Installed in the Eclectic Parallel World of the invisible portal of Saint John the Evangelist, everything levitated in his sacred basaltic cavern in Katapausis, in the Patmos archipelago (Koumeterium Messolonghi, Chapter 16 / page 114. Editorial Palibrio-USA). They would find themselves in communion with the clan count, resembling being in their proper ectoplasm; conforming to the only part of masonry ruled to redirect them in the messianic workings of the ascension stages. Vernarth; he besieged in the conscious state of him having to adhere to the cavern, after having finished his labors by waiting three months. He risks being consumed by the myriads and conflagrations, retracting them in parapsychological clouded ways, which subsisted to consecrate themselves in the lavish places divided towards the horizon. The iridescence threatens the primary ultraviolet, lifting the carriage of Apollo Citar, a neighbor of the astronomical cave sketch of the Muse Urania. A lame nuance escapes and dissolves from his mathematical prayer, capturing the spiritual intensity that inspired Saint John to build the temple near his cave of the Apocalypse on the island of Patmos, inserted in the death throes of his embryonic revelation, to pour him into the Megaron to build.

The saint appears only on certain days looking at Vernarth from afar, to encourage him in his progress on the rocky rocks of sharp silica, he is seen as a beautiful adonis dressed in a chlamys with delicate pinkish tones. With such scruples, he redounds a psalm of the angel that normally accompanies the Evangelist around him, with greenish and indigo tones in the perspective quadrinomial of heaven, that he was perishing in his most afterlife redemption in the glory of the empyrean. More convenient than the superlative spiritual intelligence irrigated with the aldehyde, and the condensed water of Skalá, in hecatombs that indicated anarchies of the luminous prophetic men and the habit of the exokarstic soil, endowed with a small perforated Epsilon demon, obtaining its chemical weathering in certain limestone rocks, dolomite, and plaster. Diverting the attention of Etréstles that he glowed overwhelmed and charred. He was not stopped by the currents of splendor and the stormy pollutions of Cymopolea, in his hieratic invocation of the scalded typhoons of the drills of Hephaestus. This demon could be Tytillinus timorous in the defections of the deities of Mnemosyne relegating himself from his precepts, which according to this legend induced protervas inclinations of the clergy during the omitted religious services, he is the one that Saint John the Evangelist feared, that he would not give him the Asfalés Pérasma “license” to enter and be able to commission them in tasks that had been predicted for the Katapausis services after the quarterly. The Travertine silica, with residual sedimentary rocks, was partialized from the extrinsic biogenic that is deposited outside, the travertine predicted the monumental rocky karst of Patmos, for the secretions of calcium carbonate, among so much modest certainty taking you through the Invisible Eclectic Portal, and their Mundis Parallel that crashed with attached carbon molecules that, in disarray, manned them. The chasm was a cascade of weathering that became stalactites in the runes of the travertines, Thermo dynamizing the cavities that were conceived in the invisible caverns, under the parallel caves of the translucent travertine and in the sapwood of the troglodyte ghosts, materializing on the top wind tunnel.

Vernarth; I was with everyone working in the building of the Temple near the outside walls of the Cavern of San Juan, there was Etréstles Eurídice, Raeder, Petrobus, and Alikanto immersed in the Aulos who rang about exciting their ears with the royal denotes, which always had a special quality when he remained in Kalimnos. In good ink, knowing that the entire limen of proximity to the cavern was flooded by the enigmatic revulsive with the presence of Tytillinus, all are reordered towards the poles of tangible etherization with Psalms 120 to 132, thus they would give the antipode disposition with the Divine Mercy, to compensate the crown of the fifteen hours in the afternoon, thus disintegrating the agonizing parallel world that coincides with that of the fifteen hours in the morning. Somehow refraining from the northern paragon with the Tytillinus' shadowing, with the hooks of bewilderment and its scathing thoughts. With precisely this conspicuous shape; Vernarth will allow himself to be swallowed by the beast and reside in his abrasive stomach, making him believe that it will be consumed by him, so that he will soon fall close to it when vomited, thus confusing him, to make him believe that he was the same baby from his conceived womb. Vernarth manages to capture this exotic sinister image near the sinkhole, seeing him depressed in the Tytillinus Prisco; where all attentive listened to the textual vocabularies of the beatific, with the fruit of Karpos, for the benefit of a descendant gained by defeating the devil.

