Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
abolitionism
absenteeism
absolutism
abstractionism
absurdism
acad­emicism
academism
achromatism
acrotism
actinism
activism
adoptian­ism
adoptionism
adventurism
aeroembolism
aestheticism
ageism
agis­m
agnosticism
agrarianism
alarmism
albinism
alcoholism
aldosteron­ism
algorism
alienism
allelism
allelomorphism
allomorphism
alpini­sm
altruism
amateurism
amoralism
anabaptism
anabolism
anachronism­
analphabetism
anarchism
anecdotalism
aneurism
anglicism
animalis­m
animism
anisotropism
antagonism
anthropocentrism
anthropomorphi­sm
anthropopathism
antialcoholism
antiauthoritarianism
antiblacki­sm
anticapitalism
anticlericalism
anticolonialism
anticommerciali­sm
anticommunism
antielitism
antievolutionism
antifascism
antifem­inism
antiferromagnetism
antihumanism
antiliberalism
antimaterial­ism
antimilitarism
antinepotism
antinomianism
antiquarianism
anti­racism
antiradicalism
antirationalism
antirealism
antireductionis­m
antiritualism
antiromanticism
antiterrorism
aphorism
apocalypti­cism
apocalyptism
archaism
asceticism
assimilationism
association­ism
asterism
astigmatism
asynchronism
atavism
atheism
athleticism­
atomism
atonalism
atropism
atticism
autecism
authoritarianism
au­tism
autoecism
autoeroticism
autoerotism
automatism
automorphism
­baalism
baptism
barbarianism
barbarism
behaviorism
biblicism
bibl­iophilism
bicameralism
biculturalism
bidialectalism
bilateralism
­bilingualism
bimetallism
biologism
bioregionalism
bipartisanism
b­ipedalism
biracialism
blackguardism
bogyism
bohemianism
bolshevis­m
boosterism
bossism
botulism
bourbonism
boyarism
bromism
brutism­
bruxism
bureaucratism
cabalism
caciquism
cambism
cannibalism
cap­italism
careerism
casteism
catabolism
catastrophism
catechism
cav­alierism
centralism
centrism
ceremonialism
charism
charlatanism
c­hauvinism
chemism
chemotropism
chimaerism
chimerism
chrism
chroma­ticism
cicisbeism
cinchonism
civicism
civism
classicism
classism
­clericalism
clonism
cockneyism
collaborationism
collectivism
coll­oquialism
colonialism
colorism
commensalism
commercialism
communa­lism
communism
communitarianism
conceptualism
concretism
confessi­onalism
conformism
congregationalism
connubialism
conservatism
co­nstitutionalism
constructivism
consumerism
controversialism
conve­ntionalism
corporatism
corporativism
cosmism
cosmopolitanism
cosm­opolitism
countercriticism
counterculturalism
counterterrorism
cr­eationism
credentialism
cretinism
criticism
cronyism
cryptorchidi­sm
cryptorchism
cubism
cultism
cynicism
czarism
dadaism
dandyism
­defeatism
deism
demonism
denominationalism
despotism
determinism
­deviationism
diabolism
diamagnetism
Isms are every where
There is a dilemma that develops,
a problem that hits every day without fail,
it happens when I think too often,
for thought is the death of faith,
and faith is the bane of logic.

How can I reconcile my heart and mind?

If this,
then what?
If this is that,
and this is that,
then what is the origin?
If you're me,
then who am I?
What is the point,
if the point is the point,
then does it matter?

I believe that truth is relative.

Absolutism is absolute because of shared meaning,
and this meaning is only absolute because we perceive it to be this way,
and therefore there is no such thing as absolutism,
irony is not irony if we expect the opposite of what is expected.

The world may be absurd,
it may have no meaning,
but that is merely a matter of perspective.
Why do humans give?
Why do we help one another?
Do we do it to make ourselves feel better about life?
So what?
If it all has no meaning anyway,
why not give, take and accept?
Why not twist logic and play along?

Why do we search for happiness?
We search for it for the simple fact that it feels good,
and if happiness is our end goal,
then why not deceive ourselves?
Lie,
deceive,
and distract,
for truth told with malice is still a lie,
and so trod the path to happiness,
for it is paved with self delusion,
lie and choose to believe in something abstract,
for perhaps in the end,
if you tell enough lies,
you create your own truth,
and truthfully I'd rather be play the part of a fool,
than right and hopelessly miserable.
A.P. Beckstead (2014)
One4u2nv Jan 2012
Write on the bathroom wall this:  


Diligence is probably slaying rebellion

Dreaming comes out of an atomic bomb

Your girlfriends in a gang that’s lead by prostitutes  

Cavemen getting punched in the face by men  

Werewolves developing a crush on skinheads  

Soldiers experimenting with martyrs  

Your nextdoor neighbor pretending not to know a *****  

A gypsy writing love letters to a villain  

A guy you once dated driving away from a distant memory  

Your mother at a funeral with an executioner

Mind control freak making eye-contact in an elevator with a flight of birds  

Gleefully bulldozing gigantic flaming embalmers underground  

Ferociously inspiring detail-oriented museums in the dark  

Painfully sorting through stainless steel students backwards  

Electronically sorting monophonic apparitions in the shadows  

Faithfully inhaling Armenian scorpions at tea time  

Briskly hovering above loud controlled substances eaten by America and spat out  

    Dream about this next time you sleep:  

Quizzically exquisite keyholes inside a sunken ship  

Wearily alcoholic skeletons invading our love  

Sharing sternly precious lithographs with Charles Manson  

Adoringly high-pitched frescos out on the streets  

Wildly crunchy affairs with reckless abandoned hope  

Her boyish handymen is like Mona Lisa without her brows

Sensually cuddling big pistols  

The AntiChrist finds the cure for cancer in the local pet shop

Mary Magdalene can sometimes lead to your soul’s desire  

*** can (and often does) lead to motherhood  

Absolutism has never touched cooperation  

The Tao Te Ching manifested properly may ease the destructiveness of Christ  

******* is hindered by believing in motherhood  

Nature encourages rebirth and recycled courage  

Ashtanga Yoga is more important than victory  

An inspired mind isn’t always The Bible  

Energy must always conquer evolution  

*** is a decent alternative to nightmares wouldn’t you agree?  

Electricity is a manifestation of mercy and Tesla  

Pleasure feeds on Gandhi’s sweat ridden bald head  

Candidly breaking dormitories brimming with joy  

Barely used unstable translators outside the lines  

Enjoying calm lavish casino hotels with the electric eager manicurists of tomorrow  

