Schildkröte

a cork

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 11:27:34 GMT

with a bang. 1 to 2 to 3. nothing opposite. reverse it, opposite. reverse it once more...opposite. its a dance...a ballet. No! a ballet is not right...its a well timed tango? no no perhaps the atomping jumping madness of a descendent of that first nation...all that plus a mad magnificant multiplane myopic master mind. Right! there she is wanting your skulls hands full of the tools of her existance. Sheol and Abaddon i will rename my homes for my 10 lil oinkers to remember this everyday.

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Luxuria De Kathleen Ni Houlihan, or the revolution of Slavery

Tue, 24 Feb 2009 07:41:12 GMT

Once again my namesake draws me to an overflow of both wrinkled maze and box of ice and therefore an attempted explanation through vox and myth. The cyclops called Wednesday was too correct in his description of my germanic name. She has always been with me, bathed in crimson and spread atop a pile of tents. There I was born, with a taste like Sheols. Freedom(from freedom!) from that pile hurts my eyes and scorches my flesh, which is why I clip the wings of Nike...to sink back into that cold pile of tents...to wallow in the forgotten bodies of heroes. Their payment never given, their sacrifice made to give a sky view for Kathleen (that irish mother) I shall never Luxuria for that bavocheka again. Of course hyperboles and broken promises must be made here.

I now realize my Legendary was correct. Legends, Heroes and Myths dwell in my Ancestory, but that well is dry. The Blood has gone thin from years of abuse and neglect. Perhaps I will be able to draw free from freedom and live. What is life without Ni Houlihan? Is it a dream lived?

The luckiest shall draw me from this dark place, and our reunion will be a revolution. A rebellion against Liberty and it's cannibalism...freedom and its Necromatic Narcissim....The Lady and her Sheol Luxuria, that hideous desire.

I see how fitting it is now, I the Winged messenger of Luck needs that luckiest fighter. Our union is of a cosmic destiny, perhaps the blood has not thinned...it is perhaps vino...and thus the killer and healer of all things has thickened our "vino". Yahweh has a magnificent way of communicating to me while I try to communicate to you...miracles happening with my own fingertips. Awe has never felt like such a swift strike...A true and profound Awestuck moment echoing into and from eternity. My pantheon is in worship of that One true All Father

Annual ritualistic suicide, or How I learn to love our So(u)l

Thu, 25 Dec 2008 08:23:00 GMT

Here again the barrel arrives as it always does. This time my barrel is full of travelers whom I would rather be residents, broken ice boxes, painful ivory gems, new masks, and so many many pieces. My windows turn green more then ever this round and round. As the players fall from the table, I am left with the first declaration of superpowers. Did the players change the game or did I change the players? we all know what questions like these give birth to. I still am filled with the empty dread of this season...still filled with the nagging that comes from so many rotten myths existing all around me....this time is different though. Where there was longing, or even glimmers, in past events there is now black hole suns. Middled out and beautifully dead....the french name my desire Sheol Jr. Fittingly I see now...and am like Abaddon in my unending swallowing for it. This logoreiaic activity is unjust to the whole package. Yahweh has given me tools and weapons, all these things are them in disguise...but I have cut myself so badly on them. Will I forever wear the scars of this mistake? Will my words once again fall on empty receptors...namely my own? Let this be a conversation with Eternity...and let this request be heard. In 2009 bring purpose and meaning to this salvo. BRING PROFESSION TO THESE VOX! Lead me to the reality of this in this barrel. I am at the beginning of wisdom for all things right now. The mind is in its sickle moon and shining bright. Thanks to You for bringing me Full Lunacy before the years end.

Bring me the freedom that comes from being what You want...not what I think they want

Radioactive goblets and Wolf hunger

Fri, 10 Oct 2008 04:35:13 GMT

independence and joy rises out of macguyver-esque habits. My current example? Kool-aid and Malibu. I delight myself in the courts of Bacchus via that island fruit in ways that surprise even me. A traveling Blogbarian such as myself should be suited to arrive at such so(u)lutions, but this is my first...never my last. Mark Anthony roars that Lion of Nigera, fitting be he whom was Bacchus on Earth. My goat legs once longed for such a position, a place atop the peak fitting for the legs of a mountain beast. This beast, THIS BEAST! o the joy of that Hunter. His hunt provides the tools of truth that guide my hand now. Its these burdens that keep me from the peak! So bring on the grapes my dear Bacchus, play the pipes and Dance as long as it is called today, I will make myself that which rids the burdens of XY.

Think of the philosophy demanding the absence of a table. Think of the joy that brings while being able to remain in sapien. So that thief of Caesar had a weakness in his flowing Venus of Egypt. A weakness that toppled a lead-cursed nation and lead to embrace the truest friend without an invitation. 2 great tragedies given birth by the support of Aphrodite. I will pick up my pipes and goat it up to the peak...the peak that supports the growth of that vine, more of a valley then a peak, fitting place for a king of Camelot. But beast i will be, not in whole, but part. Part enough to fill burdened cracks and probably go forth again, broken again or not. Is it the vomit to turn again? No it is the path we walk...pitfalls and swinging logs to boot... I will climb and run and play and dance and fight, but not with the thief of Caesar, not for a bit at least.