The European Sibilla carried the Gladius in his hand but exchanged it with the Xifos alternately for the death of innocents entrusted by Herod the Great, and for the evasion of the Holy family into Egypt. This confirms the liturgical grouping of the Easter Triduum; alluding to the passion of Christ, and perpetrating the pain of the Devout at his death, and triumphant at his resurrection. The sense of surrealism transports Saint John digging in all the layers and hordes of the Faith, his component of tribulation moved in the Egyptian and Greek cartography, mobilizing the triangular areas of the Palan, which moved in a geometric block reaching the edges of the hypotenuse gradient and the wind tunnel that lifted them, cornering the beast that visited them, pretending to be weak and imprecise. The man will carry the simile of his name, with hyperbole more or less in men who dare not to anticipate the conflicts of the gained space.

Vernarth, plots to continue insinuating with his labors, sees with optimism escape from this calamity, calls everyone to be close to the law ..., once they continued taking the steps towards the cavern. He emerges from convulsions on all edges of the cave, leaving everything dark and with vanities deterred at the end of the temporal Mundis Parallel. In the intermission, Saint John towards the response of Psalm 120 to 132, the fiery roar of the playful roar of the Tytillinus interferes, banishing the shaking of its **** to banish it from the Basilisk's egg, avoiding creating its heavy monarchy over them by prostrating them, as if to dissent. by being repentant or beheaded. Saint John the Evangelist will be an egregious demonologist, compiling thick volumes with the names of the attributions of each of the demons of infernal hierarchy. In this Venusian Aion symmetry, he moves them interconnecting with sublime periods where the intuition of the zafral of the human scale is lost, and of the archetype of Satanism or Satagenesis, with austere precision that includes Leviathan, ruler of the demons, to Ukobach, procurator of keeping the infernal flames alive. So that the manumission of slavery finally reigns according to one's own demonized moral individuality. The amount of an invocation of this type is always the soul of the unconscious individual, who will end up going to be squeezed into the underworld. The demons are invoked and they will invoke themselves in their dawn, to walk in their own darkness of the stagnant past, the mechanized present, and the multidimensional conscious future by means of exclusive enchantments that will be found here in the Mundi Parallel of the Invisible Eclectic Portal.

now don't get me wrong
i love wordsmiths
semiotic story-tellers
rhapsodists rhythmically reciting
love languages from memory
connecting disparate lines
between discordant thoughts like
gods breathing life into dust

for these steel swords we've
conjured up do not rust
nor do they cut flesh

with mouths like ink fountains
we espouse words at the whims
of pens that often seem possessed
of their own volition and
we are their mere harbingers

they slice to the quick
past bone and marrow to
the human spirit and
tap into sentience through
sophisticated sentence structure
measured meter catalyzing cadences
of consonance in confidence

so by all means
spit rhymes and chime in
on current events
i love the rally cries
that seek to stymy injustice
ridicule bigotry and
foment dissent

but don't preach at me
your words of salvation
fall on deaf ears
you cannot save me
because i'm already divine
one-of-a-kind
just like you

i don't fancy myself above
satirizing fictitious and megalomaniacal
depictions of godhood
i've found that humor
helps us navigate the
half-truths and veiled threats
that inundate our daily existence
regardless of whether
they originate from
preachers politicians pundits
or poets

