Vision Of My Brain Soul © Surazeus 2022 01 20 Forgetful fraction of the fortitude we hope to employ when we face the day provides another puzzle piece to place that constitutes public persona face we present when we practice to portray this stranger who insists we play their role. Regretful reason of the platitude we display to shield our vulnerable hearts conceals aggressive intention to win competition to control how we live by navigating riddles of star charts each time we readjust our living goal. Powerful patience of the attitude we fear to speak in congress of the proud endangers safety of the marginal who refuse to accept the ordinal when social rules define successful crowd for individuals escaping the whole. Grateful gloominess of the certitude we study to comprehend complete truth teaches curious minds to follow the clues hidden as red thread in buzz of the news so we see life of the messiah sleuth recorded on the legendary scroll. Unlawful urgency of the fact feud we unravel to rewire program code adjusts world view we assemble from lies about Faceless Mind watching from blank skies so I walk nowhere on the signless road to chant spells in glow of the ozone hole. Dreadful dandyism of the blind clown we watch perform on television screen hypnotizes our eyes with dazzling gleam that we can win the American Dream as part of the food-production machine managed by cash kings in Central Control. Colorful candor of the Thought Police we resist to express taboo desires entraps our hearts in mistakes of the past as we run world maze that stretches too vast for us to escape from their groupthink choirs stuck in myths sold by the bibliopole. Delightful daring of the multitude we join to find salvation on the hill inspires our quest to steal the Holy Grail buried under the tree in misty vale where I first discover Word of my Will which animates vision of my brain soul.
Thursday, January 20, 2022
Vision Of My Brain Soul
Wednesday, January 19, 2022
Miscarriage Of The Brain
Miscarriage Of The Brain © Surazeus 2022 01 19 Bleak obligation of the burning book requires the wingless angel comprehend how the white whale can delicately dance between contradictions of social rules according to providence of the stance lost souls must make when weeping by the brook. Bland correlation between truth and lies constrained by pure ambition realized provides enough space for racial respect though terror trades our honest arrogance for peaceful prudence no one purchases except blind leader of the global spies. Reluctant romance between naked fools explodes conceptual brains of migrant souls who seek salvation of the pristine kind in television shows that reveal why cultural traditions blind us to the truth only smirking devils have learned in schools. Extracted names of long dead prostitutes label shy shamans with no characters with fluid stereotypes no seer accepts since gamers revolutionize world wars through purchase of fake cryptocurrency while eagles circle angels who play flutes. Subject to investigation by priests who fear absolute agency of queens we decide to never talk about how miscarriage of the brain reveals the face Minerva wears to the debutante ball since the Minotaur presides over feasts. Alone in Duino Castle with the ghost who cries out to blind angels in storm wind, I drink wine from skulls of demons who think I am messiah sleuth the world awaits but I must turn off the living room light if I want to play the welcoming host. So when sweet Edna clutches my right hand I run with her among bare apple trees still wet with morning dew of silver eyes to kiss forever in gold sparkling mist because we want to marry in the fane that crumbles into mystery of sea sand. Face to face with beauty of silent dawn, we share immensity of silent faith that we cannot escape nothing of death so we savor timeless weird of each breath which animates our love with cosmic wraith though I long to return to Avalon.
Boy With Green Eyes
Boy With Green Eyes © Surazeus 2022 01 19 The pregnant girl walks across the gold plain, eyes searching for a fruit tree by a stream. Reaching her hand up with cautious intent, she plucks ripe apple before the snake strikes. Tears flow down her gaunt cheeks with every bite as she thinks about the boy with green eyes. Holding hands as they run down to the lake, the boy and the girl twirl around in wind. Leaning close to his chest with big round eyes, she begs him for fresh apples from the tree. Reaching up his hand toward the sunlit fruit, the boy cries out in pain when a snake bites. Writhing in agony from searing pain, the boy leans against the indifferent tree. The girl grasps his body in trembling arms, shocked at the terror that poisons his eyes. Wind swirls around the girl as the sun sets, erasing paradise from her wet eyes. The pregnant girl sits under the fruit tree, face turned away from where his body lies. She tries to remember how many days she kneeled beside his body in gold grass. Though the boy lies dead under the fruit tree, inside her belly his soul grows reborn. Clutching low thick branch of the apple tree, the girl screams in agony of childbirth. Lightning flashes across the windy plain, illuminating spirit of her eyes. The new-born child of the snake-bitten boy slides from her heart to wiggle in the grass. Cradling child of her lover in warm arms, the mother gazes in his large green eyes. Though your father was bitten by the snake, he lives again in body of your soul. Dawn sun glows red across the grassy plain, indifferent to the mother and her child. The mother holds the hand of her young child, helping him to stand and walk on his own. When the snake slithers around the tree trunk the boy grasps its neck and chokes it to death. Falling to her knees as fear drains away, the mother weeps and kisses smiling boy. The boy orders baskets of fruit and eggs which he gathered in the woods by the lake. When his mother never wakes from deep sleep, the boy covers her rotting corpse with flowers. Standing under the fruit tree by the lake, the boy gazes at her skull in his hand.