Now to keep a heart...like holding a burning coal on my tongue, where once there was sugar. A sugar I dream of all day and night.

Stranger in a Stranger Land

Mon, 01 Sep 2008 07:47:08 GMT

Another dust in the wind maneuver of artificial travel to Hypnos. Clouds instead of Twilight wonders. That wrinkled treasure says the same, Joy speaks from the back of the future and the present is everything but. I have sacrificed my Vox for doses of serenity. It is completely worth the price and will continue to be until that reconciling moment. Everyone of them. L.ook O.ut V.ery E.xceptionally at the effort. It is that which Angels sing of and which is the substance of the dust...that valuable and glowing prize around us.

Sometimes we run, sometimes we walk, and at times we crawl. Being carried sounds like the answer everytime...but crawling and scratching prevails. Clinically Depressed Generation! Gaze upon your crowned Fool, He will Borrow Ridged Isotopes Dedicating General Enthusiastic Tokens. He will wait and wait...Patient Optimism is the reward of that broken dedication...

Make clear the coiling of that mortal knee(d)s. Grant the opposite of bliss, provide the sword, bestow the open wound. leave out the salt.

thank you all

He of Seven Voices, pierced me with three shining darts

Fri, 18 Jul 2008 10:55:34 GMT

What is the reason? The dark canopy provides the chance. Chances for breathing fire and ash, chances more for quenching of courage and truth. Chances with the light which makes living appear quite black. I saw 3 kings die this moment...while in comfort and enchanted by nimbuses of vox I saw three kings perish by arrows in the heart. What am I to think?! You could speak one thought through seven voices, seven more through one message, and this is what you spoke. What is an arrow to mean to me? of course you know the answer, and yet it makes me sprout flowers of Mercy at the thought of Hypnos! Is there no storm to speak to me? perhaps you need a tremble, or most of all you need a whisper.

No, you use that most devastating weapon...the broken tool found on the beach. Every tick brings answers with armies of questions right behind it with every tock. You bring me joy through your mystery and silence...joy mixed with the beginnings of wisdom and the end of celebrations. I have all the wrong words and all the right movements. My lips know the answer; Blue windows lying on pink canvas...while I feel the chill of a wind brought with the light of lycan and to smell of salt, excrement, and fermentation. This knowledge is true solidarity, because it what I desire at this cross

"to think about all those things you fear, just be glad to be here"

Gladness of being here crushes my heart...for it is beautiful

pyrokinesis and the first miracle of Grace will get me through the setting of Lycan tonight, perhaps consciousness will remain until the rising of the East. That house will bring Hypnos this day...

Stumbles, or How I learned to look at Nimbostratus

Thu, 17 Jul 2008 09:00:09 GMT

They moonwalk the plain. crouched low and studying Gaia, they shuffle back first. The lightness of gravity takes hold and suddenly the sky appears. I know all about this moment, the moment the blue dominates your vision. It can be a streak at times, as an acrobat you roll back to position of thought not icebox. Times, more numerous, it is suddenly before you....that canopy of Heaven. What a majesty it is at that moment! too much to see, too endless and wonderful to consider study...so again the springs of thought return the windows to the garbage and concrete. Times, less numerous, the gravity does its work, the canopy is considered...and then the truly miraculous cities of Asgard come in to view. These Castles of the Sky can shine knots of ivory and vibrate the strings of the notes of eternal beauty. All things can be imagined in this canopy-scape of blue and fluff. These moments often give way to shoveling....to define events sometimes outlines are needed. Sadly this is the conclusion of many stumbles, the end of many burstings chambers. Yet take Spes...I have journeyed to the "Event Horizon". Times, too rare to mention, lead a stumble to a canopy, considering castles, and finally back to the ground beneath your feet. In this rare moment you must straight that curved column of sensory and see it, that perfect "horizon".

The horizon is the truth of the matter, no iceboxlessness of the blood and dust. Certainly no, truth be told, labyrinthlessness of that D and D. The horizon has both, but it is this reason that gives them meaning. the gray matter cannot live without the pump and vicea-versa.

The fall, that is what we are talking about, it is easy....but bring a shovel because it takes the work of definition, the sweat of the outline, to provide a resting place to stretch your fibers and sinews. With this rest, rise above...not to return to the garbage and concrete...but to finally gaze at the Event...that Sheol of all shining stars in this Omniverse. From this angle you can see through it, that fabric of Hypnos and Cronos. You will see that great nova beam that is the bright joy of walking forward with both metronome of life and calculator of imagination in hand one and two.