A janitor burying a troop of apes while nature contributes to death and new yesterday’s  

The unknowable comes out of knowledge  

A ***** mind finds the cure for ignorance in patience and the aloha spirit

Education contains traces of drugs and alcohol and also combats drugs and alcohol  

Satan always enjoys Richard Dawkins.
RW Dennen Sep 2014
Upward I swirl
into the swirl of death shrills
Discontented about absolutism; the lies of war
Discontented about the perversions against nature; man's egomaniacal tendencies
Upward I spiral into the swirl of darkness
Gravity has no power to keep me bound
within myself
I let loose once again
I float towards another endless spiral of dark clouds,
these clouds spin expeditiously within its air-vortex
I see carnage,
I smell blood,
I witness the land of all misanthropes
Into the blackness as I spin,
my vision catches a chorale begging to be autonomous
in the state of sovereignty
The impetus in my desperate and saddened heart
I curse the gods
My tightened fist fails at at the darker darkness,
at this ominous swirling
I see no light ahead likened to the event horizon
on the outer rim of a black hole
My breath is being ****** out as the greed-succubus ***** out life
I see you in me, as we both are caught in this uninvited storm
Will we ever survive?
Will we ever survive?
So we must fight on!
Vernarth says: "Give me some milk, and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not a whole of which I never thought...!"

Wonthelimar from the Boedromion brought the arrows that Zefian brought, they brought the sleeping bodies of winter to the lap of the spring Boedromion, crossing the lines from spring to winter in the cycle that went directly to the Mercurial Ambrosia of the Cinnabar. Were they discreet detached arrows that he had thrown into the sky and did not return? but if in the rooms, and in the animalism stages that made the duty of rejoicing at the ****** of the Telesterion.  Wonthelimar being once more re-looted, before starting the works of the temple of the Megaron Áullos Kósmos, he returns to the cavern of Chauvet Wonthelimar. It distanced itself from the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree, originating in the arrows of Zefian, to mark the new cardinal points of the zenith, starting with the first two arrows that are placed in the bowstring, each one belonging to trajectories from north to south and the other two that were again violated with the arc of the stormy East, to launch the arrows from east-west with limits of southern magnetism. He carried in his belongings "The Iberian Rings", which would be the migration to the cardinals and points where the Megaron of Vernarth would be exactly, arguing that the phalanges of Zefian would be ordered in Syntropia and organic chaos in Patmos, Pythagorean proportions would be made, in essences of numbers that idly advanced in the temporal steps of Wonthelimar that mobile became of religious arrows and of the Mercurial Ambrosia of the Cinnabar, to help him with the most insightful points of the Constellation of Capricornus.  Zefian's tendency was one of evident delight after the bowstring being pulled, for phantasmagoric existence; presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for late courts imposed from a cosmos, which was directed by committing itself to its will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating to associate with hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychology of the dreaded in-between-tale alive that boils back in the arrows that had not yet fallen, and did not know their whereabouts. Like plates or serial hosts that were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the Duoverso contravened organic, vigorous and in anti-scorch to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in eonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities to vast volumes of light-years.

From the medrones that grow in the Nyons massifs, the Seven Ibic Rings were established.

Ibic 1: "The first was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and brought purity, for all who needed him and were visiting in the dark, and then he would find the light when he left the cave alive if he was accepted."
Ibic 2:” He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the priesthood center on his shelves with the Chiroptera, and in excess of the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Tsambika Cinnabar.  Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of Antiphon Benedicts”.
Ibic 3: "From the Eygues, the waters evaporated for healings of the tormented initiatory processes of raising the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron."
Ibic 4: “This ring was from the antlers of Wonthelimar, here they wore the oikos or threads of Gold from Orphi, for the Himation and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a complement to Mycenae- Aldaine ”.
Ibic 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's neurological and Duoversal hyper brain twinned to the Mashiach."
Ibic 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns of Kafersesuh, bringing the pollinations of the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the gloom of Hellenika and Theoskepasti."
Ibic 7: “It is the grave voice of the Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the hoarse voices, which inquire about the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will go up in synchrony through the final growth medron, up to the millimeter shoulder of the square meters assembly, which will illustrate the Megaron´s Acrotera  "

Ellipsis - Parapsychological Regression Marielle Quentinnais year of the Lord 1617

Wonthelimar was transmigrating to Chauvet, but the Pontias wind carried him from Nyons to Avignon, encountering filigree by Raymond Bragasse; a Former Dominican priest of Cathar descent. He always drenched himself in the estuaries of the Rhone, which came from the Saint Gotthard massif; being master and lord of dreams and of the breaking curses of the despicable administrators of the house of God, and of the Antipopes in Avignon.
Wonthelimar heard voices from some parapets babbling in the parapsychological regression of Vetnarth, on August 4, 1617, when Klauss Ritkke was found cleaning the main stained glass window; he heard heated dialogues between a Friar and a Gentleman, who was once an assistant to the clergy. Klauss could come closer and hear his conversation more clearly, until Friar Andrés, muttering, demanded indulgence from Raymond Bragasse, one or the other.

Raymond Bragasse Says: “My lord Wonthelimar; what grace has brought us together here in the middle of the Pontias, between hopes and reforms!”

Wonthelimar responds: "Your flight is a spell of the grace of André Panguiette, who will find us again. How many times with hope I fought to reform you Raymond... Oh Virga ac Diadema  sed Diabolus...!! Oh, ****** the devil smiled...!!