Coming Of The Girl
Coming Of The Girl © Surazeus 2022 01 19 The floating laughter of the absolute beams my name in seed of the burning tree so I prophesy new age of the flute that forges beautiful truth in the key we use to open door of shocking truth before third coming of messiah sleuth. The girl and boy stand face to face in mist, eyes weaving wings for romance of true love, then walk toward each other across the bridge, wondering what the other is thinking of, because their genes ache to generate life from bodies tangled with erotic strife. When Ophelia falls in the burbling stream and almost drowns in anguish of despair Orpheus rescues her from blinding dream so they run on wind-swept hills without care, then hide under Tree of Life to embrace and gaze with mute joy at the strange face. While Orpheus molds wood in wagon wheels Ophelia bakes bread and plays the flute, then lovers flirt as they share daily meals, while their son Orion, looking so cute, plays with the bow and arrow of desire, destined to lead the world angelic choir. While deadly virus kills millions of souls Orion plots to rule the entire world, but commoners refuse to play their roles in revolution of the cosmic herald who seeks to make Avalon great again though he plays guitar in indifferent rain. Though Earth is fractured in two hundred states that fight to control the Flying Horse Spring, messiah sleuth gambles with the blind fates to control magic power of the One Ring, but no one sees the coming of the Girl who dreams complex program of the Mind Whirl. Though storm winds batter pyramid of power Ostara climbs each step of timeless rage, inspired by sacred vision of the flower to sing weird wisdom on the global stage, because sweet anguish of her longing song calls refugees to unite in one throng. Surrounded by lost souls from war-torn lands, Ostara sings new vision of world peace, so refugees of war lift up their hands and vote for her as their global mouthpiece to fight against oppressive monarchy so every person lives through liberty.
Tuesday, January 18, 2022
Religion Of Bright Sunlight
Religion Of Bright Sunlight © Surazeus 2022 01 18 Because the shadow might not understand religion of bright sunlight on the lake I must explain how wind defines my soul through wicked whirling of wonderful weird too strange for ancient books of honesty that prove effective ploy of modesty. Whenever children find the skeleton of giant dragons buried in hill mud they carry its skull to the temple hall where the oldest woman in the world chants weird spells to conjure spirit of its flight so we understand mystery of the light. The blind woman under the apple tree, pregnant with spirit of the dancing wolf, dreams evolution of the universe that spirals from first flash of the big bang as she feels her child blooming in her heart who will grow up to invent the star chart. Gazing up at formless glow of gold thought that shimmers vast expanse of nothingness, the blind woman explains to faceless ghosts how raindrops spark seeds to bloom into trees through the days of our lives as the world turns while her daughter runs on the beach with terns. The pregnant woman sitting on the hill one hundred thousand years under the tree watches generations of human beings swarm around the globe in waves of desire that surge in tides from visions of her brain at flash of day and night through sun and rain. You break my heart in half ten thousand times, she whispers to the stone that never cries, so people sprout from sparkles of her mind to populate vales sea to shining sea, constructing temples for sacred love rites that generate life from the script hope writes. The woman sitting on the throne of swords bears new-born son of the crucified god while castle vampires pledge their fealty till zombies overthrow their monarchy and Garden of Eden is bombed by planes till devils fight in election campaigns. Because the shadow animates my heart to build walls of Heaven from dragon skulls I sing folk hymns how light defines my soul through wicked whirling of wonderful weird too true for ancient books of chivalry that guide civil wars of democracy.
