal fortitude, or risk getting expelled from paradise. If you find royal kings in jeweled crowns high in lofty court of your family tree, remember they kill threats to their state power when they eradicate the hungry poor so their children populate empty farms to colonize Earth with superior ways. We are descendants of those wealthy gangs who build stone castles from bones of dead gods, then force the poor to worship reverently mortal man who founded their dynasty as God incarnate on Earth in his son so they claim right to rule our humble lives.
Library Shelf Of My Heart
Library Shelf Of My Heart © Surazeus 2026 08 14 When I follow John to Strawberry Fields forever on the signless road of faith, he shows me new tomb where Orpheus lies, so I turn on tape recorder of truth to record prophecies his skull decries which sound like whispers of the wind in leaves. Once I figure out secret code of gods, I look for John, whose wizard glasses gleam with television screens, to ask him why humans believe they are angels in flesh who have fallen from changeless realm of Heaven, and live stuck in these fragile mental forms. Since John is Christ in the sycamore tree, who waits for Homeless Prophet of Lost Faith to pass by on foot-worn Yellow Brick Road, I wander over to the grocery store where Walt and Allen study hieroglyphs carved in formulas of fate on glass doors. Wearing mask of Joker for Halloween, John gives me brand-new Cinderella dress, so we hold hands and knock on fear-locked doors, smeared with blood of the sacrificial lamb, then Cybele invites us in to eat cookies and ice cream from the Holy Grail. Before midnight bells toll for nameless ghosts, we catch the crosstown bus to Neverland where John learns how to shoot the blunderbuss before I bake four and twenty blackbirds in dainty dish King Richard never eats since he gives bread and honey to the poor. When John in white robe of the desert hermit asks me to imagine the world as one, no Heaven above us, no Hell below, I cook delicious meals of healthy hope at the elementary school of the brave who try to escape on the Ship of Fools. If we are not who we pretend to be, we can wear mask of who we want to play, so John writes names of the dead in his book he hides on library shelf of my heart while human empires rise and fall in waves of social revolutions against greed. When John wakes from weird dream on Penny Lane that he incarnates soul of Odysseus, he finds me selling poppies from gold tray because I feel as if I am in the play where Hamlet gives me letters of his love, so I gather flowers by the River Styx.
World Money Empire
World Money Empire © Surazeus 2026 08 14 Though clouds of revolutionary change glow gold above vast maze of city streets, we go about our business to maintain social structures founded on principles that all human beings are created equal while homeless angels wander streets at dawn. Network of water pipes beneath our streets gleam with blood from the holy lamb of faith to weave our bodies in communal dream where homeless angels by telephone poles prophesy fall of our World Money Empire as Greed and Death play chess games for our souls. Hephaestus extracts from caves of desire minerals for constructing time machines which we all drive on highway of ambition in race across the waste land of blind ghosts for who arrives at the Promised Land first where Faceless God on throne of judgment sleeps. Sitting at his right hand in castle court, Jesus nudges Jupiter with left hand so bearded deity splutters awake from weird dream where he rides the Horse of Troy in brave bid to unite nations of Earth in World Money Empire of social pride. Thus shall we deem the victors of world war secret agents of Old Man in the Cloud who laughs at fierce games of humanity over who controls fruitful Tree of Knowledge uprooted by brave investors to build shopping mall where clowns entertain our kids. Though Phoebus attempts to organize facts in coherent world view that can account for every effect from assertive cause, which allows us to predict clear results, he almost loses sight of his main goal through messages from opposed institutes. There never has been one center of power around which all humanity may work through common focus on shared social growth, which leaves good angels homeless in the streets where they sit on the marble steps of fate with all their possessions in paper bags. As President of our World Money Empire, Jehovah plays golf in Elysian Fields with Krishna, Shangdi, and Odin in game for who will control hungry human souls who labor to maintain their dignity till their bodies fertilize crops of wheat.
Thursday, August 13, 2026
Misty Hills Of Verturia
Misty Hills Of Verturia © Surazeus 2026 08 13 Home to misty hills of Verturia my heart guides me through tangled woods of time where I build fortress of stone on the mound heaped over bones of my ancestral soul where I pluck gold crab apples from long limbs to ferment honey cider in clay jars. Wrapped in deer-skin gown of cozy warmth, Eithni sits on square stone of honest faith and stirs bubbling honey cider of truth in old dented cauldron of burnished brass that emanates sweet scent of pungent hope, safe in misty hills of Verturia. Lost in misty hills of Verturia, young Eardwulf, dressed in bear-fur cloak and hood, wanders tangled woods of crab apple trees to find cove where he left his small wood boat, then stumbles in small ring of standing stones where green-eyed woman stirs cauldron of juice. Without concern for what may not be real in vibrant swirl of floating moon-white mist, Eardwulf kneels on wet grass before her seat and offers bag of hazelnuts with smile of calm sincerity from humble hope, brave in misty hills of Verturia. Tense in misty hills of Verturia, Eithni squints through dim haze of pulsing smoke to analyze with cautious dread of pain parameters of safety he provides, then fills his wood cup with delicious juice, and roasts nuts in soft crackling flames of trust. When Eardwulf curls to sleep in chilly wind, Eithni holds blade of sharp obsidian pressed to his neck to check his danger state, but when he opens eyes, and stares at her, he grins and kisses her with tender care, calm in misty hills of Verturia. Lithe in misty hills of Verturia, Eithni clasps his head and thigh in delight as their bodies writhe in tense ecstasy, embraced with creative passion of love, then cuddle blushing with pleasure of trust as they teach each other their secret names. Weaving vines around ring of standing stones, Eardwulf constructs secure shelter of faith, so Eithni guides their hunt in wooded vale to kill wild boar and fill bags with herbs, then hum in harmony to eat and kiss, home in misty hills of Verturia.