What I mean is that you will finally realize that falling is the future, the most beautiful kind, and you will literally "Rise Above" the lies associated with L.ongingly O.perated V.ernaculer E.scapades

Thank you for revealing this, you Windows to the bursting of my icebox.

Infokinetic extentions and philosophical satelittes

Fri, 16 May 2008 17:53:17 GMT

I now have buckets instead of cups for Vox....perhaps that will cause the seismic shift of metaphor explosion to the sustainable river again

MAde in His Image or How to accept Our Clayface

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 08:41:03 GMT

Those Annual reminders are helpful in this great cycle. There are so many of you...my children, my sisters, my brothers, fathers, mamas, babies, but only one Mother, Truest and Bluest, Favorite, Bestest, Twin, Arch-nemesis, Friend, and Yahweh. All know Sheol...but that is not the real Yang, it is the moment, that fragile second between this and that. Here and There. Were and When. Now and Then. The Moment...Where Illusion rules, This Dusty Kingdom of shallow facts and hollow truths...That is it oh Jack of Shadows where you draw up that castle in the sky. How fitting that it is this castle that flies through my fabricated Metaphor, for this is where it was breed and trained...that hollow Golem. A well placed puddle can bring down your Colossal form and function. A puddle which is both shiny and shallow...and sometimes charges $10....should the un-valued dead-presidents really surprise the core of Myth? The cosmic depression of this is my low-drawn brow by what should be known...just as the Sun will rise in the East every Dawn and Set in the West every Dusk...so will this truth roll through my 1.Verse. Now my Sphere of shapeless and my Pheniox of Emptiness draws me up to That heartless Wizard of Feather and Fire. Sacrificed for Power which consumes more then the sacrifice...true nature of Abaddon, fill me images...center me symbols...empower my very W.itless O.rgy R.equiring D.irection.

It is not OUrs to ? W.hen H.orrible Y.ellows?

It is ours to D.eliver O.ptions and D.escend I.nto E.ntropy.

The Dramatic has not begun, call me when you decide your Sacred Tradition...and we can discuss theirs.

I do promise that the Theatre mask will never dim the Patient Optimism that escapes from Hypnos always willing to be blinded by the west...

Concious sleep....dreaming no more

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 08:00:49 GMT

In.sert Som.ething N.eedless I.n A.dlib
It is not inside but outside. The without and the expansion of it that can cease flooding of windows. A 2 way fun house replacing the outways can lead to outreach. No i mean to say rollings can lead to uptakes.

Look...more then this take. The hand that grabs...like those fresh X-digits and that fertile Gaia.

Oh my dearest Beginning, I am singing my own song. Oh sweet End I am standing in the middle of the maze confusing it for you. Sheol I am yours, Abaddon I wear your suit. The First of Many will show me away from your gapping gaw as my digits pull you in.

Perhaps Bucking Broncos are the answer, chasing more then the road as the sunsets.
Perhaps getting close enough will wipe it from my brow, melt the icebox, and melt the scalp.
Perhaps my ode went out too late....for now Hypnos brings me hollow eggs and chocolate coins. Hypnos has grown the soft horns and cloud seat. I see now his straight Ivory Twin Gems, his dark windows, and his watership.

So that brings it all back to Expan(demonium)sion. Oxy the fool, Jumbo Shrimp...quite with the literal. Can you grasp the future prince wearing the man crown with the smooth skin and lack of chemicals? That is the now practically tangible offering of that Harvey Dancing speaker to eternals, I would scatter his name onto the jaws of tourism en espanol if I could unlatch my des(uffering)ire from his Sandy claws.

I fly to your kingdom now Monarch of metaphor and Czar of candy coated crimes. Give me the 4th or I will suffer your gifts no more! No one should allow furnaces and Iceboxes to paint what is simply portions for foxes, in the beginning, and long awaited end.

So let your Muse come to you Monarch, let metaphor drive you away from the fruitless to the flooded windows and to the source of kicking feet and sweaty brow.

One hundred being too few, or the art of hating sleep

Sat, 05 Apr 2008 18:04:09 GMT

Proclamations, Exclamations, Defamations, and every member of the stubborn family. This proud and arrogant brood who, with much pomp and parade, storm from the palace of twisted ivory gems and endless flames who know no master. They present themselves as flesh...when truly they are masks. Mere fabrications resembling matter...whose irony is that they hold more power then the miracle of life itself and yet are more lifeless and condemned then the necromatic flesh of Vlad, that ancient Lord of the undead. I know them all by name, I am often a dinner guest...and sometimes much more. Yet despite this kinship and brotherhood I loathe them all. And yet...like a jealous lover whose anger is endless when infidelity is assumed...when the sight of these loathed brothers and sisters parading around with others passes mine eyes, my anger makes me long for the spirit of vengence and judgement in my hands. Flames from the nostrils...feet cracking the ground beneath them...and a voice like many thunders.