Raymond replies: “It is a major question to live if in something I have failed, take me to the sulfurous emanations of Hell. But my faith lies moldy at the bottom of the sea, a sacred myth of my truth..., and of my beloved Marielle...! There are fifteen thousand demons that possess my body... fifteen thousand demons for attacking the sacred mystery of the Holy Rosary...! Marielle was my light, my Edenic Eve, an admirable land. Now, she is my spell, my stubbornness or my constant sharp bleeding, without knowing where it has to pass...? I still remember that night, that gloomy night, renouncing my final vows of faith and the consecration of my soul. I broke my ties and ecclesiastical chores, all for Marielle, a noble descendant of the Quentinnais. I would never believe such regret in my destiny. I did love her, but her misfortune knew me. When I approached the edge of her house that night, I entered through the kitchen window. All were asleep, except for the albiceleste reflection of the last death throes of the deadly round of Quentinnais Mansion. I was thinking of rescuing her and saving something from those cheeks kissed by me, but her heart disease dried up his heart and her lungs. It is still possible to recall the last roses that I brought into her hands, they danced with her along with the hymn and the old dirge of the sleight of hand made by the monk, along with the cartomancy plays settling the minute of taking her into darkness, with her beautiful bare feet. What a pain, I could not rescue her from her, and death was dispossessing her! Her parents hated the mere fact of having her heart ruled by an impious priest, so I turned to the pagan and dark gods, to heal Marielle, and her heart to transplant it for mine. Since that day, I continue to burn in a polysatanic hell, to take out the little breath of goodness, and seize the transparent liquids that plague her existence and her serene metallic Diadem..."

Friar André Panguiette upon learning that his great friend possessed by the Devil would fall into some endemic evil infection...; Evil endemic to his love, he crossed himself when he saw that he became a horrible being. The jumbled leaves in the garden were transformed into Bible sheets torn from their bindings and fillings, the wrinkled ***** Saints slid down their columns, the sky proclaimed hemorrhages and the wind oozed foul gases, which in the firmament sprouted in clots of clots on the Papal House of Avignon. Fray Andrés, threw the rosary on the neck of the possessed person, and asked the Demons who were they most afraid of...? The demons answered this question, screaming and falling vertically down the central nave... they went down and flew!

Wonthelimar induces: “From that moment, you and Marielle would cross their gazes closely and love each other. In the following minutes of Pentecost, the two of them went alone to sit on the bench on the banks of the blessed wind that caressed their profiles, as if plotting to unite one with the other. Raymond effusively kissed her; he drew her to him, believing he sensed an eventual and sacrilegious separation from her. This is how it happened when François Quentinnais surprised them...:

François Quentinnais: With this example, you have provoked my anger Marielle...! Hundreds of men like me would react like this when they saw my daughter in the arms of whom until recently, she was hugging God!

Marielle: Father, I beg you for mercy, Raymond of precept sent a letter renouncing his vows!

When the soul of Marielle was entrusted, Raymond escaped seconds before shattered, he did not tolerate the nonexistence of Marielle; vegetating rotten grass of the estuary, emerald swallowed by fire. In a purely inorganic state, Raymond walked away from the mansion, walked through the leaden mountains, and on the cruise he walked through the walnut trees in whose scarlet pods the intense cold of the esplanade howled. The almond trees cracked a baritone muezzin, which one day he wanted to go there, but could never reach the east. His beard reddened, his nails were like ram's horns, and his also reddish hair at the ends of it had black tulips. His clothes turned gray just like his eyebrows, and his breath smelled of nurse sewers of the black plague, the dry flow of his voice announced monosyllables, thus he purged his pain from town to town, from house to house, everyone quarreled with him, and then they were exasperated by kicking him out. Until in June 1617, caravans of people started from the southern town of Avignon, escaping the flames of angry soldiers of the crusades. The fleeting townspeople carried on their banners the inscription... INRI. On the other side, they carried the cross and a colorful coat of arms that in the lower corner said Siccidemy. Then, there Raymond opened his bruised eyes, unable to contain the recovered memory of him, between gunshots, screams, sobs, and screams, the hundreds of steps that were heard around him, led him to tear and save his life. In an instant of stillness, he found himself surrounded by people until one of them took him into his arms to hydrate his mouth. We are Albigensian, and you... Who are you?

Raymond replied: “I fled in search of a miracle that could save a beloved being. I used to call myself Raymond, now I don't know what name to go by. I fled, but I had to face the situation, even having acted behind the back of the Church”. An Albigensian says: “The clergy have also believed that our sect has acted behind the back of the Church. However, his powers and his government have registered absolutism within Christendom”. Another Albigensian says; “We seek the establishment of ancient Christianity, we deny the existence of purgatory, the importance of rituals, clerical organizations and the possession of goods by the clergy. And for this reason, we have been expelled from our lands, from our homes, our children have paid for the Sacred Inquisition, in the hands of those who one day... baptized with blessed water”.

It was on June 18, 1617, the Albigensian fugitives were besieged in Montlimar. The Argentine crosses gleamed like dogs eager to bite the enemy. The open-minded Albigensians gathered together with Luzbel, who floated on a calypsigenic cloud. Raymond and the others piled up essences in the fuels to start the pact, after this event François Quentinnais answered negatively, and strongly took her daughter by her hand, pulling her sharply to the float. The horses slip their hooves before the sloping pastures carpeted by tiny Calypso flowers; the mayoral pressed his thin lips, also raising his shoulders, so as not to hear the despotic cries of Monsieur François. As for Reverend Raymond, he could be seen crying silently, accompanied by late halos of the luminosity of the final and sad day. Sorrows and regrets dislodged his bones that underwent violent arthrosis, populating his body in a sedentary lifestyle and irritation. I myself say Wonthelimar, I am the one who carries Marielle's love in me, I am your Raymond. Remember that night that...: "When the monk retired to pray, you stormed the bedroom, and uttered Marielle..., Marielle:," wake up, in vain I fear to leave without your divine voice. Marielle, what do you have...? I don't think your father's impure will blind your eyes to not see me, or he ripped your sweet voice to not name me...? ".