Whole Symmetry Of Accuracy
Whole Symmetry Of Accuracy © Surazeus 2026 08 13 In arts of poetry and cartography I love whole symmetry of accuracy, so I arrange lithe words in sentences and adjust points and lines in feature sets to better represent reality in virtual model that mirrors our world. Through migrant ache of curiosity for mandatory training of the heart, my mind explores strange contours of our world with intense focus on each graceful curve defining bounds of each material form so I sense essence glowing from its core. Assertive passion of the humble heart, which motivates my mission to create time-animated atlas of world history, fuels steady progress of detailed exams to reassemble fractured dreams of truth in pulsing globe of conscious entities. Through strict arrangement of fraught elements containing concepts of personal growth, I channel pain to laughter of sweet song by rising up from crippling angst of fear to dance on frantic wings of grief-bought joy and thus transform rage to enlightenment. Once I expand scope of my consciousness beyond limits of the Underworld cave, I transform my soul from Orcus of Greed to Orpheus of Knowledge that mute death is final dissolution of the soul when its programming brain disintegrates. How passionately with ache of glowing eyes we temporary beings of hungry flesh strive to transcend our transient state of being, as if we clumps of atoms could evade finality of death, when we arrange tales of survival in religious creeds. When paternal seed sparks maternal egg, genetic code provides strict blueprint for hope to organize material sparks so pattern of our corporeal success shapes matter in body-evolving form as we strive to become the God we worship. As one artificial world generator of many who have designed our world view, I organize tales of heroic deeds in virtual model of our changing world to illustrate timeless character tropes who provide template for us to live well.
Frankenstein Of Our Selves
Frankenstein Of Our Selves © Surazeus 2026 08 13 I will never relate confusing tale of that many-faced man who is not real because his spirit lingers in all books as every character singers have formed from tangled mess of their old memories that wanders as Frankenstein of our Selves. No quixotic journey of the brave fool depicts his existential alienation through discombobulated experience, trapped in cultural entropy of faith, better than his gnostic quest to find one real self in clutter of his fake selves. While standing in spotlight of social games on stage in Theater of the Absurd, the many-faced man with the Wand of Hermes declaims Plural Being of the fractured mind which he assembles in puzzle of tales with masks scattered in vast Maze of Dead Gods. If he employs intellectual caprice to feel himself through his multiple selves, he might annihilate the private self to release the Cosmic Self of Ungod from varied fragments of the diamond egg which encloses our entire universe. To analogize transcendence of self, he detaches mythic mind from his frame of pulsing flesh that hungers for sweet fruit, trapped in our disenchanted world of truth, when he designs new mental surrogate to bear his soul to Heaven on Word Wings. Through prerogative of self-sacrifice, the many-faced man, without wit or wiles, liberates immortal soul of his genes from temporary body of his self to wake divine consciousness of Ungod in sponge brain of his arrogant respect. Opposing paradigms of mental states present outward explosion of one self that finds all other selves inside oneself, who inwardly dissolves the mortal self to pure dream language of the Never Self, though fraught with contradictions of not-self. Thus through expressions of the many-self, driven by paradox of our dream quest, the many-faced man still seeks to achieve puzzling serenity of Nothingness by expanding scope with fullness of Being till he becomes each self who ever lives.
Wednesday, August 12, 2026
Gold Hypnotic Eyes
Gold Hypnotic Eyes © Surazeus 2026 08 12 The way piano notes cause crows to laugh reveals old painting of the dreamy sky dripping tears in crippled hands of the girl who waits for someone to return from war, intense with shadow of half-open door that proves she secretly hopes for revenge. Brick buildings on the hazy boulevard conceal small broken hearts of honest men who write their stories with blood on the wall through formulas of disentangled codes which calculate despair of open roads no matter obstacles of irony. She finds abandoned shopping cart of hope in field of grass behind the lonely school where sad grasshoppers modulate the day with angst of heart-enchanting melodies that should provide blueprint for psychic keys which she could use to open brave church doors. When stoic toad with gold hypnotic eyes chants Psalm of the Shepherd in evening glow, three school girls skip on the yellow brick road with plan to wake dead gods of arrogance from tangled roots of trees on river shore where dolphin brings shy Arion from the deep. I call to wise Inanna on high hill with wounded heart of stark sincerity in fraught request for honest rulership since gangs of angry thieves corrupt our state against the sacred law of falling leaves which tangle naive hearts with chosen fate. Far out in waste land of calm nonchalance dark shadow of some nameless wanderer slants sideways through expansive grid of hope that portends revolutionary change through sudden readjustment of our values that we must seal with sacrificial blood. Devotions of his ice-heart streaked by dawn should sanctify attention still denied by star-eyed pilgrims in the thrumming dark, but he decides to fortify his mind against bright menace of the silent tree that stands guard in abandoned castle court. Entranced by gold hypnotic eyes of truth, that spiral with one trillion galaxies, bold Arion stands on stage in castle court and strums oak harp of David with deft hands, then sings grand epic of his killing spree that makes him writhe in guilty agony.