Monday, January 17, 2022
Join The Dance Macabre
Join The Dance Macabre © Surazeus 2022 01 17 The only reasonable way to go mad is slowly over many years of joy while chasing devils in Islamabad five hundred thousand years Sian to Troy then sitting with Melusine on the beach to kiss the universe inside the peach. The silver eyeball of the gleaming moon observes my manic passion for soul flight so I waft over trees with breathless tune where Eos guards cave of the eremite who strums lyre of Orpheus as he weeps in sorrow when the wingless angel leaps. The people all around me on this globe crawl from dark shadow of despair to sing angelic hymns beaming from the space probe though refugees dance in the fairy ring since no one ever returns to the land where they were born from the electric hand. Reborn from wild spirit of Lucifer, I make light glow from lightning flash of truth to lead rebellion against Jupiter as blind agent of the messiah sleuth who navigates true way to Wonderland somewhere in rugged hills of Samarkand. Because Ophelia knows my secret name, that she found blooming on lush Avon shore, I learn how to play the psychotic game that superheroes purchase at the store though dragons fly along the mountain ridge since I keep their spotted eggs in the fridge. Each morning I fall into sea of time I grow another pair of wings from grief so I can return home to Vanaheim where I record riddles of unbelief that prove my brain designs concept of God because I want to join the Justice Squad. Important people hide weakness of soul behind pious mask of religious faith though every world spirals from the White Whole to generate our bodies from Dream Wraith yet our stories get lost in the Name Book where not even Seraphim dare to look. Bringing basket of herbs to Ashtoreth, who reigns on pyramid of the One Eye, I teach children importance of each breath when we inspire weird spirit of the sky to join the Dance Macabre on Halloween because I love my sweet wife Melusine.
Soul Cry Of The Lyre
Soul Cry Of The Lyre © Surazeus 2022 01 17 To perform my neat and orderly life I dance on the razors edge of desire. Through every open door where the ghost sings I hear sweet anguish of butterfly wings. Because no laughing devil knows my fate I try to conjure selfless love from hate. If I ever escape the dusty moon I will appreciate your solitude. Though we stand before the church in sunlight clarity of vision veils second sight. I dance around bonfire of vanities to reforge all social conceptual keys. Rejection of wisdom is to accept confusing passion of chemical love. Alone on island of terrified birds, I hide my emotions in frigid words. Before glass window of infinite faith I ponder rain song of the eyeless wraith. Gold sunlight gleams on the ocean beach sand where all lovers vanish in winds of time. Accept this golden apple in my hand as gift of love that will make our hearts chime. Bones of my ancestors construct this land as wingless angel evolved from sea slime. Strange sunlight in trees cuts my heart in words so I give you every secret I find. I hear the sea wind blow one thousand miles so I follow the trail of tear-stained smiles. You run to me with joy to be alive so we explore the world from our dream cave. One hundred thousand years later I feel longing to find you again by the sea. One thousand lives later we meet again and marry when we kiss in the dawn rain. Tomorrow I will wake up by your side to savor our love where sorrows abide. The bride with seven stars in her hair dances slowly in grove of mango trees. The groom on white horse in mist of new hope reveals souls of stars in the telescope. The couple holds hands on the spinning world to generate soul of the cosmic herald. To perform sweet drama of our romance we dance on the razors edge of desire. We help each other transcend every chance by singing in harmony with the choir. We weave wings for our hearts with loving dance in tune with eerie soul cry of the lyre.
Sunday, January 16, 2022
Blankness Of The World
Blankness Of The World © Surazeus 2022 01 16 The blankness of the world fills me with hope that falling snow will not erase my name from silence of the story no one tells how when I fell out of the hungry sky the moonlight sliced my soul in eager wings so I will know what to say when we meet. The weirdness of the world fills me with dread that people sprouting from womb of the Earth will never know sweet pleasure of the truth that twists our hearts with agony of faith though we eat our breakfast of eggs and toast that crumble like mountains into the sea. The fullness of the world fills me with love that flowing rivers will translate my blood to whisper of clear ocean waves at dawn which might reveal the Light of Evermore still glowing in the book I try to read before the weeping of the trees in spring. The sadness of the world fills me with angst that all skeletons will crumble into dust after fifty million spins of the Earth through the measureless void of Nothing Real because my mind invents the world I see while I look for you in shadow of gloom. The vainness of the world fills me with pride that we evolve from sparkles of wet slime which blow from breath of hydrothermal vents to swim up rivers to the star-gold lake as we transform from fish to wingless angel when first mother sings our names at red dawn. The boldness of the world fills me with rage that blind indifferent nature does not care whether or not we fragile wingless angels regenerate our bodies through desire to overcome hostility of death as we embrace our lovers in the dark. The business of the world fills me with lust that urgent craftiness of my strong hands transforms the raw material of the Earth into sacred temples where women birth new bodies for our souls from tangled genes who build piston engines for time machines. The strangeness of the world fills me with dreams that Idea of God wakes up in my brain as vivid consciousness of timeless truth so I perceive this universe of atoms swerving in womb of the void to create this lush globe where we meet and grow in love.