The Albigenses resigned to the spell, their adherents had largely been reduced, only ten or twelve remained. That later they fled from Montelimar escaping to the west, crossing the enchanted Rhone. The Siccidemy troops mutilated the last demonized Albigensians; nothing would help for their lives, everyone would bleed except the group that fled with Raymond. For several days they wandered the Cevennes plateau, provisioned themselves in Montpellier, and arrived in Carcassonne on July 20, 1617. Little could they remain here, since the congregation of Santo Domingo, without distinction, attacked the population decimated by the crusaders? What a regrettable exodus for Raymond with his black flock fleeing from where his feet laid hope! Twenty-two days of bitter flight, and everywhere the crosses, until Raymond decides to separate and go back to Avignon. He takes a  sailboat off the shores of Narbonne in the middle of a stormy gray day, in his bitter journey he dreams of being born again and having Bethlehem as a lineage, on July 23 of the same year, he lands in the waters of Marseille. When he was discharged from the port, he undertook a light journey to Avignon, near Arles, thousands of fellow citizens started from the hosts of King Godfred of Bouillon, the nobles cooperated by revealing the mobs that gathered in the city, the Hussites, and the Waldensians; Iconoclast heretics, fighting fierce battles. The crusaders took the offensive and tried to prevent them from burning their sacred images, which had already been torn to pieces throughout Gaul. Raymond, distant, helped the most serious, he was afraid of being confused by one of them, it was better to hide in the Cathedral of Arles. Upon entering, he felt a dizzy ***** that shone timidly in the hands of his performer... it was a little girl who, when looking at him, named him Dionysus..., demi-god, save us! Raymond fell into a daze, and falling into a dream that told him of barbaric actions, with masked fellow citizens lying neutral in their gestures, and suddenly angels revealed to him that they were looting the pantheons of Avignon, to burn the rosaries of the saints. Bereaved in their graves, some Albigenses exhumed the bodies of relatives related to the Clergy.

Raymond was sweating his hands and forehead, he struggled to get to the Quentinnais mausoleum, straining his precognition, he crossed the interdepartmental courtyard, he continued to haunt the packed pyramidal cypress trees and suddenly a lion-faced him dealing with a snake; with the symbolic image of the Quentinnais. He saw the slab desecrated, on whose horizon his Beloved Marielle slept. His skin prickled... it was the Iconoclasts avenging their own, with strong breaths he squeezed his hand, wanting to wake up... so it happened, he got up pushing the crowds that were holding him back, but his strength was growing. He rode a roan steed, in three bridles that he gave him he flew towards Avignon; his mount seemed to be a hot air balloon that flew with great dynamism. Raymond in his own painful station would moan his hand, his eyes; his legs creaked like the legs of the Pegasus that carried him fast.

Ellipsis Second Sequence Mausoleum Quentinnais

Finally, he arrives in the second parapsychological sequence, noting that Avignon was in ashes, takes the reins and immediately goes to the Quentinnais mausoleum, upon arrival, he appreciates several Albigenses committing crimes, dismounts, and runs screaming towards the defilers; he faced them with stakes, some demonized had to cut their throats, arriving in time to defend the remains of Marielle. For long hours he was with her alone, thinking about what to do, Raymond knew that he could not revive her, so he had no more redress than to invoke Luzbel, who this time revealed her true and evil personality as ruler of the evil spirits.

Raymond: Dear Luzbel, millions of Canaanites looked up at the altitude representing you; today I will do the same from here and beyond the solid roof of the mausoleum! Bring Marielle to life, come and twist her cheeks, since without her! I have had to live all this to protect myself from suffering. Since Pentecost, he hadn't been physically close to her. Now I need her... well, I lynched her...! Beelzebub making him believe that she was Luzbel, ordered him to extract her heart!

Beelzebub: “In Montlimar, I saw volcano crests arrive in such failure of my envoys. But it will not be repeated, and for it to be so, I entrust you to take out the heart of your beloved and tear the eyes from her that saw your gaze. Then open your chest with this dagger, I will draw your blood and heart, to moisten the heart of your Marielle. And finally, I ask you to bring a lip to me to enchant her lips in lilies. "

Raymond: “opinion accepted... that's the way I'll do it!
Being dominated by the spell, Raymond abided by every step dictated by the supposed that Luzbel lived difficult moments since he was a good day, but so many thousands of years of living in darkness, and in the midst of punishment that violently changed his mind. Justo Raymond carried the body in his arms so that the ritual would culminate. Luzbel snatched his beloved from him and with laughter he vanished.

Beelzebub says Mortal fool! Don't you see that I am Beelzebub; chief of the evil spirits and the guide of the Albigenses, Hussites, and Waldensians? Never invoke me in the Mausoleums, here betrayal triumphs. Now a Quentinnais will be my image on earth, giving her the doubt of doing well for many centuries.

Beelzebub took his beloved away, leaving the rosary wrapped in soft tulle next to the scapular in his hands. Raymond cringed in pain, and in an act of madness scratched his face. Poor Raymond, he told himself...!  That in himself he found no reason to live. He left the mausoleum at dawn looking around every corner in case he saw Marielle lost in his sight since recently. He was exhausted; he remained after the confession that was delayed too much because the events that took place in the Pantheon, in a way pretended to be the events that Raymond inexhaustibly narrated. And in a way, he feared for his life at that time unknown, by the mouth of some hidden place they documented his bitter inability to do well, and that he would fall under Raymond's curse. At this moment, Raymond lay lying on the banks of the Pantheon, from that day on, he did not know about the days, he only existed at night and he did not socialize with anyone, his madness sowed hatred for everything sacred and infernal, he dealt with the Holy Rosary found a magical find, until one day a new one reached her ears; she was referring to some crusaders who had intervened in Jerusalem when it was invaded by Saladin. A certain Frederick Barbarossa was drowned in Sicily by..., "Wonthelimar", who with the Diadem of a woman Seized the island of Iconium. This was the other new one that enlivened his spirit. This greatly surprised the worn Raymond, suspecting that the kidnapper of his beloved might be in cahoots. And as the news continued to hear her, it was said that her sacred beliefs allowed her to continue undercover, in order to continue for a long time, even in the other attacked city that would be Nice. He signed to the limit, for centuries that will serve us in future generations…, suffocating the iconoclasts.