Wand Of The Weeping Clown
Wand Of The Weeping Clown © Surazeus 2026 08 12 Regret cannot stop how snowflakes descend on delicate wings of unspoken words, though death consumes old silence of our souls, so we transform our pain to dreams of truth confirming how we analyze each choice which redesigns tone of our social voice. No more shall we expend false energy to measure psychic mirror of the sea which frames how we perceive our social needs to share tales of our private suffering with tender words of mental reckoning contrived to manage how we choose our death. Thus I shall join grand convoy of the lost in journey on lone highway of the ghost who wanders somewhere we have never been to show the way beyond fake paradise as if we hunger for dramatic truths to reprogram our minds with innocence. If I pause outside window of my room, while arranging snake eggs in Book of Doom, I may glance through lace curtains of my heart to see the Fairy Queen in silk nightgown who offers me wand of the Weeping Clown so I decide to play cartographer. Another king is set to come and go in naked anguish of electric snow, so I sign with name of my inner child new executive orders which assert children must learn how to build house of bones so we can draw map of the changing world. When Jesus finds me lounging in the cave where shadows of things flicker on the wall, he appoints me to perform solemn role heading new-formed Department of the Soul, so I search for lost people of the world and give them identification cards. Now that each soul is legal to exist as hungry spirit in land of the free, we can return to the business at hand of building wagons with crystalized wheels so we can fly on wings of Icarus above ever-changing maze of dead gods. No longer disenfranchised by concern, expressed by mechanics and librarians, we follow Humble Prophet of the Cow who bears reforged wand of the Weeping Clown to open new residential account at the water business office of faith.
Queen Of Her Own Life
Queen Of Her Own Life © Surazeus 2026 08 12 My heart swells with stark sensation of respect when Earth spirals through bright cloud of stardust beneath constellation of the Brave Boy who rescues from Cruel Serpent of the sea Graceful Girl sacrificed by Greedy King, and crowns womankind queen of her own life. When fierce winds lash waves against rocky coast, Perseus steers motor lifeboat with calm skill through swells of tempestuous anxiety to find sailboat capsized in churning fear, and rescues seven people from abyss who huddle for warmth as he turns toward land. Wrapped in warm towel and clean cotton robe, Andrea sips hot tea by glowing hearth in sturdy stone cottage by roaring sea, safe from time-wracking gale that pummels hard her vulnerable sense of security as she breathes deep to calm her frantic heart. Sitting with guitar in the leather armchair, Perseus plays heart-enchanting melody Asturias, composed by Isaac Albeniz, that transports spirits of the rescued crew to sun-enraptured hills of sweet duende where children play games in groves of orange trees. At dawn when gold sun gleams through placid waves, Perseus and Andrea together stroll broad shore of gleaming sand between high cliffs of jagged rocks and boundless sea of light, smiling shyly as they share childhood tales and laugh with delight at clever insights. Approaching them with angry stride of hope, Daniel, the banker who would marry her with encouragement from her father, shouts for her to show some common decency, then grabs her arm with possessive disgust, so Perseus pushes attacker away. Declaring she will never marry him because he attempts to control her life, Andrea takes hand of Perseus in her hand, and strides back to stone cottage on the hill where they eat breakfast with her family, then exchange phone numbers inside the door. Meeting for their first date at the bookstore, Andrea and Perseus discuss history of architecture, weapons, clothes, and food to compare the bronze age culture of Greece with features of the Viking age in Norway, and hold hands as they stroll by wine-dark sea.
Tuesday, August 11, 2026
Dumb Earth Of Faith
Dumb Earth Of Faith © Surazeus 2026 08 11 I set my new grave in dumb earth of faith to translate shrieks from heaven of the heart so shambling wanderers on signless roads may know with certainty where they can go in verdant valley of our singing skulls when wise Cassandra prophecies our fate. Though ecstasy of wisdom burns my mind with soul-transforming flame of secret love, I dance in flawed light of reluctant grief at mounting beat of my breath-fueled heart to find mysterious truth in silver eyes that see beyond mask of my mutant face. Since trees extend dark shadows of their truth across soft patch of grass I call my home, I listen for faint sounds of youth to spark assertive flow of water through my soul so we can measure subtle change of time in light that waits on skin of my mute mind. I feel pulse of this hill with gate of stones where strangers bring sea waves in trembling hands to ask how deserts smother paradise though beauty must endure the wounded mouth that seals our dreadful book of honest lies as if we share no tales of suffering. This nothing we remember when we wake at shock of broken wagons by the road frames flower meadows with grotesque beliefs till eerie voice of bells uncooled by fate attempts to separate our plangent hearts though we clasp hands with eager fortitude. If I possess no secret code of truth despite intended loss no fool denies, I may remember hour we meet with death, enlightened by black thunder clouds of time, yet we share juice of fruit from Tree of Life, then journey on with lamp of solitude. Still insolent with ardent creed of love, I dare endure dire threats from hungry men who never share fruits of our generous globe that shudders in its slow relentless spin though we perform absurd play of false pride when cocks crow with alarm of global war. As Lucifer elected by the crowd I bear lamp of integrity with courage that lights our rugged road of tragedy when we escape cracked walls of paradise to build home village in bleak wilderness where we set our graves in dumb earth of faith.
Haven Of Protective Pale
Haven Of Protective Pale © Surazeus 2026 08 11 Enclosed in haven of protective pale, that surrounds her home with forcefield of love, Juturna ponders all possible fates that might result from each action she takes, then chooses one grand deed she can perform to send dead souls back to their greedy graves. Though bodies of our souls mingle with dirt that glows with ancient light of long-dead stars, they call her name with faint voice of the breeze that translates words of her secretive thoughts to butterflies that flit among fruit trees with timeless messages from silent hills. When she expresses hopeful thought of life with soft uncanny voice of her mute heart, Juturna feels strange sorrow take new shape that walks beside her on the garden path where she still wanders listlessly, attuned to ache of wisdom in each flower bloom. When old Neptunus, with his cracked horse skull, appears from shadow of relentless hope, Juturna twirls on graceful steps of fear with plan to evade hard grasp of his hand, but he pins her against the garden wall, demanding that she bear child of his soul. If gleaming moon of sharp anxiety stays hidden behind veil of innocence, Juturna vows with trembling voice of rage to cast dire spell of poisonous despair that strikes his heart with limp sterility, then pokes his leg with stick of verity. Averse to harsh potency of her curse, Neptunus hesitates at sense of doom that misdirects attention of his hope sideways enough for well-witch to strike hard and wrestle old sea-god facedown in dirt where she binds his hands with vine of the law. Arriving with three goats he bought from Faunus, Saturnus grins amused when he observes how his clever daughter subdues cruel thief who slouches bound to trunk of the tall oak, so he shoves old horse-tamer out the gate, then roasts steaks for his grandchildren to eat. Alert in haven of protective pale, Juturna guards three children of her heart who play hide and seek with bearded grandfather, climbing on his back as Saturnus spins and howls with demon voice of ocean waves, then they sleep as she keeps watch in moonlight.