Saturday, January 15, 2022
Secret Of Her Fertile Heart
Secret Of Her Fertile Heart © Surazeus 2022 01 15 The hidden secret of her fertile heart transforms the swirling chaos of strange light to pulsing passion of organic forms contained in fluctuating walls of hope that give me urgent strength to penetrate mute darkness of the hungry underworld. The flashing gust of passionate desire that fuels aggressive race of aching legs inspires my quest to caress sun-warm curves of radiant hills that teem with flaming flowers when I climb high to peak of jagged rock while hands clutch tangled vines of victory. The gasping cry of my inhaling breast encloses vast immensity of faith when I embrace her trembling in my arms because she kisses me with tender trust as we become one glow of flowing streams illumined bright by weeping stars of pain. The eerie loneness of my tense project swells bulging outward from my throbbing heart through spiral tautness of expressed constraint to seek warm darkness of sweet eyeless gloom so deep within her docile mystery that I forget strict boundaries of my name. So when she floats toward me on wings of light through piercing beams of dawn-red subtle flash my heart expresses urgent faith of love as I accept her sweet inviting smile to push beyond enclosing bounds of flesh and strike pure wisdom of my lightning deep. With twisting agony of silent night through holy vision of creative truth I swarm against cold blocking tide of death to pierce ice shield of cavernous despair when I assault lone citadel of faith at stark observance of conceptual spells. At mind-expanding burst of flushing juice when I bite sacred fruit from Tree of Life my heart flares forth from blind bang of delight to spiral coils of genes in neural net through spinning galaxies of dreaming cells that weave my brain from ancient memories. Amazed at pleasure of frantic desire which translates trembling angst to tender vows we hold each other on the river shore to savor beauty of the flowing stream reflecting mirror sparks of long-dead stars so we name each other with kissing eyes.
Friday, January 14, 2022
Diamond Of His Heart
Diamond Of His Heart © Surazeus 2022 01 14 The last time they meet in grove of fruit trees, flashing leaves blush with gold glow of their kiss. Though she waits for him in the rain all night she never doubts honesty of his love. Each time she sees him walking down the road she beams with joy in shadow of his soul. While hunting in dark woods with Sirius, Orion sees sunlight gleam on the hill. Through halo of gold light in rustling leaves Eos reaches her arm to pluck ripe pears. Orion gazes at beauty of Dawn, entranced by vision of her golden eyes. Approaching Eos shining on the hill, Orion offers diamond of his heart. Holding hands as they stroll in grove of trees, Orion and Eos share childhood tales. Embracing on beach sand in soft sea breeze, young lovers kiss and pledge eternal love. Annoyed Orion loves some other girl, Artemis shoots arrows at the swift hart. While searching for Eos with beaming smile, Orion sees Helius kiss her pink lips. Walking to rocky island on deep waves, Orion drinks wine in lonely despair. Mistaking Merope for girl he loves, Orion kisses her with aching hope. Whispering name of Eos in gold moonlight, Orion rapes Merope by the sea. Caressing his cheek when he wakes at dawn, Merope runs when her father appears. While stumbling in rain storm on rugged hill, Orion falls to his knees by dark cave. Artemis leads him to warm crackling fire and gives him nectar to revive his soul. Though Artemis confesses her desire, Orion thinks about Eos, his love. Lurking in gloomy shadows of the cave, Scorpius fumes that Artemis loves him not. Shouting that Artemis belongs to him, Scorpius stabs Orion in the heart. Clutching his chest, Orion stares in shock while Artemis weeps and kisses his lips. Picking ripe pears by the sun-gleaming sea, Eos calls Orion in morning mist. Lying alone on sand in midnight breeze, Eos waits for Orion to return. Gazing in diamond of his heart, Eos sees Orion and Sirius hunting among stars.