The poppies moved from north to south through the Provencal regions. The oceanic eastern Gods Makara's in tumultuous pyramidal ships descended legions and escorts, to aid Raymond's farewell at Nice. At twelve o'clock at night, the prophetic edict of the Lord would be fulfilled, here the last words of that chimerical episode were received, and he feared that until then a first descendant of Raymond; he became a statue in ignitions of the reborn underworld. The Diadem will be transport and refuge, as for Wonthelimar he said doubtfully…; I think he is nothing more than the deviant Beelzebub, who with optical retractable eyes, in Montlimar disguised the initial in double V..., Wonthelimar, but I was wrong! Wonthelimar already transmigrated to Raymond, staying on the banks of a stream, with nausea he regurgitated his underlying spirit state from the lyrical crust. His mouth unsheathed the most diverse and heterogeneous chronolites; Parasitized dust in pieces of temporary stone, flowing in disciples, quarantine fragments, in marriages by sinuous water. Raymond slapped his thighs in anticipation of throwing up there. His blatant, incisive alienation took over his will, with inherent crickets singing to her in isolation from him, shining his conscience, and residing in the grace of the Holy Grail. The conquest of the earthly system amputated the Andromeda Amygdale; Constellation-illusion and spouse of Perseus, who is mysterious vehicles of the solvent Grail, kept him tied to Raymond. Deafening roars erupted from the earth pits, and the mass of the mountain hung above the trees, pseudo purple and violet rays bombarding sarcophagi all over Nice.

Wonthelimar: “Since this day I have been boiling in a polysatanic hell! The Ibex picked me up from the surroundings of the Pantheon and the Quentinnai mansion, where I have never been a human again, only an Ibex in the Chauvet cavern. Thanks to the herds of goats that adopted me that I have been able to bear their pain by taking refuge in the darkness of all times, which never transpires in the past, present, and future? Now I have come in this re-location, to reorder Vernarth's parapsychology, which you are too, and who has never been able to overcome the pains of love, even beyond pale death! "

From that moment, the shadow of Heracles is seen among them, encouraging them to be part of the gods, and of the feasts of the beautiful Ankles of Heba. Thus the words redecorated them both amid the thick fog, in Avignon. Afterward, Wonthelimar left and left Raymond to continue in Marielle's darkness to the end of the world. The blister day and the scorching night, thought one of the other in constant profit, for the good of finding them in the Kalijoron..., the well of the divine light of Eleusis, for those who rest in naive peace in the face of cunning, and the decorum of the gentle dialogues in the comedies of the exceptions, after crossing the Nile, with tributers collecting the faults of the gods, or else with horrific screams that would make them prey to an imaginary Gorgon.

Wonthelimar was now going after the “Íbics Ring”, which were left in the Chauvet cavern, by some Iberian tribes of the early Neolithic age, who were on their way out desecrated the cavern with ****** in the orbit of the Ortho Heliacal. From here, in the last goal, they reach the darkness where the vampire bats were terrified to see them with their eyes in mercurial ambrosia, which enveloped them with the gums in each one as they approached in the sound of night hunger arrests, next to the betrothal death brought by the darkness of the Strigoi, in lost wanderings of their wills following the search for the panescalm sheds, which carried human chiropterans for the regions of Transylvania, subjected to distinctions and exactions of Climate Changes. From here the bronze spear Dorus of Vernarth would go to the right hand of Wonthelimar, to shield him, and to put celery-foot feet on the ineffable Kanti steed, with certain renown of Eacid of Achilles stirring up hops and low bottoms of the mineral aquifer at the base of the den. In a quick figurative gesture of Achilles, Wonthelimar passes his right hand over his nose, noticing that lights trickled from the Auriga and the Automedon that came by order of Drestnia to provide aid to him, and to rescue the Iberian Ring Eagles, to transport them to the cove of the Mound of the Profitis Ilias.

In the eternity of the noise, Vlad Strigoi is in solidarity with him and gives him lightly from the bottom of the final flow of the bilges of his panescalm, condensing air of Gaseous Gold, in Pan-Hellenic regions, and in the Valdaine regions sixty-seven kilometers from that mountain area very close to Avignon. The infected zones of physical virtue were divided into micro-regions that were compressed before Wonthelimar merged into micro space within the cavern, to abandon the burning furnaces that came alongside his interpersonal goodness, in the metaphysical transfer of darkness, and of the wicked gentlemen drawing him towards the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, so as not to be attracted as a human to ******-emotional implications or manipulations, who will snoop in growing voices in the voids of the cavern, and in the failing anxieties of the pompous and ancient effigy tarred from Hades. Wonthelimar limps superlatively with some nervous leave, but eager to apprehend the Ibic Rings. After the Benedictus antiphons were seen coming out of his chest, they were iridescent in magenta and mordoré for those who are ibex, always hiding under the goat epidermis, sponsoring happiness practices, one and the other after their vicissitudes in a cyclical mystery classroom. On the plains, you can only see haze and the experimental change when leaving everything in the hands of those who die without rainwater and bagel, in the most absolute solitude, amidst rocks that will never and never be reconverted, less into mid-plains giving terrifying compliments on flower baskets that stink of wandering Wonthelimar clones… not being!