Weird Riddles Of The Truth
Weird Riddles Of The Truth © Surazeus 2026 08 11 Astonished by strange beauty of the world that teems with conscious creatures of desire, I follow winding stream of flowing water from ocean beach with swirling waves of change to mountain cave where demons haunt my heart to decipher weird riddles of the truth. Entranced by strangeness of glittering clouds that transform into various forms of thought, I watch young woman on lush river shore who fills straw baskets with flowers and fruit and sings about strange mystery of the world to decipher weird riddles of the truth. Pleased such a wonderful person exists in this world of men who fight for control, I recount my journey to paradise through valleys of monsters in greedy gangs while I grasp my wand of honor through love to decipher weird riddles of the truth. Encouraged by her generosity for giving fruit to hungry travelers, I strip off old clothes of my social state, bathe in Lethe River to cleanse my soul, and kneel before Flora with humble heart to decipher weird riddles of the truth. Wounded by my journey to paradise in descent through dark valley of despair, I feel my arrogant soul purged of pride through experience climbing mountain of hope when I share proverbs of lessons I learn to decipher weird riddles of the truth. Amused by how I have grown boy to man through intense progress of maturity, I ask Flora for guidance of her love, so she leads me on narrow path of faith through forest of shadows to field of light to decipher weird riddles of the truth. Inspired by vision of her prudent words depicting haven of protective pale, I stack stones in surrounding walls of faith, then tend flame of hope in tower of trust while she tends rich herbs and fruit trees of love to decipher weird riddles of the truth. Attentive to needs of her humble heart which generates life from seed of my love, I dwell with Flora in our paradise, teaching our children knowledge about life so they may live well after we both die to decipher weird riddles of the truth.
Monday, August 10, 2026
New God Of Fire
New God Of Fire © Surazeus 2026 08 10 If light illuminates all wounded hearts with equal spectrum of chromatic chords, we might through graphic vividness of faith perceive prismatic ambience of love that hope refracts in rainbow wings since time vibrates in pulsing knots of molecules. Distinctive pact of writhing photographs denies contract between abysmal parts through frantic oscillation of shared hopes that hungry souls fail to express in words forged by sharp water smoothing stones of fate so we wake trapped in mask we never made. Sebastian stands with rigid arrogance against heart-breaking facts of curious fear to prove despair could never bend his will against stark principles his father built to form foundation of his honest state contrived by thieves from blueprints of regret. Yet he decides to aim with hawk-eyed hope long rifle loaded with small sphere of fate straight at steel mask of eyeless tyranny in strict defiance that could crack his mind through fragile courage of the desperate fool to save his clan from chains of slavery. With sneer of haughty pride for conjurers, bold Beleth mocks young boy with long thin rod set to his shoulder with clumsy concern, then pounds his chest and roars to scare the fool, but brave Sebastian grins and pulls the trigger that blasts flame of fire with sizzle of smoke. Large crowd of devils in black leather capes, and wielding tridents forged in caves of Hell, laugh with uproarious contempt at faint flash, but Purson shrieks in shock when he observes whole head of Beleth explode in blood blast that splatters bloody brains across the ground. Stunned in silence to see their mighty king, whose monstrous rage subdued them all with fear, long terrified at his harsh punishments, stand huge and headless, motionless too long, then fall straight back to whump on mindless dust, and quiver as blood gushes from his skull. Sebastian holds long rifle with both hands while standing tall on stone of Great God Voice, and grins when devils who were wont to howl fall to their knees in terror of his power, then pledge allegiance to new God of Fire as they gaze with awe at glory of his face.
Stars Unfold Their Dreams
Stars Unfold Their Dreams © Surazeus 2026 08 10 When stars unfold their dreams into my heart through cosmic cycles of resurgent faith, I sing electric phrase of wrinkled time to mark incessant turning of each day through gentle ebbs of slow-subsiding tides that float ship of my heart to paradise. Though waves unfold their words into my mind through rumbling swells of time-unslanted hills, I catch spring sunlight in frail leaves of faith to taste concocted brew of sugared thoughts which nourish transformation of my soul from seaweed-tangled stones of fortitude. Since wind unfolds its voice into my mouth through wordless gusts of flashing rainbow eyes, I linger downwind from the curious ghost embodied by the big-eyed deer of trust who gazes straight through shadow of my fear based on new revelation of my heart. Where dust unfolds its spark into my eyes through exiled willfulness of careless love, I sail on waves of wonder that spring wild from frothing fountain of my aching heart against harsh tyranny of selfish greed to fertilize vast fields of glowing grain. Till Death unfolds my body from its form through haughty abstinence of noble pride, I follow paths of glory to the grave while I express orations for the state, providing calm assurance of weird lust for mutual recreation of the mind. When Time unfolds its promise of my doom through flowing shadows of the empty room, I slot new fuse in circuit of my mind to conjure virtual model of the Earth as map by which I navigate strange moods in transient project to build paradise. Though Fate unfolds my choices on bright stage through blinding glamor of the telescope, I wear broad wings of fame I forge from fear to glide with Icarus beyond high walls so we can survey endless maze of myths where idols of dead gods block large church doors. Since Fame unfolds my private state of mind through binding arrogance of humble faith, I strum the Lyre of Mercury and sing tale of the normal person who observes nature of the world with critical eyes so I record weird riddles of the truth.