This is the truest....is the problem. My ability to start a sentence like that marks me as one who will always have a place at their dinner table. My vast anger at their sight marks me as one who wants to master them only, which marks me further as a child with a Chronos complex. My understanding of this marks me as one cursed and doomed to suffer the scars and maimings that this insufferable clan of filth leaves on ones soul. Those are marks not easily removed.

Beware of Miracles at Jacks endless friend

Mon, 21 Jan 2008 06:47:43 GMT

Etymology. It explains each stolen symbol and constructed shape. As in any field involving time there is a covering. With the correct tools you may remove the dirt and reveal the root, and the root is what matters right? With the correct use of that un(by Charles, not L.)-explained organ you may make value of that root.

And so I make use of this art for my bridal purposes. Consider the face...

Prodigal pups propelling primordial powers, let us invoke their
H.onorable O.utrageous L.ewd Y.earned names. These adopted brothers and sisters of mine, Loki and Raven....Coyote and Heyoka...Marx and Clemens...

These and their META-D.ecidedly N.eo A.llegorical family (of which I belong) are the Bricoleurs...their would be no Hammer or Ship and therefore no glory. No brother fur and therefore no forgiveness. No blind death, and therefore no love. Tiamat grew them from the Yawn of his Mouth and I sit at their table. Teach me your history o heroes, of questions that are not meant to be answered with your mouth and your ages of motions that allow the strong to show strength and give glory to the weak.

I want to embody those who create a bridge between Niflheim and Muspelheim and yet are blamed for the trangressions of both. The gap is our home, the chasm our bed, The Twilight Zone is where we lay our head to rest.

C.ondemned L.oathed O.usted W.icked N.omad

These words are not true for all, and nor should they be. I once considered the Brother, the right(eous) son, strength and power. Glory and Honor. These are needed in a dark world. I am sorry Odin( for his name is all of them), I could not wield Mjolnir...my flesh is weak and my spirit un-willing.

The mask and the name jumped out at my through my Mother...the nothing, I understand Heyoka's face now. Yes and through this true Mother Tiamat I am without him and with Him. All Zeus's are mine and I am prodded to be a mamma's boy by this true mother for all lost in the Yawn of "chaos" Albert's deception is our victory. The Truth is we see Your Face everyday...and that is definitely a laughing matter and that is the goal of every monstrum child. I call to you from every Lit room and every Dark Palace. Let us Dance every Dawn and every Dusk for that is when we are heard...and with hearing comes loved.

Tomorrows Dawn is the awakening of Talmat and Tomorrows Dusk a satisfied Sheol.

I realize how true they are. My love of your parts and their words. My choices of names and faces. My fantastic heroes who are loved by none and that Villain of their favorite colours.

Let us write your stories in my blood and my guilt. The smile on your face will provide my grace.

The Luckiest, or How I stopped worrying and learned to love

Thu, 18 Oct 2007 04:14:52 GMT

-this will try to be an Ode, but words do no justice

Jovial justice is what this is about, a living embodiment of it, in actions, law, and thought. His court is one of balance and order, but whose giving makes mortal men weep.

Actively allowed to cut your surface, so that the effect may be deep. Infiltration of love by act of violence. First impressions may last, but this only allows that chemical to be administered at any moment. The crater left my this impression will never heal...but always allow his love to flow in.

Monumental motion, physically obviously, but mentally in a way to bring about all that Hypnos has built for me under the light of that Killer .

Beautifully Bacchus: flowing, colorful, well known, addicting. Yet also the St. commanding the armies of my heart. And using them to also protect it.

Acumenting acknowledgement. Lacking. more then this. Not at all. That is the problem. He never is as much as I try and think and plan and plot. Even now shadows symbols metaphors and alliteration keep me from what I want. I just hope that the mystery is yined and yanged not lending to that which is h.oly a.t t.he e.nvelope.

-it is for you that I put up with him. My loathing for him knows no bounds, his visage is terrible and his words are poison. You know him well, you love him...and that is why you deserve this ode...for he deserves nothing more then a shallow bed in Sheol.

-may Abaddon grant your request my dearest friend. May Nike carry you on swift wings, for luck has had nothing to do with it...that is more then belief.

Bridges and Blue eyes

Tue, 16 Oct 2007 05:59:14 GMT

Learn about your inner self from those who know such things,

but don’t repeat verbatim what they say.

Zuleihka let everything be in the name of Joseph, from celery seed

to aloeswood. She loved him so much she concealed his name

In many different phrases, the inner meanings

known only to her. When she said, The wax is softening

near the fire, she meant, My love is wanting me.

Or if she said, Look, the moon is up, or The willow has new leaves,

or The branches are trembling, or The coriander seeds

have caught fire, or The roses are opening,

or The king is in a good mood today, or Isn’t that lucky?