Wonthelimar with Kanti, they emigrate from the cavern of Chauvet in their reminiscences, standing out from the voids and invocations of Raymond in unfinished by filling space in the hearts of both. Heading southeast towards Patmos with the Ibic Rings on his bracelets, wrapped in Vernarth's Himathion for his investiture!
Wonthelimar  Ibic Rings
Brad Lambert Mar 2012
I am in cold. I watch that garish ward brimming with false light. Bleached air from his lips touching hers. He hides in her mane, sterile and alone. Why is it so hard, such an insurmountable task for you to see how I lather my face with paint each day just to smile at you?

My face, my heart, my mind not a blank canvas that I hide with these diluted pastels but a deep, rich chorus of colors and oils that were never meant to be hidden. But the ward will never know.

There are thoughts and opinions rolling like a torrent behind this mask I call a face. This world was against me from day one, don’t you dare say I’ve given way to cynicism. Nor optimism, pessimism, or God-forsaken realism. Can't I think the earth is beautiful, God is good, I am right, and people are wrong without someone putting an -ism behind me? Of course not. That's narcissism. Egoism. Egalitarianism.

It is what I unknowingly wrote across my mask. But I never chose to attend this outdated ball, masquerades are cliched. Pure romanticism...surrealism, the kin of commercialism whose visage is a polychromatic wheel of logotypes that you just have to know en masse.

What if I stop believing that compassion Himself can hate me? No, no that's atheism. Agnosticism. And if I'm better than someone because He said so then that is monotheism in all it's delicate flavors.

Can't I breathe alone in a quiet corner? Isolationism. Can't I want to simply be a follower, and think about life, literature, and art? Incomprehensible, that would be totalitarianism, absolutism, authoritarianism. What if I want to give God all the power He gave us, and watch the world change? Fascism. Revolutionism. Extremism, because releasing the wheel is extremism. Existentialism.

And what if I choose to remove the mask, break the levees, release the floodgates,    my thoughts and opinions, never watch my tongue, and speak the world as it is: A capital M-madman's schism of logic and faith. As it has always been, and always will be. I will always be in love with the counterfeit ward. And yes, there's a label for that: Catastrophism.

So I watch Beauty and his Beast touching in fluorescence. Bleached breath, save for the smoke of his lungs in hers. Sterile and alone; I am in cold, and cold hurts me.
zee Mar 2019
It was intensity in the eyes of the beast
With his romanticisms and optimism ceased
Gashes, cut bottomless within his soul
Who, would possibly aid him as a whole?

The king who had executed blasphemous quantities of sins
And pride fully worn, his foe's skins.
Could not be comprehended and eased after all
He lived to stalk, persecute and brawl

For behind all the masquerades and shells he wore
It was against himself, that he always swore
At the break of dawn, he held a face
In the midst of darkness, he could not sense, embrace

A battle came forging against him, he felt grim
Though it was not his form which was to be dithering, limb by limb
It was his trepidation, his need to stop his despair
Oh, how he craved to vanish into thin air

For he realized that the only thing meaningful to him now
Was for his annihilating words, to be a vow
A vow to soon meet, the eternal light alas
For his heart had become, into brittle glass

The light was his way out
To permit him, of his emotive drought
And so, as the stars blazed up in the sky’s high
So did the tears, imploring, to be let out in both his eye

How far more, would he suffer?
How much longer, did he have to be a bluffer?
The possibility of freedom, is all that made him wait
Little did he distinguish he was just another prisoner in the chambers, of fate.
Laurel Leaves Jan 2018
Define how you see me,
take your fingers and allow them to slowly climb up to my collar bone.
I paint you in scenes.
I find the familiarity in the way you mirror the comfort I always craved but couldn’t allow my throat to clear long enough to ask for it.
I wouldn’t find the absolutism in this moment, I wouldn’t be so present, I wouldn’t be so focused on the curvature of your lower lip as it edges closer and closer to mine.
I would be numb, you wouldn’t even be here, or your would be and I would have forgotten your name already as you climbed on top of me.
It’s like a receding hair line,
the pungent smell of betadine, the risky slip of ‘she’s not breathing’ but I heard them,
it’s deceiving.
lucky to see the way the sun rises, lucky to feel the pain
your terror exposes
how do I clarify the explantation
that unconditional only comes with the
vivid understanding that
god, it goes by so quickly.
David Barr Sep 2015
Show me the forbidden petals of your dark side, where enlightenment pulsates with her superior intellectual reliance upon rationalism.
What are the parameters of absolutism and relativism in this age, where I have discoursed with austere figures of the debased brotherhood?
Can you wrap your fingers around the girth of societal modernity, and stroke the length of paradoxical sophistication where philosophical death displays her unfathomable depths?
I have found resolution to this mathematical perplexity amidst our blatantly secret desert storm, where the cosmological clock ceases to denote her tick beyond the circumference of our interior sociology.
Looking back to the future – what do you think of your first love?
As we gather in the sacred circle around ancient and dreamy wishes, the spectres of dark forests are worthy of homage on this calendar season of historical significance.
Limp, is the phallus of political rectitude.
There is something beautifully menacing about the sound of bass drums, especially whenever there is a cultural context.
Do you know why? Because, they are connected to the melody and harmony, where the fullness of ontology is climactic in its lofty debasement.
unknown to realm of every endeavor
relativity once loosen up
absolutism perceive vanity
peculiar in the aspect of every undertaking
loosen up and upliftment to arise
working so slow yet truth defying moment
forwarding situation onward
grasping at an emergence
Kellin Apr 2019
A swiss army knife in an unwelcoming God toolbox is how I would describe myself
Versatile but cheap.
Not profound at anyone thing.
Illusionism of quantity that is mistaken for quality
Many books started but never finished
A vast resume both musical and medical
Many half played sheet music
Many diplomas full of emptiness
If started but never finished adventures could be considered hoarding I would be the sickest on earth.
The addiction of rebirth, restarting, and creation swallow me whole
Me the addict of wanting to live many lifetimes
I am the backspace bar of life
The blank sheet of paper on an empty desk resting beside a newly sharpened pencil
This, the description of the feeling I so desperately crave- absolutism

My shakey addict hands hunger for words like; blank, clean, fresh

These fuel my unhealthy obsession for second chances
coffeemantra Feb 2014
In my life I’ve learned that it is possible to love two—three things at the same time with the same intensity, such as I love coffee as much as I love books as I love cigarettes in the morning.
That my vices and mischiefs are who I am, both the most beautiful and sad parts of me.