****-shaming and victim-blaming
are pathetic attempts to cull dull minds
no thanks mine's full to the bursting
you think you're clever for slapping
together a couple of words brewed
for maximum effect but you haven't
got the faintest clue do you no

you're nothing but a bully with a pulpit
fearmongering and shouting damnation
mixing Church and State and business
in a trifecta of tyranny
an orgastic oligarchy
of eternal enmity

when we die we pass
into the black abyss of nothingness
each of us a blip on the spectrum of
life under constant duress
before we ultimately perish
a meaningless speck of dust on
an endless shore of who was
who is and who will come to be

this is not a nihilistic proclamation
nor an atheistic defamation of
human beings but a rational
refutation of misanthropy
masquerading as community

your love looks a lot like hatred

i seek to offer an alternative
to the endless cycles of
condemnation that sprout from
the pages of holy books
like gnarled trees bequeathed
unto us by the seeds
of false prophecies

let's face the music
we will all die alone
and there is nothing
and no one
waiting for us
no white light or
loved ones on
the other side
no arbiter of fate
waiting at the gate
to permit us entrance
to a heavenly place

if we could only muster the courage
to divorce ourselves from fatalistic
fantasies of the afterlife
that keep us bent-kneed
we might find within us the strength
to seize the day and
live life so brilliantly that

we'd create a heaven on earth
if merely we departed from the
hellish impulses that divide us
into despondent collections of
self-righteous hypocrites and
simply admit the only thing we
know for certain is that we
know nothing for certain at all

perhaps then we could salvage
a modicum of freedom from
the wreckage of shattered
egos and emaciated lies
that plague this planet
with circumstantial evidence
while relegating our liberty
and inhibiting conscience

in the spirit of free inquiry
then let us question
everyone and everything
starting with yours truly

He saw in his mind’s eye her standing before the mug. In a craft show, on a stall: ceramics. It had a blue about it comforting as a still lake in remote mountains. The glaze had that quality that made you want to stretch your hand towards it, and if not pick it up and touch it entire, at least stroke it with the fingers, feel where the potter’s fingers had formed its shape on the wheel. Everything else on the stall was as nothing; only the mug held her gaze, her desire now to own it, to take its yet to be measured weight between both hands. Imagining breakfast and she would fill it with coffee and bring the hot, rich liquid to her lips: nature’s miracle of taste and aroma so necessary as the right start to any day of work or creative thought. She resolved not to look at the price as she had already decided to buy it come what may. It was beautiful and useful, and she told herself it would replace some mass-produced mug currently filling her kitchen cupboard, a mug that needed relegating to the next yard sale. Eventually, she dreamed, her cupboard would be full of such beautiful mugs she had thus found, thus chosen.

There was nothing here, he thought looking in his kitchen cupboard, that begins to hold a candle to such beauty – a couple of plain white utilitarian cups and saucers. No mugs to speak of. There was real coffee freshly brewing in a jug on the MFI table next to a sadly pink vase of flowers and ferns brought from a moorside garden – for her imagined visit. The dark colour of the coffee and its fragrant aroma (an added spoonful of expresso) formed, he mused, a temporary bridge over the always-distance of their separation. He wondered how his favourite Chinese poet Li Po would have fashioned a poem that spoke of such things: his loved-one far away over the mountains taking her first morning tea, still in her night gown her bare feet on the scrubbed wooden floor, poised before the day as a delicate flower nodding in the wind, the air sweet breathing through the open blinds, the dew sparkling still on the thin grass of her late summer garden.

And so, loving her beyond any measure, any reason, he writes:

*I am jealous of this blue mug
Taking such pleasure
In filling the shape
Of your quiet hand.

Afar, away, apart, beyond distance
I can only dream to drink
From the same rim that touches
Your perfect lips, your darting tongue.

Enshrined vessel corporeal ,
the numberless strands
of infinite time ,
kaleidoscope persona of
Nature , Temperance and Psyche .
☆
With serene countenance ,
in sweet golden light ,
the codes of the Goddess ,
Queen of Cups
and Queen of Swords .
☆
With transforming Geometry
of Justice and
Compassion ,
the unseen ancient force
of her terrible power ,
far beyond base contemplation ,
☆
Rains down the verdict
on dishonour and strife ,
elevating the
transcended ,
while relegating all else
to Beelzebub , earthbound
and gehenna .

