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Terry O'Leary Sep 2015
1
Though still within our infancy,
we strive to thrive, but woefully
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.

Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys survival's harmony,
lays waste to life on land and sea.
Mankind, thy name is vanity!

By doubting Nature's regnancy,
defying laws with levity,
we strain our spheroid's symmetry
(perhaps a fatal fallacy?)

for, swallowed in the 'world of we',
we feed on vain insanity
with thoughts beyond eternity -
so strange when looked at mortally.

No use to seek a remedy
ensconced in ancient prophecy
for if not handled skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.

                              2
The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.

The wind, it reeks of Royalty
(awash in waves of perfidy)
while blowing ’cross the peasantry
(eclipsed in clouds of treachery).

The Queen, well steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of sculpted ebony
while sipping Sect immodestly;

to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively.

The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
who wallows in their lenity.

Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
exalts the dollar dynasty
engaged in highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery.

Yes, Jesters and the Fools agree
to truckle to duplicity
and laugh about it witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!

                          3
To champion an oddity
(like two times twelve is fifty three)  
one reaches to theology
through paths of circularity.

In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.

Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;

and aged women, randomly
accused of wicked witchery
by justice framed in infamy,
were racked and shown no clemency

That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery

as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;

'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'.

                    4
The Masters make a mockery
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from shackled slavery,

now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.

And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.

To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
bestows a penny, niggardly;

though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy
while bellies bulge, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.

When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;

and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
in ******-dream obscurity -
a mired madhouse odyssey.

Ignoring mankind's unity,
the rich and poor dichotomy
breeds dismal doomed finality,
eventual nihility.

                        5
Renewing days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting valiantly
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy

to toast the slaughtered enemy,
and so convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.

At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
with arms from finest armory

(embraced in hands so tenderly
bestow benign atrocity) -
and soon atomic weaponry
will extirpate posterity.

                          6
Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.

Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,

and rivers, tainted chemically,
polluted biologically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.

Adjusting genes mechanically
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.

We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,

but if we bet unknowingly
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.

                 7
The modern day bureaucracy
abuses trust egregiously ,
embeds itself in obloquy
and offers no apology.

It paints the past in reverie
to camouflage the tendency
to strip away our privacy
which paves the path to tyranny.

With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering piercingly
we've lost cerebral sovereignty,

and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else crowd a black facility
(with water board anxiety).

                  8
Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…
There is beneath us the progenitor and we call it “Mother”. Above us is the progenitor and we call it “Net” for it takes us and tosses us into the known and the unknown.

Our home star is not as bright as yours. We prefer your temperate lands when we visit, where the vegetation is lush and green. Those of us who remain inhabit your deserts and open spaces.

We are your brothers and sisters. Our development has been to grow in awareness and the development of our power. You have the potential to develop as we have, but your instincts are of a social group who need dominant members. You develop your material reality and your physical world. Your anchor is fixed and you grip the familiar and reject the unknown. There is a comfortable point where you feel the fullness, that is the anchor. In order to maintain this as a static point you develop belief systems to support it. This is your weakness, you are innocent children.

We grew and developed along another pathway, our anchor is not  rigid. We use Net for our anchor and so are able to change our perceptual reality. We move in ways that you do not understand and in any direction. We draw the fibers of Net around us and jump and fly. You see us only from your anchor point so that you see us change shape, appear and disappear.

Our voices and languages are barely accessible to you. You hear deep sounds and high pitched chirruping and whistling. Very few among you have remnants of language incorporating any of these. Those remaining are as clicks and whistles. We prefer direct communication.

We are masters of illusion. Our survival has depended on it and it is our instinct.
Our power developed so that when we pull around us the fibers of Net we create a shield and throw an illusion before those who depend on vision. It is one of our protections and also our hunting technique. We are hidden from your material probes and instruments of increased sight in this way.

Although we have been close neighbours for aeons, you have hardly seen us, except for the Few. Your interpretations have created problems for you. Your reliance on the anchor is so great that some among you do go to great lengths to maintain it. There are those among you who will silence the Few rather than lose the fixed anchor.