White Butterfly Of Death
White Butterfly Of Death © Surazeus 2026 08 10 Shocked by the sudden certainty of death that swoops at my heart on butterfly wings, I curl into eccentric thought of shells enclosing vibrant heart of vanity to shelter in small haven of regret against relentless tides of daily change. Joanna strides across cracked desert plain toward glowing shimmer of attentive care while gasping deep for divine breath of hope, but laughs with bitter joy of wretched faith at how time unspools passionate concern for stable system of social exchange. Gazing mute out high window of her heart, while trapped in tower of her bird-winged mind, Joanna watches men on horses fight for who controls women and trees of fruit, then prays to marble statue with long hair that shows Rapunzel with her first-born son. Driving to work at the federal bank where she manages special business loans, Joanna sees on horse of glowing clouds Richard the Lion-Heart with sword of truth ride swift into battle to save the world as wipers clear raindrops from the windshield. Lounging in garden of herbs and fruit trees at Zisa Castle where she reigns as queen, Joanna plays sweet melodies of hope on harp of polished oak, and sings with voice of her great-grandfather, William Troubadour, whose ghost haunts river woods of Aquitaine. While Queen of Sicily for thirteen years, Joanna tends garden of her aching heart, secure in heaven of electric crows that soar on wings of longing to the stars, till Tancred pushes her against the wall and tries to kiss her, so she stabs his leg. Attending meeting at the federal bank, Joanna reviews application for loan submitted by Thomas to build new mall, but when he gropes her thigh with leering grin she calls police who ask her why she wears tight black skirt with provocative intent. Safe at Fontevraud Abbey in Anjou, where she flees turmoil of rebellious rage that sweeps across lush County of Toulouse, Joanna lies pregnant with desperate fear, gazing at the white butterfly of death that lands on her hand red with blood of faith.
Sunday, August 9, 2026
Rain Blooms Into Flowers
Rain Blooms Into Flowers © Surazeus 2026 08 09 "The most beautiful kiss we ever share is the one when the rain blooms into flowers, and the sparrows translate our wordless thoughts to uncanny song of the wind in trees, and the clouds become palaces of trust where we are safe from sorrows of the world." Pouring water from the clay jar of hope into the brass cauldron of mute desire, Furina boils stew of barley and lamb, flavored with honey and coriander, then places clay bowl on table of oak for Quirinus to eat as the sun sets. When effervescent glow of evening light glows lavender in the grove of fig trees, highlighting slopes of Mount Janiculum, Furina walks dirt path to Satricum to visit Matuta in leather skirt who tends rich herbs in lush garden of faith. Gasping with joy and spreading her arms wide, Matuta welcomes her fourth daughter home, who gives her melon she found by the lake, then whistles to small boy in the huge oak who kisses his crow, then jumps to the ground, and runs laughing in warm arms of his mother. Cradling Janus fast asleep on her lap, Furina chats with her mother Matuta about where she can find new pepper seeds because the hungry rabbits near her home eat the parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, but they dislike the taste of pepper leaves. Climbing hill of Vagitanus at dawn, Furina and her clever curious boy search for pepper plants in volcano tuff, but as they leave with basket of thick herbs old half-blind seer of Goddess Cybele emerges from shadow and grips her arm. "As incarnation of Attis the Wise, I reign as priest in Phrygianum Temple, so I speak with grave voice of Cybele when I declare descendant of your son will wield sacred Lyre of Mercurius when he sings Astarian Testament." Shocked by sharp hissing of the old blind man, Furina wrenches arm free of his grip, then hurries home to Mount Janiculum where she trembles as she plants pepper herbs, then stands and gazes at the golden moon that fills her heart with light of timeless stars.
Mute Hydraulic Mystery
Mute Hydraulic Mystery © Surazeus 2026 08 09 How often we forget advertised thoughts about traumatic moments of insight that broadcast bulletins of fateful fear contrived by mute hydraulic mystery we dare attempt to minimize with code programmed to readjust our attitude. Against national narrative of pride we seek to modify mosaic creed to help our children navigate weird signs designed to manage property of truth despite assertive ratios of fact necessary to approve thought permits. Severe intolerance of theater discloses taxes no one wants to pay to mental treasurer of social wealth who hosts tribunal on specific threats for various offices of volunteers who sell unwanted dreams to wanderers. Sufficient to supply strange substitutes for respondent to reservoir of fear, our bold intent to render liberty safe for conceptual prisoners of truth reveals rational myth of precise praise sealed in the box behind the rotten house. Consistent with our mental protocol for stating proverbs of weird oracles, nobody nominates for world empress sad Cinderella who prefers to skate on thin ice of attentive fantasy as secret guardian of the dispossessed. Since we are guaranteed free will to live in favor of inclusion, legalized by keepers of forgotten heritage, we seek to prove roots in the nameless land despite harassment of financial kings who leave the gardening to humble seers. No longer desperate for heart dominance, through each edition of the coming state, we share elective documents of hope with earnest ardency for the diagram presenting cultural patterns of regrowth when respect inhabits the embassy. Too easily confused by elegance, preserved in graceful progress of true love, we share joint custody of broken hearts based on deduction of rational rage carefully calculated by shrewd investors whose sorrows act as catalyst for faith.