Goddess, such a relegating term
But then again,
How do you abridge someone
Who embodies universes inside?
How do I, a mere wanderer,
who is in awe of your luminous wit
Who has traversed her terrains,
Strolled from the glacier
Though her well carved volcanoes
Down to her meadows where,
Her majestic rivers meet and form conflux.
Where her flower continuesly disperse
The elixir of eternal life,
When it is kindled by the desire.
How could i, a mere nomad
Who continouesly crave this water of life
Who is always seeking this fountain,
do you justice,
And encapsulate you, the infinite beauty,
In one word,
Except for the relegating term Goddess,
That my petty mind could come up with.

twice read, I find
my points have mostly
been made in plain geometry, were I to see

from an imaginary Euclidean POV

pre algebra and zeros and pi, as fa's I know,

Euclid makes a point.  ping
do re me, too.

We need some assumptions. True.

Words, Logos per se, re
main the principle tool used right
by both wisdom and knowledge and, now,
under knowledge stand two parts

see likka bubble, zygotic go, knowledge all good

big ol' bubble, knowledge of good and evil,

both, and you know both's a real big
old idea to think at once,

gotta have a push and a pull,
a listing and a lusting,
a compulsion to explode
versa verses reverberating assumptive
implosive con ex in clusives ping 3
do re me
sounds of music all disneyfied hills alive
from the POV of a flea
in the bark of my favorite pine, aw a
crow
dream
alla this,
how sweet is that, you guys don't know what that might
feel like, unless,
you know: in my realm,
right try angles reflect light in odd spectra
bounced from assumptive edges of unknowns.

Euclid, yeah, he failed to know everything anybody learned since he died,
we all know more than he ever did,
though
his timeless thoughts
remain. ..
as mine to twist into art-intuitive
artificial intelligence.
-----
Stop inter, ah, this fits here (no where else, per haps):
an e-ruptive Voltarian pledge of troth from an old bet lost.
Spelchek can't tame the pen, truth emerges
twixt i and e, subtly.
See,
intell still makes sense con egence on the end
and has aright to slide meaningfully
past spelchek and
evil Grammerly Aiing me.
See, both religating and relegating, merge and link.

Right, we assume
we prove flat Euclidean right exists. Okeh.

Here is the handln, wir machen schnell zwei

ping ping points ping
there was there three,
we did not see one, firstime, missed a point,

now, we may see beyond the first assumptive, abruptive,
inter
rupture rapture at/to that lacred nacred sphere.

A pretty pearly gate. Eggish in shape.

This, I imagined was the proverbial NAND/NULL gate,
an old door into superbloom summer
manifested to capture your
attention please, breathe
the beauty,
sneeze,
let it be.
Please, your self has private interpretations,
so it ain't prophecy.
No prophecy from Jehovah and them other names
the supreme being goes by
in woke reality
with quarks in it--  
no
secret intended to hide truth
(secret is same as private here, no private
interpretations) from those who can't see times changed.

---logos logic force, forces chaos into a bubble boing being
--- a peer pressure surge urge dopamine don't fail me now
--- devise a device depicting the mergence,
--- a logo for reality, in a word.
--- one artist made a circle, another formed a square

so many
interruptions, if you could only know,
you could be live, Euclid,

scary thought? no. a hope. an arrogant philosopher's hope
carved in stone

In the beginning == you know, right, everything must mean some
thing or nothing remains to measure worth,
as knowns unknowable for the effort
that you don't make
--- like Tristram Shandy, the marbled page, we few ever knew,
--- first gentle, re-cog-nize justify, ify ify yourself

Wisdom-******* children,
magnificent in countenance, as winners
of the won war fought before the peace.

--- easy treated, like "no sweat" a
--- Jeopardy version of Leela, the big show. You still die. it ain't scary.

resume the assumpting pressures
peer 'em up
umph, try

delta delta delta force chuck-nors negate  negate

dive dive dive

We must be read
y
we got us a bubble of being, in real life poetry.
Tha's deeply memeingful.
Here abouts. A bit o'breathin' room in the long dance.