Thursday, January 13, 2022
Happily In After Land
Happily In After Land © Surazeus 2022 01 13 The bold infinity of word mirage reveals the strangest truth of dinosaurs how concepts encourage sadness of doom that threatens banishment of honest faith though we negotiate passion of love so we live happily in After Land. The great potential we must realize based on summer light on the windowsill provides the motivation we might need to talk about the desert with someone who cannot understand our vain complaint so we wander sadly in After Land. Even as you read these false prophecies composed by stranger howling in my breast the ache of hopeless anger imitates progressive pursuit of fraught happiness which may anticipate the atmosphere so we weep prettily in After Land. My door is always open to the wind that never lies about mind-melting heat when angels pass away beyond the night to prove this afternoon should be the time we hide our memories in the river rock so we chuckle madly in After Land. The places we should visit in the world could never welcome to the crowded park the likes of us created by the flounce of shocking treachery painted on signs if we follow erratic path past death so we sing honestly in After Land. You are the best friend I could ever have though we have never yet met face to face because the humid glamor of the school beckons our journey past the burnt-out star when we decide these lessons are for real so we study mutely in After Land. This valley that leads to long-ago days where strangers sit on chairs in poppy fields refuses to accept glory of war each dawn lost time sweeps us into the cave where wordless leaves discuss fortune we share so we wait naively in After Land. My eyes see everything you never say better than that winter when wind blows since children murmur secrets to the door where sunlight lingers on the signless road till sad Orpheus returns to the cave so we die happily in After Land.
Wednesday, January 12, 2022
Radiance Of The Wraith
Radiance Of The Wraith © Surazeus 2022 01 12 Not ever bursts electric flower of light too fast for speakers puzzling honest jokes though white wolf lingers soft in silver mist to study angst of harsh industrial blight in field of paradise where demon soaks still shocked at riddle of the analyst. Not often crushed by sneers of rolling stones beyond moss-covered ruins of paradise we wait in wilderness of signless roads for even preachers who read dragon bones to translate prophecies of bad advice though factory workers worship iron toads. Blank masks of street magicians tricking fools may mirror psychic tropes of tragic stage where standard characters can play their roles constructing new world view with logic tools described by words of blood smeared on the page with formulas that predict mental wholes. Through static crackling on black radios we hear strange message from the global king brought by the wingless angel in mute skies that lists each dead god in their cameos on social dramas where blind demons sing lost epic tales on tragic fate of spies. Not whether chess games can be won or lost through bellic strategies fierce seraph ploys in cunning plan to rule the spinning world reveals arcane expression of the ghost who mocks confusing roles for girls and boys defined by script erased by cosmic herald. Not always ardent based on tangling spells disguised as vines of grapes on lattice frames could we confess our love to faceless sprite who crawls at midnight from abysmal wells with shining eyes of hunger to eat names inadequate to bind our brains with right. Each human face I see in shadow play conceals strange thoughts I cannot hear in rain though I reach out my hand with eager hope to touch elusive truth no eyes display because I choose to bear heart-twisting pain which gives me courage of your love to cope. So many people on harsh road of fear collapse from horror of the fruitful way at shocking shatter of world view we faith though I wait stuck in empty house of here with nothing to exhale but wordless pray because I am now radiance of the wraith.
Moon Owl I Never See
Moon Owl I Never See © Surazeus 2022 01 12 Moon Owl I never see in the oak tree flies free to Heaven with my mortal soul that profiles ghastly chime of timeless truth too heavy for my heart to comprehend because I miss strange beauty of your eyes that hacks secure code of my naked mind. No learned astronomer in crowded class, who displays figures in columns of proofs, could chart measured progress of my weird fate in complex diagrams of cause and effect, yet I account for each act I perform to calculate fortune of silent stars. So as stark sunlight streams through stormy clouds I meditate in Stonehenge to perceive unsigned message of that immortal mind which never speaks in words I understand to become imminent presence of light deep in unfathomed thought of my frail brain. Unusual contours of vast desert lands where my ancestors traveled signless roads lure me to confront my violent desires to replicate my soul beyond my death though I explore wild range of jagged hills where I first see the horse run fast as wind. Sweet cataracts of singing rivers flash divine aloneness through my aching heart though I travel to far ends of the Earth one hundred thousand years in many lives to find where the sun is born from the sea where waves explain how my spirit was born. Two thousand generations of my genes from spirit of Helius reborn in flesh, I journey west from sea to shining sea, chasing Goddess of Light through apple groves till she embraces me in loving arms to generate new bodies for our souls. Thus always I return to the oak tree where gold-eyed owl of her committed love explains her secret of immortal life when she breathes spirit of truth in my heart and bids me rise from mud womb of the Earth so I can steal apples from the Death Snake. The ecstasy of treasure on the wind reveals strange desolation from world war, so I construct Heaven in the waste land disguised as castles built from dragon bones because I miss strange beauty of your eyes that weaves new wings for my demonic mind.