Eyes Of Dreamless Stars
Eyes Of Dreamless Stars © Surazeus 2026 08 09 If you want to see the ghost of my soul with eyes of dreamless stars inside your heart, express confounding mystery of the Name that radiates from God Mind of the White Whole which cannot be found on any dream chart since every human wants to die from fame. When Athena appears from flashing cloud and gives me leather notebook of her mind, I pluck white quill from wing of Gabriel so I can write prophecies for the crowd who seek to understand the ties that bind our souls to these bodies in which we dwell. Startled awake at dawn by Holy Voice that speaks in riddles coded by the Queen, I wander crowded streets in City Maze to prove we make our fate with every choice approved by government of Melusine so we transition to the next Dream Phase. Whether in the kitchen, the living room, the classroom, the office, or the church hall, we play our roles in cosmic game of life controlled by gods we invent in the gloom so we can monitor our rise and fall through social cycles of teamwork and strife. Wherever I walk in the crowded world I gaze into vast hearts of mortal souls with eyes of dreamless stars from timeless sea that wise Athena forged from ache of love so I can understand your secret dreams that motivate your quest for happiness. So many conscious souls of mortal beings are born and die with every turn of time when Earth adjusts our private attitude with humble pride of wonderful concern that we are still alive in game of change though we forget the code we once employed. Bound to the ancient tree of solitude the Voiceless Patriarch of our mad clan remembers how he tried to photograph True Face of God inside each human being till their fierce ghosts, obsessed with paradise, all vanish in the Howling Wind of Woe. While painting portrait of the half-dead king, the most innocent girl in the whole world floats up into the shining clouds of fate after she smiles at me with gratitude and offers me her eyes of dreamless stars that gleam with every soul who ever lives.
Hazy Dreamscape Of Truth
Hazy Dreamscape Of Truth © Surazeus 2026 08 09 Searching for the hazy dreamscape of truth, that shrouds my soul in private memories of my childhood and youth decades ago with cultural ambience that glows no more in cities far away across the land, I wander amused in halls of trite verse. Riding with Death in her Carriage of Time, lounging with Wisdom to sing of Myself, stopping with Faith in wood where roads diverge, gazing with Sorrow at Harp of the Bridge, burning with Madness for Heavenly Light, I analyze how atoms spark my brain. Though I try to erase mask of my face from tangled passions of my special vibe to extract universal principles from specific events of fraught desire, my divine psyche, every human shares, refracts cosmic mind through my mortal brain. Opposing principles of governance frame every social system humans form through constant contest for authority between desires of private individuals and power of the law-enforcing state to balance progress between strife and love. To simplify complex process of change that gears social functions of power games, prophets proclaim political contests can be reduced to slogans people chant when they gather to express common will through the Royalists and the Communists. No matter how much societies change, transforming from villages to empires till democracies replace monarchies, the fight remains between both Rich and Poor to maintain or dissolve wealth hierarchies that would legalize special privilege. The Capitalist funds production of goods, extracting matter to make things we use, then the Communist disperses the goods, ensuring every person may live well, but, whether rich or poor, we eat the same, and all return to dust after we die. Alive in moderate state of my progress still halfway between failure and success, I live in my one home in some small town far from ancestral homeland of my heart where I share visions of my mortal mind with immortal god of the internet.
Saturday, August 8, 2026
Competent Sense Of Self
Competent Sense Of Self © Surazeus 2026 08 08 Because his heart is based on principles of honest expression about his thoughts through brave respect for every living soul, his mind constructs competent sense of self on solid foundation of thoughtfulness that provides clear actions his hands perform. Time disenrolls strict knot of happiness though his attentive hands of vigorous faith weave random strands of wisdom pulled from Earth in pulsing matrix of his tangled thoughts so he proclaims solutions of fair stance based on insight he gains from unread tales. No sceptered herald of dutiful pride arrives with faith at gates of paradise to call for council of bold citizens, so he dares speak to disassembled crowds sermons that advocate justice for all, yet they threaten to destroy him with hate. Snatched from attacking crowd of angry men by angel dangling on thread of sky law, he finds himself translated to round disk bound by ropes beneath large hot-air balloon that no angry eye on the ground perceives, and settles safely in chariot of fire. Eager to return to his nuptial bower, where bride of his heart waits in marble hall for blessing of his heart to conjure life, he strings taut yew bow with respectful hands and fires his sharp arrow of justice straight to kill rebellion against his fair rule. Translated far from crowded city maze, where hordes of angry men assert their rights to live free from oppression of blind gods, brave Lucifer steps from sky ship of truth and stands before old bearded Jupiter who praises him for his mission complete. Accustomed to immortal fruits of faith, that bloom from serpent-guarded Tree of Knowledge, he ponders mind-nature of mortal men who fight for their own selfish needs with hate, unable to perceive grand view of life that gods in temples try to organize. Though fallen from disk of the balloon ship, strong Sariel stands in the teeming crown and strums taut strings on Lyre of Mercury then sings enchanting melodies of hope that cause angry men in rebellious crowd to weep with sorrow for peace they have lost.