But Euclid pointed out what I see from my old couch on the porch
on the westside of a piece of land
that pro-truded
from prime-eve, a fractal level a billion lacred layers
time-wise, geo-time-wise ago
yond hither, whence we was words a playin'

silly songs children read and sing along then seem to forget until

some go mad in our dotage and become as little children, once more but

we know now how to learn anything we wish to know.

This could be heaven,
according to the description I was given when escape from hell
was my selfish desire.
Self formed from scraps I over heard as a young'n.

A point remains to appear made in the assumption.

Ah, hey, right tringled triangles.

sit witme, see star one, assume natural numbers a re-able
one two 3
iii --- signals scramble-ble
see we have two brains

two whole brains with minds and minds and minds of their own

and you love simplicity.

Did you ever have to make up your mind?
Pick up on one and leave the other won in a spoonful o'luv

look from my eye to that star,
consider this, Euclid winks, too. One aim alone is right,

thus there is the edge of the sphere of my visual known universe,
the bubble of my being.

Eat me raw or don't eat me at all. said the bull headed god somebody
influential in reality
killed

A bullheaded being, a rampaging ****** slain by some named being
a hero, not me or you…
though new legends lien in wait, eh?

ah, time shift assumption, Euclid POV, nonessential,

flatness is a fractical impossible unthingable thing, plainly stated

imaginable, non-re-alizable.

Spread as spilled milk never cried over, take heart, hoped for
evers come to be
noticed as they pass, plenty people pass
these days,

endurin' to the end is all it takes.
Euclid don't matter and Jesus done cared.

this old heart
wasn’t always so old,
it once was young and
tenderfoot,
wandering through days and
seeking regalement at night.

this old heart
rarely defeated it’s angst,
clenching fists at duelists
only with intentions of
defeasance,
never relegating the significance
of the win but focusing on the
sacking in a loss.

this old heart
played board games with
his sister on snow days after
laying out paths in the white dust
with an orange saucer
while chasing a laughter
only the belly could muster.

this old heart
was once a boy,
with hair like the white hot sun
on an August afternoon,
with bronze skin running about the grass,
chasing an aging brown dog with a ball
in it’s mouth.

this old heart
was once a boy, yes,
but remains no longer.

this old heart grows weary now.
this old heart bears weight.
this old heart stopped asking questions.
this old heart doesn’t laugh.
this old heart has no dog.
this old heart gets lost in the dark
whiling staring into the blinding sun.

Time wasted neck-deep in
idolatry, pretty bottles of
pretty liquids, light gold,
amber, charred oak brown
soaking vanillin and wood
which warms the tongue
perfectly.

I pop my pinky finger in
funny ways, relegating
flow of blood to necessary
extremities only, thumbs
or forefingers or whiny
joints screaming loudly for
sustenance.

There are days in my past
I wish I had skipped,
accidentally sleeping past
my alarms and the sirens
and noises of cars passing
past my window in whichever
home I find myself to wake.

There are days more recently
I have skipped, my mind
spending hours drunkenly
slipping from action to act,
poor me and my problems,
always worthy of an award,
a statuette of broken glass.

Unzip a snow-white teeth
A popcorn can
On the frying pan!

Confronted by
Circumstances dark,
I learned,  with optimism,
Crushed spirits and strength-
sapping moods to mask.

Adopted I applying
Pop operation of the stack
Or relegating gloomy things
To memory's back!