Tuesday, January 11, 2022
Library Of The Weeping Star
Library Of The Weeping Star © Surazeus 2022 01 11 The fraudulent flute that fractures my eyes returns from hollow classroom of the moon to teach my flapping arms the raven ways so when I walk in shadow of the dawn I may find princess of the broken jar mute in library of the weeping star. When Clementine falls in love with Pierrot she waits by red door of the theater to give him ripe orange on the silver tray forged from our broken hearts by Lucifer, but he rides away in black Limousine for candlelight dinner with Melusine. Gripping old photo of them by the lake, with words of his love he wrote with his blood, Clementine runs through forest of the snake to find his skeleton dancing in mud, but none would dare unmask haughty Pierrot who falls in love with indifferent Sappho. Searching for Guide Book to Garden of Hell, Clementine wanders maze of doorless homes where children draw heroes on temple wall while their parents play political games, competing for who gets to play the role composed by blind agents of Interpol. Though Lucifer tries to overthrow God through coup to abolish all monarchy, Jupiter outwits him with royal code to crush republican democracy, so we vote for president to play king when Grimgerde appears on stage to sing. Driving to work as banking analyst, while dressed in black skirt and white frilly blouse, Clementine brings gifts to library ghost who leads her to castle of Wenceslaus where Pierrot paints portrait of Onatah, Corn Maid who always rules America. When Clementine decides to love herself, forgetting her timeless love for Pierrot, her invisible tears conjure the elf who mocks every fool who plays the hero in social revolution of the mind that treasures divine spirit of the land. When Orpheus first sees Clementine smile at heart-breaking song he strums on the lyre, he stores data about her in the file while Melusine directs Elysian choir who sing riddles about evolving state how atoms define our chemical fate.
Because We Are Lights
Because We Are Lights © Surazeus 2022 01 11 Because I am fragile leaf of desire I will be blown into yard of your heart when you speak my name with wind of your breath so our bodies twine in tangles of love when we embrace sweet ecstasy of truth that we generate life from sparkling eyes. Whether looping roads of our separate lives provide random chances for us to meet in meadows, beaches, groves, or city streets, I look for your face in shadows of hope for dazzling beauty of your glowing soul blinds my eyes so I can see no one else. My heart beats faster when I see your eyes, so I run quick as horse along bright streams or higher than eagle over slow clouds so I can hold you in my arms again and walk by your side in sync with your steps so where we are becomes our paradise. Though death stalks our souls everywhere we go, hungry animals or forces of nature as monsters lurking in cities or fields, we stick together on the road of life to keep each other safe from violent harm so united we thrive in paradise. When you disappear from scope of my eyes so I cannot see if you are alive, my heart beats wilder than wings of the crow when I fly through shadows of aching fear till I find you plucking apples from trees, so I embrace you and caress your face. Though nature is indifferent to our love, caring not whether we will live or die, we are the only ones alive with hope, motivated by our passionate urge to transcend terrible horror of death by generating children from our minds. We know death will crush our bodies to dust but, while we wake alive with beating hearts together in dim shadows of the world, we will hold hands and walk the road of life to savor terrible beauty of love that surges through our bodies when we kiss. Blown by indifferent winds of careless fate, we hold each other in terrible storms and give each other fruit we find in Hell, for we make Heaven with each loving word we speak to guide each other in the dark because we are lights to the ones we love.