You are infants only, a seeding coming to fruition, and you play with dangerous toys. Your anchor is geocentric. You are in danger as is any youngster who plays with fire. If we showed you ourselves openly your rulers would not be gentle in their curiosity. We have technology and use material tools but we have had less to restrict us. We held back your development as much as we were able to enable you to develop power of the mind and independent thought.

Your grasp of Net is strong but you are rigid and anchored. You have learned to stand up and hold on. Now is the time to let go and walk, let go and run, let go and fly.

Around what you name “body” and believe to be “All” is more that you do not perceive with your restricted vision sense. You are aware of this. If you will learn acceptance and filter less from your senses, you will find the beauty of the universe of energy around you and available. A small perceptual shift would show you how you appear to those of us outside your narrow sphere.

Your body has filaments, which when translated to sight, appear as small moving threads which shine with rainbows. They move and ripple inside an energy body of light. This is your true body. It has abilities and senses that are dormant as you do not access them. They are accessible but as your anchor renders you blind to this you do not use them without intense effort or instinctively in extremity. The filaments are drawn together and pass through the anchor. Depending upon your ability to select filaments of the Net, your habitual plane and reality is selected and determined.
Those among you with abilities in your energy senses you ostracise and even ******. You succumb to misinformation to treat them as fools or freaks. This may be instinctive but it is a control mechanism to perpetuate the anchor and maintain the hive of your artificial society. So due to this, you have even less sense of true reality as it could be to you, by breeding out and suppressing your gifts. We have attempted to rectify this with limited effect in successive seedings.

You may notice that our words to you have reference to sight. Your terminology is geared to vision. You rely on visual information  so much that you have neglected physical senses of taste and smell, hearing, touch and proximity. Compared with our perceptions you are as blind as a mole is compared to to your visual abilities.

Your construction of reality is so anchored that your dangerous inclination to gather around you artifacts gives to you a sense of permanence. You are anchoring yourselves in time, yet to you it is dead because your senses are dead. There is an opportunity for your predators to use this to enforce your perception of, and control you within, your anchor's limitations. In this way, producing written or pictorial and symbolic records in permanent form is beneficial only so far as understanding continues to exist of the conditions under which these records were left. By changing current understanding and language to suit their purposes, your enforcers are able to manipulate your branch of humanity on a large scale.

You seal yourselves into the rejuvenation plane of the Mother progenitor where you feed and breed. It is so pleasurable to you to stay within this cocoon of reality that you fail to open your cast and therefore fail to fly into the spaces of Net outside where your true inheritance lies. The end result of this is greed and unrest. Your greed is paramount to you as you seek ever more pleasurable gratification. You enslave one another, buy and sell time and forget what you are. You are allowing the destruction of your home world. Without the home world you will have no place of rejuvenation, and worse neither will the myriads of others who share this progenitor.

There is a song from each mother progenitor within Net. It is a combined song and made up of the host progenitor together with silent voices of each and every life form. Together from each home world, the inhabitants send out a pulse. This is not a song from one species of a world but rather it is a song from all species, in fact every particle of every organism that lives.

To our developed senses the song of a world is brighter than the star it orbits. They are filaments of Net. The varied forms of life all send out their unique song. Many of us interact, harmonise, visit, commune and combine. You feel isolation only because you fail to harmonise and join your own song.

In your past and present we have felt the song of your world. Those of us belonging are part of that song. It is the song of being from the many. It does not end at the perimeters which you imagine. You have a problem in that, for the majority, you do not join your voices to the song. Mainly it is in dreaming, in childhood and in old age that we hear you.

We attempted to observe and commune and found many of you receptive to us. We have taught to you methods of development and given you gifts and tools. You have kept and preserved some of this knowledge only for a select few. Fears and distrust among others has caused destruction of a great proportion of the gifts that we have given to you. We found many lines of breeding where potential for development was possible. Your greed and your predator class destroyed many of them due to the competitive desire to have power over others.

In past seedings upon your progenitor and in the oldest times of your present incarnation, we have been known well and respected. Acknowledged for our seniority and loved as cousins. You did call us gods to distinguish our abilities. Then what did you do? Your control mechanisms changed the meanings of your language, whole languages were lost in wars over territory. You developed power structures and religions. Powerful rulers accumulated and isolated your shared knowledge.