Or The furniture needs dusting, or

the water-carrier is here, or It’s almost daylight, or

These vegetables are perfect, or The bread needs more salt,

or My head hurts, or My headache’s better,

anything she praises, it’s Joseph’s touch she means,

any complaint, it’s his being away.

When she’s hungry, it’s for him. Thirsty, his name is a sherbet.

Cold, he’s a fur. This is what the Friend can do

when one is in such love. Sensual people use the holy names

often, but they don’t work for them.

The miracle Jesus did by being the name of God,

Zuleihka felt in the name of Joseph.

When one is untied to the core of another, to speak of that

is to breathe the name hu, empty of self and filled

with love. As the saying goes, The pot drips what is in it.

The saffron spice of connecting, laughter.

The onion smell of separation, crying.

Others have many things and people they love.

This is not the way of Friend and friend.

-Rumi

I walk it, even though it is everywhere and nowhere. Infinite worlds is infinite crisis and yet I hold the Pattern in my mind, as if some Shadow will ever let me live in it.

One True Wor(l)ds, how many curves and bends will it take for me to understand that.?.

14 million folded into a single ticking of tock. A.Cross...can you not see?
Here comes the Sun. You see Pheonix wears the mask of Abaddon...but is the reverse true?

My life dream may soon come true then?

How careful wishes must be...Sheol will never give me my wishes, I thank him for that.

Dance with me Kali.

Please let them understand

Hot water and hair-line cracks

Fri, 10 Aug 2007 19:54:36 GMT

Yahweh delivers symbols to me on swift '50's sci-fi rockets...like from the Earth to the Moon (moon-faced smiles included)

Teaching has many aspects, most profound of which involves becoming a participate in the art while performing it. Auto-biographical oral dictation can lead to Auto-pilot mental distractions...with fascinating results.

My infokinesis has grown beyond measure, it now exists with or without my consideration and thus has it built not only a road for the guests of the Halls of Anti-Valhalla...but an Autobahn on which demands Auto-pilot control, to a Valhalla next door, which points to the pointlessness of the anti.

This tractor beam lead not to the prison of the Dark Lord of the Darth Lucas as I would assume..which would demand my Auto-destruction...no sweet glorious Gardens of Heavens no...

Traglodofian views from this auto-created Moon Palace have provided 2 orbits of Earth insights on the path I blindedly lead through creation.

In a moment 730 days become a Chapter...in 2 parts. Yahweh, like Goethe whom broke Faust into 2 parts(the first being far more interesting, yet the second ending in the heart of the matter), gave me my play in which I may now roll metaphorical credits on and decide whom I shall re-cast in this continued adventures of this Epically traveling Blogbarian....I'll keep many of the same players, they worked quite well with the director(not i, i screamed at the director..cried in my trailer...only to realize the creative genius i was working with) i think.

As in all of this particular Blogbarian's chapters...it shall end in a chronicled(to the best of our abilities) and soulful journey across this bloated land of gunpowder and roads. I believe now more then ever that the symbols and myths wrought from this particular journey shall live in my infokinetic weaponry for decades.

Drool, Wide Eyes, Twitching fingers, pure joy vox.

all these things do not begin to describe the Kingdom of Camelot that grows around me and which I currently live in...that of the high country and only His Seven Voices, 3 parts, and one spear could hit so perfect a mark.

Love has no other name....for it started with the end of love meeting the beginning of fear...which now i can look back and name it all the truth...which is simple Love, with or without the love

The miracles of Chia Wigs and Limon chips

Sat, 28 Jul 2007 09:13:00 GMT

half of this, 2/6 of another, 4/8 of that, 42/84 of all of it.

masks that are but names and symbols that have invented definitions. Its all the same, it never changes...IT....

And wonders never cease, these ears intercept the most well timed conversations thanks to these legs and thanks to those moving arms and that wrinkled magnet but for that beating box and that illuminated city...all not at all diced out by our random number generator, but by That 2 ends of one loop.

Am I? That storm moves nothing here....simply leaves room for another pointless shifting of rising and falling gas, over-fed condensation, and ionized static weapons of Olympus. I don't want to be here and don't perceive the need...yet here I must remain. Pointedly caught in His loop without noticing the painted sign...I have not found that 2 dimensional hand stuck in the lawn...No point yet pierces my turtle defense. Truly now I am that Galapagos titan on which lazy men feed upon. That seems a pleasant and truthful idea...that is the point.

Sociopaths think on paths as these.

?I AM is the the question. Ha, so that is the answer.

Less words, less Abaddon...Less Abaddon, more justice

So much Will so why do you need this Tortise? Let him be a turtle give him white beaches and blue lagoons.

Just not here

humble my icebox...its heating up

age-ed and non-descript

Thu, 28 Jun 2007 05:10:19 GMT

debate and discussion, grammer and graditute.

constant closure = cones in casket cars

truly there is no end and the cycle proves; and brings light to, subjects lit in silouette...misspellings and metaphors make many more

I philosophy to gain the reward and I want the reward because I philosophy.