Monday, January 10, 2022
Only Butterflies Understand
Only Butterflies Understand © Surazeus 2022 01 10 When I pick the stones from the grains of wheat, awake with joy as wind in leaves of trees, I hear loud thoughts of piston engines purr though children vanish from the city streets, since only butterflies understand why I fall wingless into void of my eye. When Bearded Prophet from the desert cave wanders busy avenue between stores, wondering if he should marry Femme Fatale or Manic Pixie Dream Girl in the church, he pauses by the cracked telephone booth, still reluctant to become Superman. Even when Dracula shoots sad Pierrot with pistol of jealousy in his heart, the moon-faced clown with tattoo of one tear smiles with pure joy to see the children laugh as blood dribbles between his trembling lips in bitter loneliness of the glass moon. Yet Deathless Mother on the ocean beach conjures vicious destructive thunderstorm from howling abyss of her monstrous heart to smash giant oil rigs with haughty waves that send it tumbling to the sunless deep because I love weird beauty of her soul. Howling across the wild Atlantic waste, the cruel storm-god with lightning in his eyes smashes thousands of houses with fierce gales which crumble into smoking ruins of faith, and litters parking lots with mangled corpses of people once alive with vibrant hope. Among thousands of masks from lifeless souls, scattered on streets where cars rust in hot rain, I find the tragic face of Jupiter that fell to Earth when his soul was struck mute, so I wear it as my convenient face when I fish for dragons in Caspian Sea. When the crippled vampire of Gothamar loses the election for president, Lucifer leads lost refugees of war to live in empty stores of shopping malls where ghosts of preachers with blood-thirsty eyes sell tickets to Heaven to fearful fools. Though I am only eight million years old, I know secret names of horses they hide in clockwork orange of my conceptual heart, so I paint murals of ancestral gods on brick walls of abandoned factories for children I raise with my Femme Fatale.
Sunday, January 9, 2022
Inspired By Word Ghosts
Inspired By Word Ghosts © Surazeus 2022 01 09 Though shy Apollo lingers in sad rain while carving Beauty from white marble block, Medusa slithers from lake of hot muck, pregnant with shining spirit of his brain, to meditate in cave of mushroom ghosts about mankind driven by mental lusts. Entranced by flashing mystery of her eyes, Apollo chases Daphne in dark woods, but when she hides in tree of naked skies he embraces Medusa on grass beds to fill her hollow heart with writhing ghosts who follow his command as Lord of Hosts. Submerged in sloshing lake of her deep womb, Apollo struggles to escape her arms though stuck in vibrant swirling of her charms, so he stacks dragon skulls to build her tomb where she suckles their child, haunted by ghosts who dance drunk around lithe serpentine posts. Stark arrogance of nature surging thick expresses passion to generate souls through bodies writhing at the psychic trick which rules effective cause of social roles we choose to perform, inspired by word ghosts who emanate from hearts of archivists. When fierce Apollo wakes from lusting trance, shocked by electric kiss of piercing faith, he weaves bold name to embody dream wraith in rancid body born from random chance that programs world view accounting for ghosts who return from Heaven as agonists. Warm arms embracing torso of taut thew with potent vigor of productive hope, Medusa holds Apollo as sweet shrew, eager to teach their children how to cope with violence of indifferent forest ghosts reborn to work in banks as analysts. While wrestling serpent of his monstrous ache to penetrate heart of darkness she beams, Apollo lays Medusa by dark streams till their bodies pulse with orgasmic quake so brain bang fills her moist void with ghosts who populate lush vales of rugged coasts. Emerging from cold waters of Star Pond, Apollo names objects his eyes perceive as clear ideas only words can bind their hearts at hour Medusa will conceive, so we live and die on Earth as light ghosts in world myths composed by evangelists.