You reduced your development by selective education in the Way. Territorial disputes and greed over resources divided you. You ceased to listen to the Mother. Instead of harmonious living which you had managed in agreement with each other already, you were divided by hormonal impulses, insecurity, violence and greed. The natural openness of the female within it's central domain became enclosed, imprisoned and the natural desire of the male to outwardly discover and interact was turned inwards until it became a sedentary desire for dominance within the female domain. You lost the harmonics of the song. Your religions underestimate the power of borrowed tools. Your ruling classes made deals that they didn't understand, with predators they didn't recognise, in order to save themselves.

We stood on ground over ground and were called Immortals. We gave you wisdom and were called Kings. We moved and played among you and were called Jinn. We moved among the small folk and were called Faerie. We appeared in light and were called Angels. We wandered in places where you too did once wander and were called Ghosts and Demons. Those who spoke to us and attempted to impart to your hive our knowledge, you raised as prophets or slandered and ridiculed. You stole their words to make them your own words of power, changing them to your own ends or you murdered the messengers because you feared the changes that increased understanding brings.

You incorporated the experiences of your murdered victims into a celebration of your own power structures, twisted and out of synchronisation with the song. There are some among you who are in communion with the Great Spirit of life. We seek to heal your song, your complete home world song for the benefit of the myriad sentient beings who rejuvenate here, including yourselves. We seek to set you free to wander the threads of Net. It is within your reach but not in the ways that you  are taught.

Your world is about to change and you must change with it as you are a small part of it. Holding the threads into your own anchor point will break them. You have reached inertia, entropy. The movement has to come, it is inevitable. Imagine one of your large machines of cogs and wheels and bars. Your insistence upon a rigid anchor is like a bar within the machine that doesn't move. A point of inertia in a moving system will be removed. This has happened over and over among your kind and our kind in many places and worlds. You do not remember when worlds underwent cataclysm, forgetful of trauma you have followed a similar path.

We travel along pathways of energy, both upon worlds and in the Net. Moving bodies follow these paths. We follow comets and small bodies able to move freely within Net. Net permeates your mother progenitor.

Survivors mapped the movements of Net after the slate was wiped clean and you were reseeded. There is a secret that your rulers are aware of and you are not. The secret is that there are no rulers within Net. You all have the freedom and capability to access true harmony of the song. You allow a faction, to call themselves an elite class. You fear this as a hidden power, a predator. It's aim is to amass Time: a power based on material wealth. They take this power easily as they have taken and twisted truth and history. The gifts are shared among you equally and these few know this. Resources are plentiful and yet you succumb to their restrictions. A predator cannot survive without it's prey. We are not your predators although we move among you. Your predator is within and feeds upon your fear.

You are not in the tribes now, you have no shaman, no guide to take you in and out of the gate and this role cannot be allocated to parasitic Blind Time Hoarders. These whip up your passions and lead you into war and destruction to further their material wealth. It leads you away from the song, as these think to enhance their own survival which it may do but never can as they understand it. They seek to steal your dreams and make them their own, they are helpless without you. They care nothing for the song because they are aware of successive seedings.

Net is a dream reality, changing, immeasurable, boundless, filled with infinite possibilities and you are creators. Blind time hoarders drive you by combining the minds and dreams and belief systems of many to focus onto what they themselves desire, in order to bring it to fruition. They employ dream stealers to prevent your development. They believe that their own song can exist independently and they guide you only to anchor yourselves into your own prison.

All is a dream, all is ephemeral, changing, dynamic. There is no death after death, no damnation on any particular plane. Reality is how you construct your song. Your rulers create inertia for you the many and profit for themselves using you as the tools of your own entrapment. There is no death and no damnation, they are constructs of your reality made by material anchor points and you are controlled by fear of the inevitable. It is a statecraft to use belief systems to control perceptions of reality in order to fix the anchor point to a rigid point of convenience. In this way you are farmed, you are a crop in each seeding. Who seeds you? You seed yourselves. Sentient beings are all naturally regenerated by the mechanisms of Net when conditions exist that are compatible, world after world, in each growth cycle of every celestial body. In the regeneration, holding to your rigid anchor point, you seed into your prison after each cataclysm, each breaking of the inertia.

