Alive With Pleasant Pain © Surazeus 2026 09 28 The dry sand of the desert teaches me the preciousness of water from the sky, so I pray thanks through humble orisons to the faceless Cloud Ghost who cannot hear, yet drenches me with cold indifferent rain that shivers me alive with pleasant pain. Soft purple shimmer of the morning sky, that shines with holy glimmers in our eyes, wakes tender bodies on soft flower beds so we rise up from graves of frantic dreams to sit in circle by the sparkling stream and eat sweet apples as we sing strange hymns. Though haughty angels of sharp mountain peaks mock frail flames of our conscious ardency, we stride against doomed sorrow of our fate that we all die from monsters or old age, for faceless Cloud Ghost haunts our sentient steps as blind death that swallows all life in gloom. Together working with our crafting hands we build long sturdy bridge of fallen trees to cross the gushing river of despair, so Death rewards our cleverness with gifts that trick the foolish with an early death yet reward the wise with creative life. The wet mud of the river teaches me the preciousness of warm light from the sun, so I carve wand of wisdom from tree branch, and sharpen stone I bind with vine of faith in spear I thrust to kill demonic hate, then fashion cloak that conceals me from Death. With diamond sphere refracting light of truth I lead my curious tribe on holy quest to map strange landscape of this spinning world through journey to explore the Promised Land where we build empire of the Watching Eye that rules our lives on ziggurat of faith. Once bravely young with passion to explore, I now stand aged with knowledge of the world, old as the twisted oak on hill of skulls where I hang, one-eyed, forty thousand years above the well of words where serpent runes morph me to wingless angel with star eyes. Strange beauty of this world inspires my heart with love for every living soul on Earth to see in constellations of bright stars clear chart that maps the fortune we create as destiny we choose with our free will to generate new life before we die.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
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Monday, September 28, 2026
Alive With Pleasant Pain
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Orpheus leads us up winding road of Mount Purgatory so we can vast roundness of the world that spins forever in the godless void of hope.
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