With nary a thought to pose or process
With scary, a way of thinking
I am someone, or the type who, tends to do certain things in a certain way
But what is it worth if it does not read well?
Or to call someone who sounds like yourself and the ensuing contrast of awkwardness
**** n' ****, luck or gettin' lucky in any way colloquial terms for coitus or *** in general, I've none which is not to say I've not in the past or won't in the future but right now there is no significant two-way companionship which I really do want for a variety of reasons to be.
To simply, with cliche, be.
No such comfort will exist in my life for longer than a comparably short while, it would seem.  Nope, no happiness for me, only discomfort, depression, and stress.
No such great is a thing as a two-person love and experience.
And I am alone, truly.
And I am alone, more truly than my peers or fellow poets or parents or family or any other being sharing a universal genus or scientific similarity.
You know nothing of insanity so stop spouting and spewing this beautiful word and defaming and relegating it to a common "lol" or emoticon or any other thing that is obviously below it.
Standard crusted creation of melting erasure dissolving dissipation and dead-eyed cuffing stuffs stuffing still with tough metal roughs of through-bred thoroughly fed fattened and read something a little like this - DISGUSTING MUSK-SCENTED RUSTING HORMONE RIDDEN DERISION OF A TEENAGE HUMAN ****.
Operated in an operation inside of an operation on a mechani-borg.

Unaware of the music within
Rarely dancing to its rhythm
An outsider pulls the wrong chords
Making us dance to their discordant tunes
Becoming mere puppets, with strings attached
Unable to play the right notes
Our music relegating to the subconscious
Drowning among the loud beats
The hand of the stranger plays along
Touching all the wrong notes
Music, not close to the heart
Life is taken over by the estranged notes
Till then the subconscious waits in agony
Waiting for the moment to be in limelight
And hoping to become the music conductor
Playing the right notes and dancing to the right tunes

© Amitav

Relegating tyrants
Of Biblical acclaim
In to History's dustbin
Error's vast domain

Gravity is the final nail
In Religion's hearse
Illuminating forces
Of the passing Universe

Invisible, indelible
Pulling apples to the Earth
Unassailable, immutable
Rotating planets' girth

To be just attuned to accommodate life
What would be the chance
Gravity is the epitome
Of a cheerful happenstance

Sorting it all out
The how's and the why's
The sanity from the insanity
And the Truth!

That ******, vile, 5 letter word
That sends everyone running
From each other,
One another,
Themselves,
And the reality of our own
***** dog,
got ****
liberating
Freedom relegating
T.R.U.T.H.
Truth!!!!

The bridge to pass across
the relegating river has fallen now
you have to spread your blood
to cross,the milk now taste sour
now you will have to press your breast
to drink white.
The day turns black and night turns
to red,strongly pouring fear on children.
But if there is life there is hope they say,
so where is hope to visit?
why not if there is life there is
food to stay strong?
or if there is life there is money
to buy immortality
or shelter for protection?
why not?
who will tell me why is
hope that life include?
But the answer come straight
from ancient mountain where
God resides,no sane man hope
for what is seen
we only hope for next minute
not now but hope is like
volumptuous bag that carries
good tidings
Hope is expectation of a night
without sweat
Hope is expectations of courage that will not met
Hope is expectation of bed that
will not wet.
So I say to the living that
hope a sunshine after the rain
there is a friend coming that
will stay and will not leave again
There is a honey coming to
establish joy in our bitter stomach
●ROHM 2017

The earliest recollection with
lower gastrointestinal eruptions,
viz psychosomatic induced distress
occurred when yours truly
quite a young lad, which specialist
invited me to ingest barium sulfate,
whereby the pinkish chalk like solution
traced a path thru digestive tract
visible while I stood behind a screen.

Rear lee if ever attested subject
suffices as an apt poetic title
amidst bookish canon - while
this writer (similar to other aspirants
in their respective creative pursuits)
aware arbitrary perusers may deem vile

core body of voluntary selective readers
mentally affix probationary trial
before unequivocally gravitating
toward my genre or signature
swiftly tailored harried style,
which unique modality
of expression eventually

accruing some degree of popularity
affecting unseen frown or smile
nonetheless, accepting, enjoying,
and tolerating how I playfully rile
aware that anonymous reader's
patience can wear thin relegating mine

worded persona on par with a reptile
unknowingly breaking fragile bond,
hence she/he might not reconcile
without awareness a valuable kinship,
dismiss me as puerile,
thus forsaking tenuous link, one

that may never bare tangible fruition,
yet all along self scrutiny occurs to refine
thy cerebral thought provoking profile
also intimating months gone by bias
arises toward my
figurative handily prehensile

expansive vocabulary, could
(and/or does) rank as a pile
of unpleasant gluteus maximus
sphincter muscle missile
imposing effort to tone down exuberant,
flamboyant, and gallant mercantile

flashing blindingly exasperatingly,
and inflamingly nauseating vocabulary,
not deliberately juvenile
but this luxe lavish embellishment
a labor of (lost) love with English
Language (inherent since...