If you would be open to the mechanisms of the place you inhabit with it's creative forces, it's sentience and it's dynamics you will learn to fly the progenitor Net's pathways and return home for rejuvenation to your progenitor Mother of the tribes.
I wrote this a few years ago. It's a bit long
If all a top physicist knows
About the Truth be true,
Then, for all the so-and-so's,
Futility and grime,
Our common world contains,
We have a better time
Than the Greater Nebulae do,
Or the atoms in our brains.

Marriage is rarely bliss
But, surely it would be worse
As particles to pelt
At thousands of miles per sec
About a universe
Wherein a lover's kiss
Would either not be felt
Or break the loved one's neck.

Though the face at which I stare
While shaving it be cruel
For, year after year, it repels
An ageing suitor, it has,
Thank God, sufficient mass
To be altogether there,
Not an indeterminate gruel
Which is partly somewhere else.

Our eyes prefer to suppose
That a habitable place
Has a geocentric view,
That architects enclose
A quiet Euclidian space:
Exploded myths - but who
Could feel at home astraddle
An ever expanding saddle?

This passion of our kind
For the process of finding out
Is a fact one can hardly doubt,
But I would rejoice in it more
If I knew more clearly what
We wanted the knowledge for,
Felt certain still that the mind
Is free to know or not.

It has chosen once, it seems,
And whether our concern
For magnitude's extremes
Really become a creature
Who comes in a median size,
Or politicizing Nature
Be altogether wise,
Is something we shall learn.
Canaan Massie Dec 2015
If you were the Sun,
And I were the Moon,
I'd reflect your beauty onto Earth.

You give life with your light,
But they're still geocentric,
They can't look in your eyes,
And they don't know your worth,

...But I do.

And if I were the Sun,
And you were the Moon,
I'd die from the distance,
And you'd love the waves.
I'd flare up my nostrils,
Obliterate planets,
Just to give my dear Luna,
Her space.

...But I think...
You're more like...
...Earth.

Nature and Nurture,
You're one in the same.
Your waters replenish,
There's "art" in your name...
Earth.

Polluted by people,
And carbon and cancer,
You bottle it up,
Til you burst from your mantle,
But you're
Iron.
To.
Your.
Core.

When grey takes your green,
Still, you protect your people,
And provide a harvest,
Regardless you feed them.
You harbor the humans,
That crack up your crust,
Then create the concrete,
That covers your lungs...
...Then they ask why you can't breathe.

You put the "die" in "Dioxide"
There's gold in your soul,
They mine for your diamonds,
But only find coal,
Yet...
They're BOTH COMPRESSED CARBON?!?!?

The shade of your surface,
Brings shame to the soil,
Your soul can grow much more than crops.
And if that asteroid Apophis,
Gets a little too close,
I'm the astronaut poppin Apocalypse off,
Or the artist that's armin' Armageddon's bomb.
Our connection is stronger than Hydrogen bonds.
When I hold your hand,
I've got the world in my palm.

Accumulate cumulus,
Shrouded in clouds,
Your circumference serves,
As the circle of life.
And I tried...
And I tried...
And I finally realized,
That without planet Earth...

...I would die.
Written slam-style.
Drifton A Way Mar 2015
You are my vessel, transporting me through eternity
Just a meat-sack of molecules trudging through space
Put it that way and there may be even less absurdity
Geocentric morons proclaiming this intelligent place

It's never too late, to stop and take things for granted
And appreciate being among the truly disenchanted

So is it luck or is it fate, essentially they are the same thing
Depending on your parents and what religion may bring