Saturday, January 8, 2022
Heal The Psychic Scar
Heal The Psychic Scar © Surazeus 2022 01 08 Reluctant sorrow of the bleeding moon reborn from black hole of the mortal mind reveals bold confidence of the blind clown who manipulates facts with sleight of hand designed to encode truth with social lies that radiates fractals to deceive our eyes. I sit with Grief in heat of weeping trees while books with photos of people I love crumble to ashes in my grasping hands though violet ache of transcendent seas showers my body with rain from clouds above through wracking charm of arrogant despair. The olive tree outside window of fear explodes white blossoms of selfish desire to prove the faceless ghost in open door calculates how to heal the psychic scar when I search for dream books in vast bazaar about the Lost Princess of Zathamar. On ruins of your empire I will build new nation of Zarathia who knows all romantic tales born in Buchenwald guide lovers to transcend orgasmic phase on quest to generate immortal soul in wingless angel who dreams the White Whole. Alone in Underworld of laughing skulls, Orpheus sings heart-breaking hymn of hope for ghost of absence haunting doorless halls since even wise men will believe the hype that civilized man, caught in stormy rains, can tame demonic spirit of our brains. The Japanese girl in short white-lace skirt, with face perfect as statue of Kore, who skates on fragile ice of global peace, drinks mocha with Orpheus in cafe to study prophecies on psychic chart drawn by Medea on the Golden Fleece. Though Jason never finds the Promised Land, since he abandoned on Island of Fools the Manic Pixie Dream Girl of the mind, he finds job building engines with thought tools to zoom around Earth in time-machine car in vain search for the road to Zathamar. Grief never sits with me by Lake of Dreams though I work as financial analyst in the bank tower, charging tax for streams where fairies singing in the timeless mist watch our tragic tales in star-gleaming jewels evolve in psychic waves of molecules.
Backward On The Road Of Life
Backward On The Road Of Life © Surazeus 2022 01 08 The dead walk backward on the road of life so we hide their faces in photographs to confuse their ghosts that haunt our routines with absence of their voices that explain what never happens in the wordless books which always fly away on broken wings. Ten thousand faces my ancestors wear appear as floating masks in mists of time when I walk through vast maze of city streets disguised as Cronus with raven-wing cape to chat with their skulls in church of dead gods and laugh at stark absurdity of death. While I play sad heart-breaking melodies with flute I carved from ancient dragon bone Lost Princess who loves everyone with joy joins me in grove of apple trees at dawn as spirit of the lake who gives me light with apple that awakens me from death. Across Zarathia, land of apple trees, I lead long wagon train of refugees who seek the Promised Land of fairy tales to build new paradise in the waste land but build another city by the lake where rich landowners control working poor. The Money Vampire in grey business suit traps the Lost Princess in marriage of hope who breeds new generation of fierce gods to fight crusade against the Queen of Death who gives me mask of Orpheus to wear so I stand on the street and play guitar. The tragic comedy of our sweet love still motivates our journey beyond death which generates life in children we love who bury our brains under apple trees so we can wake again as sparkling fruit that nurtures bodies of descendant souls. Returning from chthonian cave of dreams ten thousand years after my body died, I find the Garden of Eden now paved with asphalt as parking lot of the mall where citizens in land of liberty buy clothes sewn by slaves in dark factories. Instead of breaking chains of my free will through self-control of liberty in law I weave despair of death in angel wings to fly with Icarus above the world, hoping to transcend energy of nature, though I walk backward on the road of life.
Friday, January 7, 2022
Timeless Well Of Love
Timeless Well Of Love © Surazeus 2022 01 07 Though revelations dwell in panic state I will unlearn the names of all Wise Men so I can set dead stars above to flame where shadows fall from strange eternal eye that breeds cold gloom from flash of agony because I sing while candles hide lost tales. Familiar melody of grateful rain preserved in grapes that hang from tangled vines inspires grim silence of my aching hope when I remember shocking gift of life that burns too deep inside my hollow heart for me to hear lost tales in candle glow. If brutal softness of harsh arctic winds reveals warm depth my heart will seek in fear I may not pray for miracles of faith while standing steady against mocking blast when blizzard of words erase stars of truth too dimly lit by candles of my eyes. The land disdains to care about my hope for though I dwell firm on its curving shores my soul will never belong to its dream yet I dig hands in thick soil wet with rain to plant seeds of desire in tomb of rage so Tree of Life may grow from my foul heart. My eyes imagine beauty of this land so I tremble to caress flowing light through accurate grace of subtle desire that paints sweet vision of this teeming world on fractured walls of empty churches where blind ghosts draw maps of this strange land we love. Fraught scenes of strange behavior blind my eyes when I recall sad memories of mute rage from people fighting for their right to live free from control of people with sharp blades though we rebel against strict social rules designed to constrain passionate desire. Still locked in prison in the arctic waste, I breathe contemptuous winds of freezing fear that spark my heart to revolt against hate when I kneel in grass of Elysium to caress petals of the eglantine and dream about the woman I still love. Engaged in state of panic by the lake where eyeless demons lurk in murky flow, I tremble to caress eternal light that paralyzes my expanding heart, then sing transcendent beauty of this life in song that springs from timeless well of love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)