in utero), thus...infantile
asper taking shape without conscious
deliberation, though imbecile
appellation possibly affixed
as lasting impression,
perhaps even engendering hostile,

whereat no effort to exhort
unconditional acceptance of me guile
will transpire, cuz this chap
recognizes how tenuously fragile,
the online choice to remain a steadfast
virtual friendship quintessentially fissile

oft times casting the notion how facile
mine arrangement springs from one
core textured intellectual domicile
that houses persona of one docile
amphibious descendent, whose forebear,
yes twas a crocodile!

23,190 days ago,

Yours truly got hashtagged
as the 2,975,075,410TH
person alive on Earth
according to website
https://worldpopulationhistory.org/
my-population-number/.

Come November 15, 2022
(a little more than
four months from now -
actually one hundred twenty days
after today July 11, 2022),
the world's population
projected to reach eight billion.

The latter date underlined
and iterated above
recognized as World Population Day
according to United Nations
World Population Prospects 2022.

Though prone to espouse Malthusian theory
(the idea that population growth
graphs potentially exponential curve
while the growth of the food supply
or other resources remain linear,
which eventually reduces living standards
to the point of triggering a population die off),
I tend to embrace more optimistic forecasts
encompassing number of people
livingsocial cheek to jowl
upon oblate spheroid
also known as planet earth.

Throughout mein kampf and hard times
(spanning three score plus three years)
the fourth industrial revolution (4IR) prevails.

The 4th Industrial Revolution (4IR)
constitutes a fusion of advances
in artificial intelligence (AI), robotics,
the Internet of Things (IoT),
genetic engineering, quantum computing,
and more applications with microchips
implemented in almost every electronic device
we use today, including smartphones,
gaming consoles, cars and medical equipment.

I feel excluded amidst radical transformations
upending long established paradigms,
and hanker with nostalgic tug in my breast
when civilization linkedin with humankind
reliant upon sweat of their brow efforts
cultivating, harvesting, oiling tired muscles
xing off daily, weekly, monthly... chores
until the morrow beckons hours spent
physically engrossed with labor of love.

No doubt I characterize, fantasize, idealize,
mythologize, romanticize... woebegone time
that only existed within the outer limits
of the twilight zone, where dark shadows
presaged the approach of an alien nation
seeding colonization courtesy
super intelligent species
employing exploitation of innocent naivete
characteristic of yours truly
suitable as key personality,
whereby intergalactic entities jump/kickstart
regime trumpeting other worldly credo
gussied up as faux capitalistic enterprise.

Deft cosmic management utilizes
extra terrestrial workshops
that inculcate transparent
lgbtqia2+ friendly principles
plus reproductive rights
no matter ****** orientation
trends atypically heterosexual
imposing zero tolerance policy instituted
to accommodate divers
creed, ethnicity, gender,
nationality, race, religion, et cetera.

Such far out hypothetical scenario,
whereby once self important **** sapiens
become plaything of all powerful universe force
able, eager, ready and willing
to mutate into any terrestrial animal or plant
can even shrink down
into bot size unit and embed themselves
inside body electric
of people like you and me
ultimately regulating ability
for us to procreate
eventually relegating humankind
to the dustbin of history.

