my sonnet is A light goes on in
the toiletwindow,that’s straightacross from
my window,night air bothered with a rustling din

sort of sublimated tom-tom
which quite outdoes the mandolin-

man’s tiny racket.  The horses sleep upstairs.
And you can see their ears.  Ears win-

k,funny stable.  In the morning they go out in pairs:
amazingly,one pair is white
(but you know that)they look at each other.  Nudge.

(if they love each other,who cares?)
They pull the morning out of the night.

I am living with a mouse who shares

my meals with him,which is fair as i judge.

A bedspread on which bold, red and blue
esoteric, Tantric, motifs embrace
copulating triangles, the ideogram of cosmos
batik printed in vermilion on it's center
is spread, right there on the play-field of cupid
where the confluence is to happen,
a transmitting point of fecund energies to infinity,
a point on the spring board to transcendence

Beloved, here in the holy fire, receive in ecstasy,
the sacrificial offering I bring from the
incessant Ganga of my lineage,

Shakti and Shiva come in for divine union,
together here on the mark beyond time and space.
right in the center is "THE BINDU" the mystical point
both culmination and beginning of the 'beyond'
passage from here  to timelessness of cosmos, we invoke.

Here Shakti is holy fire leaping up for Shiva's offering,
sublimated they fuse, may that be the seed for karmas lumenant.

Is the only way through
situations the passage inside?
Detach my spirit and hover
from above at
the height of light
Where should I transfer
my trash?
the recycling box
doesn't seem half bad
but it requires sorting
what goes where
and eventually
it will transmogrify
and come back in the form
of a coffee cup sipping'
on my new lovers eyes
that I will of course,
repeat the pattern
of romantic disaster
and time bombs
of imminent arrival
holding out...
how long could one stifle
a much needed expression
that was sublimated
under the pretext
of ultimatum
do or die
love me or not
understand or dissipate
commit or let go
for as long as the rest
of remembrance

At a party [many people, dressed nice, cocktails
going round] someone I guess awoke to my presence
as if I’d just appeared out of nowhere or something
and asked me [totally circular eyes, spearing pupils]
like this: And what do you do? I looked at him, and I
don’t know what face I made, but what I wanted to
look like was something to this effect, matter-of-factly:
Well, what do you think I do? Obviously, I simply
try to avoid, day by day,
a wretchedly hopeless case of dismal ennui.
I try to endure, as stoically I can, the
inner doggerel convulsions
and mawkish throes educed by the
realization of transcendental insignificance
(or, otherwise: paradoxically substantial nothingness)
that imbues all hope of Elysian ecstasy and
reduces it to but the terrifyingly
ineluctable fact that we are essentially
impotent holograms functioning by the fixed fractal geometry
of a dynamic and chaotic, kaleidomosaic-like reality,
which, as eternally self-transforming and
forever utterly inconceivable,
is devoid of any certainty, absolute truth
and, most of all, compassion.
Furthermore, when I look at you, I see a deaf-mute
reflection of a reflection of myself, and
to be morbidly honest, I don’t
know what I can tell you that would
make any difference to the fact that, freely or
not, we are both, you and I, just passing
through our lonely, fathomless, patterned
deserts, blinded and lured by the Fata
Morgana of our sadly sublimated
consciousnesses, due to which, undulating up ahead
of us in a chimerical haze, we are
conditioned to think, fatuously, that we know,
or that it’s possible even to know, that
it means something to love or not to love, that it
matters at all whether we are alone or
not, and that, at the point of death, there will be
something, somewhere, that will condense
somehow out of this
nauseatingly numinous fog and, like a deserved,
blissful wash of our “souls”—like a salvation!—
will come to justify the inanities
and insanities of our mundane life as just the
confusing buildup to a final and triumphantly
epiphanic crystallization in which, at last,
we will truly understand, unquestionably, the meaning of I,
the meaning of you, the meaning of truth,
and the meaning of meaning—I mean, honestly sir.
What do you do?
That’s what I hope my face looked like, but I guess it
must’ve looked like something else, or maybe I said
something, because the man just raised both his brows
[his left one slightly more than his right] and stared
me down in mocked awe, on the verge of superciliousness.
His eyes slowly receded like a tide imperceptibly towards
the back of his skull, his lips pursed, parched, and pitying.
Then he nodded complaisantly, too energetically, saying:
Oh, how interesting! Did you always see yourself getting
into something like that? Mmhmm. Hmm! [and so forth]
And how do you like that? Mmhmm. [and so forth] And
the pay? Mmhmm [etcetera]. After I’d finished answering
some of his questions, I said: If you’ll excuse me, I just saw
a friend of mine, I really should go and say hi, but what a
pleasure it was to talk to you, sir. Take care!
And I excused myself.