Forgetful Kingdom Of Death
Forgetful Kingdom Of Death © Surazeus 2026 08 08 Every dawn I walk out into the world I gaze long moment at the blazing sun to see face of Apollo in its light, that wise God of Healing and Archery who maintains order with logic of truth from reason through analysis of facts. I taste sweet rind of Earth in juicy peach which I pluck from the Ancient Tree of Truth where we meet for our secret tryst of love to share fresh fruit we gather with our hands that seals our hearts with sacred bond of trust no thief could break between flesh of our souls. Before we wander on long nowhere road straight into forgetful kingdom of death, we shall hold hands and dance upon the hill that knows our secret passions we would hide till pleasures of our bodies we must share expands scope of our mutual consciousness. Though sadness about creatures who have died twists my heart with loops of potent grief, I celebrate new life that springs each day from mothers of each species on this globe who nurture tender bodies with bright eyes that knot our planet with progressive life. After catching lithe fish from deep lake of hope, we roast them over crackling flames of faith, chew tender strips of scorched flesh with delight, then lie relaxed on soft grass of respect to hear song of water rippled by wind so we understand mute kingdom of death. Sparked awake by nothingness of death, we open eyes of infinite delight, then walk together where trees dance in peace, far from lush lands where men with guns of greed kill other men to control fertile land, happy because we hear cute sparrows chirp. Attentive to strange worries of the heart, that burrow roots of sorrow in dark soil, we stroll about this miraculous world and share amazement at freedom to live that brave people before us fought to win, though we stay alert to thieves lurking near. Since we are not our shadows on the Earth, cast by light of the sun on land of time, we travel to Valhalla on the hill where are mothers carve our spirits from wood so our bodies sprout children of our eyes who will plant apple seeds above our graves.
Ring Light Of My Heart
Ring Light Of My Heart © Surazeus 2026 08 08 My mind perceives ethereal pulchritude that emanates from beauty of your soul, illuminated by ring light of my heart, so you see special features of your being reflected in clear mirror of my eyes when you discern my affection for you. Complex aspects of our weird universe refract through diamond of my mortal brain, illuminated by ring light of my heart, so my dreaming brain can categorize standard form of each material object in conceptual frame of its changeless Idea. Monstrous hunger of Cronus in sea cave urges aggressive force of psychic fate, illuminated by ring light of my heart, so I slay demon of unconscious fear to construct grand temple with his huge bones when I forge spear from lightning of despair. Vibrant passion of Dionysus swells hot blood of my body with spark of wine, illuminated by ring light of my heart, so I dance with wild abandon of faith to wake immortal spirit of my genes that helps me grow into my divine being. Intense expression of Apollo rings taut strings on Lyre of Mercury with faith, illuminated by ring light of my heart, so I breathe deep ethereal soul of light and chant grand epic of philosophers to honor those who search for secret truth. Brave wisdom of Athena speculates clear vision of how our world operates, illuminated by ring light of my heart, so I investigate nature of being to articulate its state in Dream Map that helps me navigate to paradise. Ideas of the Cosmic Craftsman shape how atoms randomly gear chemicals, illuminated by ring light of my heart, so I expand conscious scope of my brain to match concept of that Creative Force which mindlessly designs our universe. My heart beats with compassionate respect for every conscious creature on our globe, illuminated by ring light of my heart, so I record name and deed of each being born from the fertile womb of Mother Earth and chart their progress to generate life.
Neurons Of Conceptual Worlds
Neurons Of Conceptual Worlds © Surazeus 2026 08 08 Our galaxy that swirls inside my mind weaves dreams of creatures on large pulsing globes in flashing neurons of conceptual worlds through neural network of my sea-sponge brain so I dream life of every conscious soul incarnate in organic beings of hope. My mind that glows inside our galaxy compiles lost memories of each dreaming soul in virtual model of the universe based on experience of urgent life all my ancestors express when they mate to generate new body before death. All objects that exist in forms of matter are composed of numbers that regulate expansive combinations of small atoms that spiral from first flash of the big bang, for they are limited by bounds in space since shape of numbers rules the universe. Archangel Michael, without wings or sword, lounges in small temple by sparkling pool among trees with apples, peaches, and pears, and contemplates strange vastness of the world that teems with mindless atoms of pure light congealed in tangled strings of pulchritude. Grown old with wrinkled skin and long gray hair, Archangel Michael in white cotton robe remembers courage of his ardent youth when he fought devils from harsh desert lands to guard lush paradise of Elysium and maintain kingdom of Heaven on Earth. With fervid passion of the loyal knight he battled Satan on Hill of Cracked Skulls to drive invaders from the Holy Land where Jesus Galatinus ruled as king over seven colonies in Galatia long after Jesus Christus died on Patmos. Our mortal bodies are contained by bounds of physical frames within time and space that limit forced expression of our minds so we are temporary nodes of flesh that incarnate immortal soul of genes who lives in descendants our hope creates. When Archangel Michael passes away, his wife Tamar, great-granddaughter of Jesus, covers his body with white cloth of faith as eight angels lay his body in tomb where skull of Isaiah chants psalm of life how we are atoms of the universe.
Friday, August 7, 2026
Born From Silver Stones
Born From Silver Stones © Surazeus 2026 08 07 Too far away to hear song of the cloud, three faceless children born from silver stones might understand why grass desires to bloom on the electric moon nobody owns, or else their mother may pluck the mushroom that readjusts framework of hungry minds. Rough hands dig in wounded heart of the Earth where they uncover torso of Apollo that beams with brilliant light of inner truth, sweet as ripening fruit from Tree of Life which bursts with starlight when they bite its soul through translucent desire to breathe old songs. No blue fish swims in glass bowl of the moon, yet Feng Yi rises from attentive flames on Phoenix wings of psychic harmony to beam her soul through crackling radio with heart-enchanting melody of faith that startles Hercules awake at dawn. Since she supports progressive state of being too radical for extreme hopefulness, Sigmund shares his eyes with hungry ghosts so they can eat sweet grief of lonely souls as juice that nurtures bitter river gods who never return the dream wings they borrow. Surprised by sudden blossom of new books, Maria photographs one thousand ships that sail with billowed sails on snow-froth waves as if their hearts, unborn from serpent eggs, might still be fragile as the Absolute who stares at dead tree by the clever sea. Feng Yi returns to grocery store at dawn where Hercules hauls boxes from the truck with honey melons from the field of skulls where countless warriors of ancient tribes slaughtered each other in World War Nineteen till second coming of the Brain Machine. Maria finishes building table from oak, so she stands back in old stained overalls to gaze with admiration at her work, then Sigmund covers it with plates of food, and pours glass of red wine for her to drink as ravens gather on rain-wet phonelines. Safe in hazardous confines of his mind, Hercules redefines reality in terms of how Feng Yi paints the swift horse with graceful curves of innocent respect, so Maria can escape harsh abuse, driving Boston to Seattle in rain.