Drifting out across eternities there's no reason for the implied meaning...
Of the one soulless window relegating
Virtue to impress a, soulful asunder, guardian of the depraved
For that virtue binds the integral fascination
To review any principle within.. that moment ...
Therein spineless front which denigrates
Onto a microfiche when the whole of erroneous examplature
Accessible is our landscape shouldering the yearning for
the violent outbreak
A leaf a shrub a vine and rivers only hassles any one
persistence knows of the sort
(brake)
Exemplification drenches furrows of enlightened, this apogee
sent not for the gender or of race
Or what makes comprehension before it?!
The fascinations of factions of persons who believe, endure
Self taught reasons, a face for arguing, rather than beseech they atone to learn
What central devolving fresh thought hinders the use of such philosophy?
The negative review of the very exchange, rapine, when found is virtue of altruistic and proud epiphany?
One may wished to have claimed afore as necessity...
Avenues of negativity suspend course!
and excessive janitorial clumsy virtue transcends!
For lack of suave ambitious truth the negativity turns to supersedent personal...
strength... that RENDERS

Must we all be born, previously a zygote and more through
friction busters whether(strike the lustors) the minds or bodies of...
... ... ...
... the front end
blasphemous
fender
******!

today – late morning of November 4th 2022
sudden onset experienced whereby
whooshing waste naturally flushed out
ala mine body electric performed colonoscopy
diarrheal gangbuster instigated
maybe Machiavellian microbe
with powerful ****** surge
analogous to invisible plunger
forcing out every last tidbit
constituting raw bits of
partially digested food
propelled with pronounced might
found yours truly pooped out.

Mine earliest recollection with
lower gastrointestinal eruptions,
viz (diagnosis courtesy medical technicians
informed this then youngster
stomach ache symptoms
disappointingly jump/kick started,
concluded, and associated
with psychosomatic induced distress)
occurred when sexagenarian - me
quite a young lad, which specialist
invited me to ingest barium sulfate,
linked with class of medications
called radiopaque contrast media.

The suspension (liquid)
worked by coating esophagus,
stomach, or intestine
with material not absorbed
into body so diseased
or damaged areas
could be clearly seen
by examination or CT scan.

Once I grudgingly swallowed
the pinkish chalk like solution
a path traced thru digestive tract
visible while I stood behind a screen
subsequently no life or death crisis evinced.

Rear lee if ever attested subject
suffices as an apt poetic title
amidst bookish canon - while
this writer (similar to other aspirants
in their respective creative pursuits)
aware arbitrary perusers may deem vile.

Core body of voluntary selective readers
mentally affix probationary trial
before unequivocally gravitating
toward (or being repulsed away from)
my unique genre or signature
swiftly tailored harried style,
which modus operandi modality
of expression eventually

accruing some degree of popularity
affecting unseen frown or smile
nevertheless, accepting, enjoying,
and tolerating how I playfully rile
aware that anonymous reader's
patience can wear thin relegating mine

worded persona on par with a reptile
unknowingly breaking fragile bond,
hence she/he might not reconcile
without awareness rejecting valuable kinship,
immediately dismiss me as asinine or puerile,
thus forsaking tenuous link, one

that may never bare tangible fruition,
yet all along self scrutiny occurs to refine
thy cerebral thought provoking profile
also intimating months gone by bias
arises toward gobbledygook
figurative handily prehensile

expansive vocabulary, verbosity could
(and/or does) rank as a pile
of unpleasant gluteus maximus
sphincter muscle missile excreta
imposing effort to tone down exuberant,
flamboyant, and gallant
gibberish bookish mercantile

flashing blindingly exasperatingly,
and inflamingly nauseating vocabulary,
not deliberately juvenile,
but this luxe lavish embellishment
a labor of (lost) love with English
Language (inherent since...

in utero), thus...infantile
asper taking shape without conscious
deliberation, though imbecile
appellation possibly affixed
as lasting impression,
perhaps even engendering hostile,

opinion, whereat no effort to exhort
unconditional acceptance of me guile
will transpire, cuz this chap
recognizes how tenuously fragile,
the online choice to remain a steadfast
virtual friendship quintessentially fissile

oft times casting the notion how facile
mine arrangement springs from one
core textured intellectual domicile
that houses persona of one docile
amphibious descendent, whose forebear,
yes twas a Democratic crocodile!