Either way, It's by far the strangest life I've ever known
And I've heard rumors that even the gods are jealous
Wishing secretly they could reap what they have sewn
So let us say a prayer that they don't get overzealous
Irregod..less? well we'll all find out eventually, whats the rush?
within twenty first century promotion
   sans scientific paradigm
dogmatically hefty, kinetically lofty,
   and poetically thoroughly, xyz beliefs misalign
wherein mechanistic Ptolemaic,

   static venerated yin yang benign
choreography describing elementary forces
   governing heavens inviting jinxed, kooky,
   loopy measures necessitating pacific rectification
   to guarantee spatial objects remain in line

which notions trotted out
   a cosmic deal with invisble ink
   omnipresent, omniscient omnipotent
   benevolent creator link
synonymously afffixed terrestrial
   firmament (planet Earth) nsync

   with bedrock of deified Gibraltor
until undisputed supposedly
   figuratively hermetically sealed
   fostered religious (church) fathers
   to do more than blink

when inquisitive minds (undaunted
   though invoked as heretical martyrs)
   blaspheming solidly entrenched
   blind faith functioning with charm
mingly quaint association with amulets, churinga,
   equisite fetishisms guiding humanity

   innumerable journeys kickstarting
   legendary modus operandi initially harm
   less lee sounding out,
   what manifested into a schismatic alarm
   regarding millennial questions
   underming liturgical moorings
   strong lance heaving arm

irrevocably toppled geocentric mindset,
   nonetheless this oblate spheroid dance
sing with the stars redoubled
   devout hangers-on fixed
   with barnacle cleaving devotion stalwart stance
Page Number Two:

populace behooved (as would be expected),
   when Douting Thomas' revolutionary screeds
   threatened (prior to unending)
   univeral schema just by chance
and despite proclamations pronounciations,
   and provocations roiling status quo
   hashtagged as evil rants

eventually zealous warfare between
   growing heliocentric individuals  
   with sacrilegiously blatantly deranged
fiendishly gnarly heathens –
   perhaps the Renaissance own Timothy Leary

the dawn of a quantifiable, explainable theory
(minus all those concentric embedded orbital paths)
   diktat preachers eventually became weary
to challenge recalcitrant (purported hell raisers)
   (****, I would have fit right in as a rebel rouser)
   whereby agents provocateurs spout vestigial claim
   to Gaea remaining front and center of galaxy
   on par clubbing with Mother Mary.
Everything was consummation to define the end in everything that was insinuated in the idyllic border that nothing presumes and deduces a good decision, but the emptying was already unobjectionable Vernarth, after living a thousand lives, began to anxiously call those who he believed that everyone was going to depart with Him. The elements had already been treated to reverse them in future spiritual lives with Eucharistic prayers that smelled specific aromas that would preserve the indiscreet air when seeing caravans passing by that came from concurrent to the final ceremonial on the heights of Profitis Ilias, including flocks of Ravens that they carried in the lips of birds that brought the essences and tiaras to decorate the Opistódomos. Alexander the Great and Ezpatkul were already coming with the rooks from the suburbs that would swarm through the ****** heights of the pronaos where the Vas Auric levitated, turning towards the Cinnabar that was already categorically in the Naos. The lavishness of the Mashiach specified the elements that were divided from the abstinences of the liturgy in honor of Him where all the winds from east to the west became the majority in the disciplinary section, from where its interior was grafted to the Vas Auric as a complement to the body. of Vernarth that began to atomize in the Apokáliptika assembly towards the paths of the eschatological epilogue, without detractors and tribulations to attend to the sighs of the Universe that would contract with magnificence when seeing that the nadir of the Duoverse was appearing, that is, the inferiority of the Universe that would bow down to the complex and unintelligible Duoverse, but with swift paths towards the sacred textuality where the work is already a reality. The souls in the pomegranate tree on its pedestal were already occupied by the Hexagonal Primogeniture, seeing that the Mashiach had already become the living word of Nazareth whose passion became co-binder in the ascending radiosities that came and went along the shoulder of the Hydor in the Nimbus Iridescent carrying rays of ultra warmth. Carrying imperious prophecies that departed from the component that everything is part of the precious stone that is submerged in the deposit, where the resurrected Mashiach takes Vernarth's hand and places the Golden Xiphos sword on his right hand, forming the empire from east to west. Thus it is demonstrated that Vernarth during the entire journey of this Mega Parapsychology was never dead nor ever lived, he only waited for the hypostasis of the Lord that led him snowy on promontories that brought him closer to the monumental ex-voto held in those present where everything was of monumental muteness, bringing resurrected wails of the Apostles to the scene as they were martyred by their pernicious pursuers.