I
Today my heart is beating a sorrowful tune
and I don’t really know if it will end soon.
Since your departure all seems to be amiss
a pale reflection of that once heavenly bliss.
I have been left stranded on an alien shore
to fend for myself groping near your door.
The aftertaste of delight which our union once exuded
lingers on now in memory and feels like I was deluded.
Something doesn’t seem to be quite the same
even though I remember and repeat your name.
Your presence was what made the difference then
such a tangible feeling: will you not come again?
  I can only endeavor to lure you back once more
  so please don’t any of my genuine efforts ignore.

II
I look for you everywhere that I happen to go
but where you’re to be found I’d like to know.
Some say you’re in the heart and to look within
while others assert that you’re in the next of kin.
Life is really a situation of relationships with you
and knowledge of the ways of love gets us through.
If we come across difficulties and obstacles by love they’re resolved
which engenders compassion and understanding as it gets involved.
There are many people in the world who look in all the wrong places
searching for the same thing here in the available surrounding spaces.
Hoping that what they’ll find is what their heart most desires
and to fulfil this craving their mind with their heart conspires.
  Our inner being or soul though is the silent witness observing it all
  and expresses itself as our higher conscience when we heed its call.

III
To suffer in the agony of a lover’s separation we learn
that being away from the Beloved makes the heart burn.
It is even worse when the Beloved has gone away not saying why
and the lover has been left alone in the throes of love high and dry.
The heart cannot bear the pain of love in separation
and the mind seeks to achieve a suitable reconciliation.
When the power of love rules the heart mind hastens to obey
and doesn’t need any other reason to cause unwanted delay.
If all the lover’s efforts to a reunion only end in despair
then it may be better to let the matter rest awhile there.
True love cannot be really denied except at a great personal cost
and in desperation we seldom realise the value of what’s been lost.
  There is a saying that: ‘love will always find a way’
  and that a heart full of love over the mind holds sway.

IV
As I was never given a reason why you suddenly left
I can only assume that there isn’t one and love is bereft.
The heart has its own reasons which the mind can’t fathom
so the mind depends on the heart for matters in its *****.
Where the Beloved goes there the lovers also have to follow
because love is the magnet that draws them all nigh to go.
When the fragrance of love is in the air and lovers imbibe its scent
the intoxicating effect is a strong potion which on the heart is bent.
Man’s feeble mind relies more on the heart when the matter of love is concerned
but if the mind dominates and rationalises through the intellect love is adjourned.
If the mind of the lover is centred in the heart where the play of love is unfolding
it will experience anguish and misery when the Beloved anything is withholding.
  All true lovers will always seek the company and well-being of their beloved
  and are never satisfied with remaining at a distance if love is being uncovered.