I’ve learned that just like people are happy they are sad, and just as people live they die.

That happiness and love are for everyone, but I’ve also learned that this world, and its horrors isn’t.

I’ve learned that society isn’t a norm, and that human absolutism is not a thing.

That you have to **** up to learn, as no one has ever fallen in love without being a little brave.
I’ve learned that depression ***** you left and right, that it’s a real illness and that taking antidepressants doesn’t make me any less of a person.

I’ve learned that embracing who you are is what makes you exquisite and endlessly fascinating.

That life is an absurd infinity for all this togetherness and otherness.
Timothy Joyner Mar 2017
No, really, I'm good, I'll keep the shoes.
No rubbing needed, your hands aren't quite articulate
They don't speak our language to seminarians
So it ends up that one can only speculate

The ravages of a begotten forlorn past
Has set in motion a mind set of complete absolutism
No place like a supposed safe and warm abode
                            ?
When perhaps it's more like we all have a substitutism

I love the warm ruby red glow of the shoes
It sooths the sadness and melancholy freeing my apogee
Was I lied to when told there was no place like home
                            !?
Or did I just loose my way down the road to phonology
                             ?

After all these years I have to chuckle a laugh
You thought I misplaced the object of your aspiration
They are good as new, shining for all the World to see
Forever inscribed upon the frequency of adoration
People tend to underestimate me. Over the years it's as though it's a chore to stay in touch. Frankly I'd prefer them just to move on. They haven't really ever been my family anyway. <;0(  Maybe a bit of sadness there. I'd rather have the sadness then the questioning bitterness I had for so many years!
Ananya S Guha Oct 2015
I wake up to this morning of tepid sun
winter's shudder has arrived, the storm
has abated. Rains peek mildly through
frozen clouds. I waver between leaving
the bed and getting ready.
All desultory.

Morning's voices speculate.
The rush for getting to school is over.
Some late comers, goers. There is movement
all around.

Inside the house, a poem calls.
Taking a pen I frantically search pages of love,
hate, passions. The ogre of silence haunts this house.
The domestic help shouts, asks me to take a bath.

I will wash myself   in absolutism and sins.
Psyche soaking wet with devout atheism,
this lifetime skeptic now tenuously
linkedin with Unitarianism
attests, said upbringing proffered,
mine credo, gestalt,

leitmotif, sans abstractionism
eludes elucidation, delineation, clarification...
some readers might
dismiss as absurdism
defying established dogma fixed absolutism

millenniums, would be hashtagged heretical,
and such cavalier blithe
apostasy, declared alarmism,
now - twenty first century
extant accursed as alcoholism

within various non
Western statecraft enclaves,
barely tolerating agnosticism
no fool to *******
proclamations antithetical opinionism

where condemnation to death
(I obediently, humbly, and gladly accept)
inadequate punishment,
cited on par relegated to alienism,
amoralism, antiestablishmentarianism...

never does this anachronism
loosely cabled with pioneerism,
(when ****** forests bedecked America),
a veritable wilderness, necessitated
quintessential self survivalism

knowhow long since forgot,
which dependence on consumerism
finds yours truly afflicted against capitalism
commercialism, conformism, cultism et cetera
more aligned with reliance on individualism

nearly an extinct species,
where anti materialism
betrays, cavils, and discourages ecocentrism,
versus profit motive maximization,
though of late environmental dynamism

aggressive representative thank you
Greta Ernman Thunberg regarding criticism,
nee opprobrious global ecological terrorism
mandating staunch defeatism
as stave bulwark

against criminal determinism
to wreak irrevocable traitorous dogmatism
predicated on tenets of egocentrism
brewed, steeped, and
galvanized in exceptionalism

of **** sapiens and expansionism
exclusive to said primate
that requires serious assessment,
asper bracketing craven
doctrinairism edified fundamentalism
granting humans unfettered expansionism!
Venarth says: “After alternating with the Erythrai, I climbed the top of the ship, and began to experience changes in my philosopher's dermis, from a permanent continuous present independent of the post-period, leaving the dogma of the numbers that would cause me an existence capable of only obsessed with supporting him, with the weight of a drunken Lepidoptera who spoke to me close to the invariance of the incorruptible dense layer that covered the sea on the cornice of heaven, making them a continual delay of time. The facets of invariability would begin the notorious oceanic areas that fractured when the Eurydice divided the hemispheres, causing them to doze in the time of her crystal ball, up on the crown which would make her base the extra personalities of the sunset on me. The present allows me to eternalize my memories or memorare, of my existential eclipses, making of its faculty to speak of a super conscious overwhelming and constrained to the hermeneutics that invited me to drink Ouzo among the few beings that accompanied me in the height of the ship, increasing its gradation every time a sip multiplied with the puffs of the Hesperides that passed me by, inviting me to bag their naked spring figures wintering, given the temporary stagnation that entered through the hole in my pectoral of the sinister right scapula, where some probes of the Mythical elderberry paused my outraged finite human, who got stuck in my chest when he couldn't apprehend the amount of my second lieutenants who sifted through the Bereshit voices of the Torah, who lamented pre-late and tonal that they never finished, that they became prey condensed from each sip I drank into his Ouzo harvest timeline, tracking the tiny sips that That I would not be able to count, before drinking them, after never having drunk them harshly, thus not understanding the mats blown by the reefs of the infinite twilight sapphire, carrying away the burps, that the naiad Arhanis saw coming out between my central incisors and from my mouth numbed by the heat of Zeus's anger, and from the dawning of potential between fallen, hanging from the sky of Arhanis, holding between the hands of the one who supports him. The clouds and geometric masses in vapors fell on distinctive chromatic ropes and cords of volumes supporting the infinite, which today eliminated itself blinded, falling into the void of an ex-vaporous corporation.