The Investiture ceremony already gave rise to a formulation that would satisfy great celestial desires with gestures of toast or universal conformist gestures, to unite all the people of different origins who began to meet with Vernarth with a total outcome of humility that embodied the figure of a proselyte who constituted the voice of Ruth crushing the leftover grasses in Naomi's doubts. The trapezoids mocked every cross-eyed look twisting the height of the summer that swirled with the objects of generosity that arrived and fell on the lawn as a remarkable epiphany in the form of delicacies and ambrosial that dreamed of being in the compendium of the height of Olympus and Horcondising on the same level of the liberation of beings where the Gentiles converted to the creed, which fed on the words of Ruth and her grasses as advocated banners that adored all who were present at the Investiture of Vernarth's Himation.

Behold, the sacrosanct pilgrimages were from the geocentric Rosemary who had held the Messiah before trying to throw him off the cliff after intervening in the Synagogue in Nazareth, reversing the plot, perhaps assuming a figure of the indulgent portent that clung to the barrier of the portals of the corn, and everything in the center was dressed as the focus of the Himation towards a great rodón or molding of Rosemary.

Who else may be missing from the presses of or that could not be taken to the mill. Behold, from the spaces where light did not reach, the sacred ones of exclusive faith were displayed with the flashes of these Bern olives, so that everyone could enter the central place where everything was crowded with double luminaries that lit up as obfuscation until the end of each descending inspiration. . Vernarth melted and carried the shady slip of the cross that entered over the heads of the attendees, and the late prayer that did not hit the avatars of each bis of each pagan and converts that slipped through the lips in the seventh invocation, as if Flavius Josephus were referring to the purple gold that volatilized in the midst of all those who slept, and at the same time the dim jambs of the temple dilated to act as a relationship to the meeting of the Vas Auric and the Cinnabar that joined the shimmering aldehyde contracting in the oratory that fell when the Beit Hamikdash collapsed, to later become oratic frames that were largely diluted when adopted in the dynasty of a throne that would have repercussions similar to those of Homer in the Iliad, where an admirer like it is Vernarth of Achilles as he worships his parents Hair and the goddess Tethys more in the affront of an empyrean higher than Olympus. Achilles walked ***** but limped only supported by the materialized rods of the Aldehyde with the sole purpose of reincarnating him in Vernarth's submitology, where he will show him noble fields and herds of black-white steeds before regenerating him in the genealogy of the bishop that is situated and surrounded of peons, but not in his long palatial life, rather in the equestrian fields where his life was reborn in death and took him to old age that receded as he walked on the heads of the deceased. The notorious individuality was made by taking hold of Vernarth's arm for the short walk like a Soter that finally rearmed his gallantry in front of Briseis; she granted it to Achilles, and that she was now Vernarth's female consort.

Saint John says: “we all give parts of our bites to others, what an honor makes us more special when armies of Greeks descended on this investiture where incense reigns, longing for the aroma of Briseis in each piece of air that is soaked in Vernarth's Himation. This is how all courage becomes perennial in the gifts where the Achaeans also dare to arrive at this ceremony, and of all that exordium that contradicts fighting beyond all death, especially if the Mashiach extends the opening of the point and its space! -time in a single potion of the heart of the servants!
Everything was in the hands of the eyes that perceived the birthed gaze of the Fibonacci effect, where the steep columns seemed to open up to the gazes of those who were stuck in the stands before the descent of the Naos. What greater strength than being brave and eager to shield all the cowards who do not forgive the demigods who die first before the boarding, and without pain before the merits of those who with their beginner gaze reside with their eyes closed before being absorbed by the duality of life that recurs farther from the threshold of the flame that devours the indecisive departure. Feats and disdain to close the senses when the Mashiach came down with his archangels and Cherubim defying without any fear that illuminates Homeric doubts so extensive, that they could perfectly be confused with all palpable reality.
Ravens and Belphus

— The End —