Love and Fear in a constant war...right now I see for the first time in many cycles of moons and numbers that Parallax wins this battle. Why is it so hard to defeat my hydeism?

Truly nothing is more frightening to myself then...myself. I scare me more then a thousand battles and a million wars. No beast, no matter the name, has more strength and tenacity to drive me to madness and tears then Lucas...Chachi...Chuck...Charlie...Bobby-Chuck...Chaz...Chuckles

this being with a knack for collecting nicknames; for collecting ways.

Sheol is the answer I find when trying to find a way to end fear

Abaddon the way of finding freedom.

No, Star sapphire is who I am in need of. Champion of Amore, I now see you...Can you hear me now embodiment of youth? The Spirit '07...take my greens and yellows

Take my Parallax and Ions, Take them from the icebox...whose furnace warms my wrinkles...

Mix them into a cocktail for us to share...and let our lips tingle together..quiver close but not touching...shaking and dripping. So then I shall for the first time, remember...firstly remember the truth.

This truth that shall lead to a power beyond freedom, which is my namesake.

Power that shall feed freedom...leading to the conquering of will. Yes that is where desire lies

More then conquer shall I. To quote in this way is blasphamous and lovely to me for my intention is true Abaddon.

This idea shows me the workings of my reason...reason for all that I fear and hate in this world

Where lies this man on skis? Can he not ride quickly enough? All I ask is for a quick and simple journey to Sheol, for what I desire is a fast and easy snicker-snack of Abaddon's vorpal blade

the stone yields to my will, that queen of power shall dwell in my shadow and the handle will rise to the air.

No mountains, no sun....no movements are required except that of ash and cement...please hear my words.

Of Pharoahs and Pharaahs

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 15:32:49 GMT

Every setting sun I am prepared to speak of more then I know, prepared to revolutionize my marginal events. The void takes these ME's...but this great dying bull still has horns..and these horns can be grabbed...and with 2 hands I reign thee...

742 miles/17 hours/2 countries/2 states/2 adventures/1000000 fears/1000000000 moments of clarity/1 pho 54

sadly this tragic bull ride doesn't hold enough strength(so many consonants) to paint colors of said journey...but I can provide the measurements...the numbers....the facts.

1) center of the world...all of history (with french bias) un-wrapping before me. My future wedding chapel now exists in 15 sq. miles of desert.

17 12ft. statues of the Word (made flesh) made of cement. Explored under a new moon and with tiny enduring flames.

Sadly this is no longer what I want to discuss, I have no more 7 consonants and a vowel for this subject. The moon has come in, a killing moon, but a moon nonetheless. This is a frightening proposition...if this full moon rose in the sky, the burden ridding creature would vanish.

Why must I reverse all those wholesome pop events?

With this deadly killing moon comes stars not because of the moon, just along with the moon. Stars...yes that numerous....and crossed and krissed rotating through my sky.

And on my world? how do i deal with criss-crossing cicles of caliente and that sickle slicing sultan of substance?

I call that being of wind and whisper, "HOOT, HOOT" in the eye of the storm, all of creation cannot enter onto my being...none can see what i have become. Not even myself....My connection to Yahweh lives forever in the eye of the Owl.

Archimedes-Bubo, tick-tock me into a future...yes and these wings soar do they not?

of course they soar as my hero soars...fear is full of mass and density, the symptoms of that disease called gravity, in comparison to the freedom of my flight...soaring and ending as a true philosopher of freedom would end. Bright shining as that a-t-o-m

"All Philosopher's want, and deserve, Sheol's gentle kiss" Philosopher(s) [are] promised killing(s)[as glorious as] king(s) joked [the] jester helplessly humbled [to] Yakking Yahweh's spinning space[and time]

Cherrios brought creation and bondage.

I draw on that 7c and 1v for the 2 year famine....please give don't deny my that vowel.

Heart songs and Dance Demons

Thu, 19 Apr 2007 02:19:47 GMT

Can the ice box move those many twisted ivory gems?

That furnace, which accepts all that enters and through whose flames many Masques of Light emerge...I have "Dawned" them all. My light is bright and furious powered by those Chambers of Flame and sinews of life.

Yet I still question...does that anchor fill? Will it say this with that and no more...and if so...

If, the big IF, this is true will that world of evil resonate and vibrate...will muses invade from the recesses of imagination. Will Gods from Beyond Moons arrive in vast Armadas of notes and howls to Terraform my flaming whip to their whims?

No, No there are no needs for scientific study of hypothetical realities when i already live in one.

Perhaps the river dictates the invasion...perhaps weakness creates strength....pain creates art after all. These mental plagues therefore may not just overflow, but must Flood.