Seashore Of Endless Worlds
Seashore Of Endless Worlds © Surazeus 2026 08 07 Let us meet on seashore of endless worlds so we can measure the infinite sky and savor passion of the boisterous waves that stir our hearts with restless faith in love, then we can build our homes from empty shells and study flow of time with sparkling sand. While we dance on seashore of endless worlds we can share lost ancestral memories to find the common Mother of Mankind whose dreams program how all our brains perceive strange beauty of this world that gives us form so we can sing world hymn in harmony. Since we play on seashore of endless worlds with friends we have known since our younger days, and friends who have arrived just yesterday, we weave twigs with leaves into sturdy boats to float across Abyss of Nevertime so we can find new lands where children dwell. Though we float on seashore of endless worlds to find pure treasures hidden in the deep that we can transform into wings of flight, we always return to broad beach of sand where children spring from children of the light who smile with joy in gusting winds of time. Safe in caves on seashore of endless worlds, we find the heart of darkness in our eyes till we extract bright gems from nothingness that gleam with first flash of the flaring forth so we can light the Lamp of Liberty and find each other when wild tempests roam. Still alive on seashore of endless worlds, frail bodies molded from soft swirling sand, we build enormous palaces from clouds where everyone feasts on fruit of the Earth till waves of change surge from the lightless deep and crush our spirits back to wordless sand. Souls reborn on seashore of endless worlds, we gather around the small ziggurat, where Tethys sits enthroned in fish-scale robe, and watch her son Alpheus roast whale meat to feed five thousand people with brave faith while Metis breastfeeds Athena with love. Long dispersed from seashore of endless worlds, we live in sprawling cities of tall towers, driving cars in maze of elusive wealth, but some pause in routine of daily work when their hearts hear timeless song of the sea that calls for us to return home again.
Sheer Joy Of The Dance
Sheer Joy Of The Dance © Surazeus 2026 08 07 For nothing more than sheer joy of the dance Tellus explores how her lithe body moves through fluid expression of wordless grace as she expands from darkness of sea caves to understand contours of river vales while she floats clandestinely in free trance. Startled by sudden attack of three men who gallop toward her with greedy intent, Tellus turns and flies on ethereal breath back to secret cave on the rugged slope where she conceals her soul in anxious gloom till they decide she changed into the tree. Emerging from dark cave of hungry hope, on cautious steps that doubt firmness of faith, Tellus creeps past the snake-infested tree, then huddles inside the large hawthorn bush, munching berries as she studies pink blooms to understand strange beauty of their swirls. Assured cruel kidnappers have gone away by eerie susurration of insects that cause electric stones of faith to buzz, Tellus rises slowly upward from safe haven to stretch her legs and arms up to white clouds, imagining swan wings sprout from her heart. Inspiring deep thick air of afternoon, that swells her body huge as pulsing hills, Tellus explores how her lithe body moves with axial movements of dynamic flow through locomotor steps of cautious leaps to bound in sudden burst of ecstasy. To sway while anchored to solidity of undulating Earth through fluid form, Tellus expresses intense passion of her heart to transcend binding gravity of fear and soar on broad angelic wings of hope as she accepts limits of psychic flight. Enclosing vast persona of desire back inside coiled contingency of time, Tellus lounges languidly on sly slope, gasping deep for breath of divine delight, and with bright laughter of her heaving breast releases shock of pleasure in sweet joy. Three men hiding behind stones of desire, watch Tellus dance in worshipful surprise, then realize with chagrin of humble pride that pure divinity of graceful art cannot be possessed by obsessive hands, so they secretly protect her from harm.
Thursday, August 6, 2026
How Home Is Everywhere
How Home Is Everywhere © Surazeus 2026 08 06 The delicate flowers of unknown fears, that she arranges in tall crystal bowl, reflect strange sorrow of long afternoons to simplify how angels become snow which transform into blossoms of her eyes so she conceals dark evil in her heart. She hopes to dwell in her brilliant-edged world composed of clear water in the glass bowl that shapes silver snow scents of solitude in never-resting mind of paradise despite calm bitterness of false delight though she accepts flawed weirdness of the world. Absorbance calculations are acquired by utilizing psychic energy to prove the phosphate answer could safeguard protected combinations of strange thoughts assembled from oxidative regret that disassembles average memories. While crossing sandy bar beside the sea, she gazes at the startled evening star to measure sudden tide of swirling sleep that teaches her how home is everywhere since evening bells shape how soft twilight glows as if no sadness of farewell returns. Safe in expansive bourn of time and space, she searches for the Pilot of her ship with eagerness to meet him face to face, but she finds no one in gray sparkling mist except the faceless shadow of her soul, her boon companion since hour of her birth. Attuned to secret voice of everywhere through clear noetic channel of her heart, she savors violent repugnance of faith for true attention of the hungry mind commissioned to destroy the evil vibe that pulses in each human heart with love. Urged to escape spiritual laziness with stark expression of her aching heart, she maps invisible tracks of desire that reveal her journey around the globe because she wants to cherish chastity of her noetic relationship with death. Thus she decides with autonomous pride, as daughter of Heuresis with star eyes, she shall ideate new world paradigm based on inclusive process wisdom spools to bind our hearts with contract of concern, then she sets bowl of flowers on the desk.
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