This succession in status of perenniality, made me hold vigorously from the top, as I began to fall into an unknown void where I would meet Elpenor in hypersomnia, but rather, from a song of the Odyssey that invited me to a straw next to him and the liquid chemo of the Ouzo, asking him to give him the worthy food of his oblations and the liquor broth, to make me advise him in the last sip, before the sirens sing, where I would affirm my golden hoplite elbow so that the status of eternity, dispense with the ford runs of the taps that exude their Cretan Ouzo, through the navel that swallows the entire boats and my "Pectoral that puts the stopper of time so that it does not pass supra into infra existentialist"

Elpenor, already burning before him, continued with a glass in his hands, pressing the heads of the Taurus who prolonged substitute immaterial lapses, which turned into ouzo vapor vomited by both, running through the sequence of the masts of the crowns, which it would begin to weaken somewhat  from so much distillation of the vineyard test tube, as it cooled down after a succession of events that began with the severed head of the beginning of the emotional initial moment, in which I am still wounded between crossbows and moments that undermine all origin, under a toast of heavy eyelids that pretended a Bing Bang, before taking the float towards a mound that would allow me to fall into the unsustainable gravitant, in which the acceleration causes me, and that weatherizes everything, even though I am not the one that transports myself. Before Elpeneor, I witnessed three uncorrupted deaths, one with the scythe on his shoulders cutting the fences of the impiety of raising micro-times in the Odyssey, another as a prey of biological dowels that debate science that fall incapable before the granule of the involved brain similarly to the multisectoral questioning of conscious conflicts; and final hunger within my contradiction and inconveniences of the loss of the sense of taste, cloistering myself as I live in its metempsychosis, losing the sensitivity of my hands and trying to leverage my swords and spears, not defending my defenseless body from immortal carcinogenic fears , of a lost sacred soul and in sequence of losing reason of seven times plus another seven that remain for my way to paradise, evacuating primary psychic elements and codes of life that rest in formalin, before those who do not fear revive me when drowning  in Ouzo, for all my phalanx soldiers who live in me still dying in my arms.  Constituting the triple of the human being, which affirms the transfer of certain psychic elements of my body to another after my death that does not allow me to walk in the threads of the dust of my bones that wish to be taken back from the corners, from the old and sticks of the termites that eat my crow. I am still in creationism, dressed in yellow, so that the poet who only ***** and breathes me with his great senses, is closer to Christmas than millions of years I have lived, before the Christmas carol woke me up as a divine child, being only a large hoplite cop entangled in an igloo of Panentheism, deifying me or perhaps semi-deifying me, to house the stars that would walk out of my intellectual herd, creating my own low hills of consciousness, that look through the balustrades of the flint of Saint Peter in their Altozano, self-creating vital, but immanent. Transfigured, I decant my teeth in the crottals, on the carpet before the scarcity of their dilapidated embryos, before the Biblical Revelation that tells me that, among all creatures, I will be the only man capable of daring to apprehend the concept of eternity, in between of the serpents. As in one of the theological versions of Ecclesiastes imploring God: “He has made everything beautiful in my time. He has placed my eternity in the hearts of men”.

When I hail Heidegger after a sense after lingual ..., with the amphora ***** in his philosopher pipe, and with Wittgenstein I ***** half – half brain tobacco. Averaging Newtonian ignorance’s, before an absolutism that are revealed in the universal psychic drama, while God awaits me early in his catechesis, ordered, gummed and omniscient of myself, I am agreeing with the precious perfidious date still in my Eurydice's crown, that it looks eloquent of my new date of birth without a month that fits in any calendar that is known, to then go after the capitol in Athens itself, running aground with my ship after my hurricane, possessing its great reliquary itself Parthenon, with my ship over all this stiff structure that is reborn together with my eternalist suicide "Perpetua et incorruptibilis, in æternum vive"

"... Vernarth, breathes unfathomably and comes down from the Euridience crown, as if nothing had happened, when he sets foot on the deck full of liquors and ambrosias, he joins the others and dances Zorba without stopping next to them
Perpetua  et incorruptibilis, in  æternum lives
Penne Feb 2019
Rough, sandy
Malodors of Brandy
Unlimited space
Yet strangling

Dark, hollow
Look again
Fell deep in the hole
Cannot breathe in this loophole

Wind wafting through its cardboard
The more I think about it
The cooler it gets

I had one similar
When I was just a mere familiar
Horsing around it as if it was my home
What made it comfortable
It was always locked
It was always not a liar

It was better than anyone
I do not know what kind of sorcery it used
But it always eased my fuse
When I am confused, in a ruse
I can breathe after all

You can imagine anything there
Flap its sides as if you are in a plane
You can paint animals, forests anytime
Unlike reality

Turn it into castle
Or a storage of treasure
A hideout
Military base
Safe and sound

Quiet, does not shout
Does not turn angry
Cut, it will not yell
Not misunderstanding
Attachment syndrome with a non-living thing
So are these ghosts surrounding

My philosopher's brain is no match for society
Add that with my dash of absolutism
I played along with the appropriatey

But why, did it betray me now?
The more I stayed
The more I get scared
Tsunami of bad dreams slapped me
Cannot get out
But nowhere to shelter to

Feeling I do not need aid
It is better to sabotage my faith
On my own
Than admitting that I am terrified
Sensitive like the morning flower
Than to be hurt by the outside
Than involving anyone
Since everybody around me are dunces

So stay
Once more
Get this occupied
Even if it is already roaring to break free

Where no one will see me
See me be myself
Abnormal self
Weeping, childish self
And come back again and again
Laurel Leaves Oct 2017
She is
Oh god
the succulent
She makes void
of absolutism
I bellow as if
the base can hear
eager cries of
she once led me to the well
and told me to
close my eyes,
don't drink
sip
so the droplets
can form worlds between
your lips, your chin
I'll collect the
moisture from your
skin.

— The End —