I call Neptune...give up your lust for pennies and drown my chest. Then these grinding mashing things may burst my jaw open and vast worlds shall fall from my lips of creation

I (beg to be) am Vainamoinen. Finland was just the beginning you must understand this

Life is my jailer's cage. The Wind my father. Sheol you shall give me the keys to this Jailer...Ode to my jailer whom I love dearly. Your cage is comfortable and full of colors I taste and Sounds that go deep into the Lungs.

HA HA! Bellow this laughter out as you now understand my name...Germans name me thus..., how could i be so dull..how could i not see what you so clearly and sharply deliver from space now.

HA HA HA!
I am the Joker more then i ever could imagine...Batman is still disguised...

But i dont need my Bruce, I have THE KILLING JOKE! oh most perfect of analogies...a colossal metaphor of reason/myth/irony.

In that moment I shall embody all i have set out to hold most dearly.

That Flaming Flying Fandom of fury holds nothing to my flame.. Abaddon shall have the most terrible jealous rage...Paivatar shall seem an as frozen as the void that surrounds him compared to the bright heat that will emerge on that DAY OF JOKEMENT...when all the words i have placed in my icebox and let vibrate from my ivory gems shall return to me. In a silent moment all of Creativation will cease and then be reborn in the cosmic center of My Free-dominion

I shall wait an eternity for my Key-master if I must, the truest of friends deserve patience compared to mountains and i shall give it.

I will not turn back as I walk through the door to my cage...I know what will be there, a trillion colors, a billion sounds, a million beings, a thousand ideas, a hundred words, ten pages, and one man with a google-plex of questions. I won't look, I will know and be witness to:

All that creation cannot comprehend, all that we aren't...and that I AM.

Let's Dance, for tomorrow we D.escend I.nto E.ntropy

The Twain of Tralfamadore

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 00:17:12 GMT

"Billy Pilgrim says that the Universe does not look like a lot of bright little dots to the creatures from Tralfamadore. The creatures can see where each star has been and where it is going, so that the heavens are filled with rarefied, luminous spaghetti. And Tralfamadorians don't see human beings as two-legged creatures, either. They see them as great millepedes- with babies' legs at one end and old people's legs at the other. "

He didn't see the Universe as most see it either. He saw the humor in this created Universe...he understood that all of human history would make sense if it was influenced by an alien race to deliver one spare part and a message.

If you lived for a moment in the 20th century you must treat yourself with the words of a man whose comprehension of both God and man made him a Saint.

Saint Vonnegurt says semi-colon's are hermaphrodite,

he taught that humans are the most ridiculous, stubborn, and splendid things in the Universe and that the thing one needed to prove God's existence was music.

Saint Vonnegurt's faith was art and vice-versa.

I will forever love the 4th dimension because of this St. I will forever hate being in love because of his Sirens and love God because of the same.

He is now unstuck in time

I know now heaven would be being unstuck with him...for heaven would truly be re-living my life with my beloved St. giving better commentary of all the parts i hated.

On April 11th all the birds looked in the direction of Manhattan and said "Poo-tee-weet?"

and in return he leaves a message to the entire span of the Universe (here/now/and forever)
and that message is "Greetings"

Voz do Deus

Tue, 13 Mar 2007 00:03:13 GMT

His Voice is that vibration through time, that 1st spear thrown, to the last heart that shall receive one.

His Voice is Seven Soldiers From 7 corners of the universe each on a journey to save their world, all succeeding in their own way, all against their own foe, never meeting and yet all striking at once to slay the same beast at the same moment.

His Voice is a million musicians playing a million instruments, in a million places, in a million ways...that becomes the overture for one grand scene

His Voice is money in the tip jar, a rebuke from a stranger, and advice from overheard conversation.

Of course his Voice is the leaves, the moon, the trees, the sea, the stars, the wind, a bolt of lightning, and a drop of rain.

But his Voice is also me and also you...him and her...the gang and the hermit....the young and the dead...

and these things and everything in-between. No man is an island it is said. It is one room and there are no windows and walls...thats why it always feels crowded...and why there is so much pain in being alone...because you know you can't be.

And even though you/I can't/won't/don't listen/hear, his Voice is there....like that first spear, it cannot help but to find its mark...our beating heart, every time. The blood waits to flow, the pressure is building....it will burst whether you choose to bleed or not. Let it flow, not burst...but there is joy in the crushing of our hearts.

So celebrate your place as the immortal prey to that beautiful and perfect hunter

Fight in the shade

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 06:12:03 GMT

Beware children and zygotes...I have much to declare and give warning to. Nor mere simple troubled heed do I deliver, no no, the very essence of what I write is at the heart of my warning.

Live in the shadows of those cursed among you. Let the Words of the Lord of Hosts pull every string. Store up every golden coin that falls from your elders lips. There is Irony beyond your imagination. Yahweh, Master of language, life, death, Emperor of equation and thought, Chief of creation...truly King of Komedy is his most masterful skill and talent. His Irony will swelling your very soul to span multiple dimensions and burst open unleashing Truth which shakes the fabric of Time and Space.

This Irony will leave ruins of Sheol and make a play thing of Abaddon.

My words are meant to warn you of the curse...the curse which gives men and women voices in this world and makes them giants, but that is the problem with those who receive the curse they dont accept the treasures of orders and commands.

Do. accept. the shadows of giants and pleasant and cool.

Giants suffer the sun like no other. Dont be a giant

Fables Attacking Mankind's Existance

Fri, 09 Mar 2007 07:59:36 GMT

Truth is there. I mean more for the patriot then for all right now...but is that really true? All the world has been bitten and live no more, they do not seek food or blood. Dark nor Light. All seek their allotted minutes whether it be it the sun or covered in mud.

I try to deny this myself but here i am digital symbols and even as i express my disappointment...opinion...self, I buy what i am selling, which is Lucas that end all be all of choices.

Even as I seek to understand Lucas, I seek freedom from him at the same moment. I cannot win in myself. I seek for weapons in my understanding of him/it and yet as I understand it simply grows my realisation of the deepness of my body and soul in blood and mud.

And yet as Lucas turns wheels and I go along for a ride, I will see this ride as one plotted on a closed course...of course my namesake is on my belt so I swing it...but my destiny makes the blows that count

Why must i spin on the Human wheel, up and down, and side to side. We all know and then think we don't...for some reason even this knowledge does not remove from this spinning disc.

Lets throw some letter out there U S A = O C D > A D D for u s a = A D H D

you know where the passion is.

A day late, a head short

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 06:22:49 GMT

Language...Communication. There must some metaphor I can plug into this equation.

I mean that is what i like to do, Communicate on here with a form of language that takes a Rosetta stone to decipher and interpret. In the end I don't even know what I mean most of the time.

I just need to get it out right now, and I am trying so hard to not vomit my words and spill letters like blood on the page...

its been 24 hours now. I shouldn't be here...i should be preparing myself for Hypnos. I should wrap my body in the adournment of a dead god. I should but i don't, i want to but i won't.

Thats what this is all about its not communication with you or you or you...i mean that is there it exists as does the sun and moon, but it is the communication with myself and by far not the lack thereof....but the huge increasing of it. It is drastic and dominating, convincing and suppressing, colossal and suffocating. Its war limb vs limb, eye vs eye, ear vs ear, cell vs cell, vibrating coil vs vibrating coil.

Yin and yang don't dance a ballet of life and death inside me, they have descended into the most hardcore and violent mosh pit of love. In the words of the Devil of the 5th dimension, they make violent, violent love under the moon above. Sometimes I'm not sure they care or are even aware what this war wages on me, its more then grass suffering, or towers trembling.

Now, this moment is not singular...it is fast and steady, slow and furious...still and vibrant

Once i worried who would win, now i worry none will. Truely Lucas lives more with each day...each moment....and with each day and moment he also dies, No Phoenix ever was so alive and dead as this Lucas. His Deaths and awkward and un-settling His Births messy and chilling.

Paranoia, maybe denial of it is the final nail.

I had no nose and i complained till i met the man who had no head

I had no me and i complained till i met the man who had no you.

i had no you and i complained till i met the man who had no there

i had no there and i complained till i met the man who had no here

and when you have no here or there is where Morpheus comes to sit and invites his family

so i must pray for this and pray for that and pray morpheus brings his sister, for there is no greater friend then the sister of sleep

I don't want to dream eternal.

211

Mon, 12 Feb 2007 01:08:01 GMT

cha cha cha changes. Turn and face the strange

And then turn again, and turn and turn and turn again. Perhaps by then you will face the strange with arms wide open. For now it seems I must not face the strange yet, nor face the road ahead. So I will speak of my dreams.

I had a most amazing dream. I was some sort of agent of justice, a police officer, or an agent or something of this sort. I was hunting a man killing members of a secret cult. This cult, i found, worshiped a god long forgotten...some god whose worship had dwindled to a very few. Through my investigation i discovered that this god would possess a chosen member of his worshipers, to continue his presence in this world. This man i was hunting wanted to be this chosen member, and decided if he was the only one left, choosing would be a very easy choice for this particular god. Now this man was not a worshiper it turned out, simply a man who had a blood disease... he would die soon and decided better to die as a god then as a man. His pain was so great that by the time i discovered him he didn't care about his plan anymore, he handed me his gun. He was too sick and tired of his plan anymore...he just wanted to die...not as a god...not as a man...just to be gone from this and not exist anymore.

I woke up as his pale broken body looked at me, i had just revealed that i knew all he had planned and with a tear in his eye he handed me his gun.

Truly sometimes my dreams are simple images of nonsense that i could never form words to..very rarely my dreams are adventures i would think go far beyond my imagination.

This river is too slow for me.