V
Whose fault is it may I inquire if anyone falls irresistibly in love
and the processes of love in separation overwhelm as from above?
What can one really do but follow wherever their heart leads
and undergo the agony in seeing that love is not displeased.
In seeking the pleasure of the Beloved one’s life becomes fulfilled
which otherwise would remain barren like a desolate land untilled.
When the Beloved sows the seeds of love in the fertile soil of one’s heart
all that was in there when that time comes must be sublimated or depart.
The arrows of love seek to pierce their target which is the heart of the lover
and the Beloved is the one drawing the bow with intent to **** we discover.
To die for love is much better than to live without we’ve heard often before
and those who lose their life in the cause of the Beloved will live forevermore.
  When the heart is purified and pure love is awakened by the Beloved’s grace
  any who are the recipients thereof realize that love in separation has its place.

Ekhafu ya kamevele niyo ekamayanka elurende!
It goes a Bukusu saying, from Kenya,
It has it English equivalence as;
The most productive Milch- cow
is the one that often dies at the creek,
And truly Proffessor Ali A.  Mazrui
Africa’s global intellectual Milch-cow
Has died today from his drinking creek,
At Birmingham hospital in New-York,
His death is a deep wound
To the world of knowledge,
An impeachment to the voices
Subscribing to classical reasons,
An old wine skin to the new wine
Of nothing but global democracy,
I mourn you Mazrui in this solemn dirge,
I grieve for you deeply from my heart
I grieve for you as you grieved Okigbo,
When the bullet took his youthful life
at Nzuka battle front during the Biafra,
My mind’s eye is seeing you,
Like my Mr. Giraffe the driver
In your political epic
That tried Christopher Okigbo,
Mazrui the global son
Sired in the neoclassical times
We shall miss you,
As there is no whence
That cometh another Mazrui
From all the four corners of the earth
Rarely will he come one more Mazrui,

You failed your O’level exams at Mombasa Sec School
As you humbly basked in Muslim poverty, in 1943
Not because you were a stooge
But a genius of cultural radicalism,
Refusing to answer a history question;
Who is the Archduke of Canterbury?
Dismissing it as academic sham,
For what value has Archduke of Canterbury
to an African, Asian or Mexican boy?

You were denied a chance to study
At the then colonial Makerere University,
You sublimated to Edinburg and Oxford,
You come back into its deanry of political science
You met Milton Obote face to face,
When he was an African-English song bird of Gulu
You shouted loud when Id Amin plotted to **** Okello Oculli
You were then detained for this noise of humanity
You voice was heard,
And you were exported to southern Tundra
As an exhibit for non-white intellectual
Mazrui let me mourn you for the efforts
That sired intellectual democracy in Uganda,

When I reminisce of you Mazrui,
Pages of African Conditions open
Widely before my mind’s eye,
I see your intellectual pilgrimage
From Rudyard Kipling to Julius Nyerere
As you made your Al Hajji stone
at the graveyard of  Shakespeare the bard,

You met Daniel Moi face to face
Daniel Moi the Kalenjin Cow of Dictatorship
And black Maestro of ethnic terror
You took this despotic Moi cow to the well,
You pleaded for it to drink politics of reason
But Mazrui I pity, you were unlucky;
Kalenjin cows never drink whatsoever
From the democratic wells of political reasons,

Mazrui Maalim the star of Islam,
I envy your for your elonguence
I envy you for the unique power of ideas,
I envy you for unique intellectual bravery,
I envy you for constant intellectual dynamism
For your firm stand against utopian socialism
For your intuition into Nkrumah’s Leninist czarism,
And Senghorean cultural despair in paradoxical negritude,
For your firm stand against Ngugi’s literary tribalism,

Mazrui the stellar saint of Swahili Nation
I remember your glowing tribute
In eulogy of Julius Nyerere the swahilist,
When you held the world stand-still
With your cadence in tribute to Mandela
You have used every English word in your scholarship,
Indeed Mazrui you are the African sky
that cannot be vilified by any  ***** mouth,


Mazrui the angel of good thought
You cautioned Wole Soyinka in 1988,
When he embarked on his racist mission
That made him to call you a white African
Or a non- African African, An African Arab
In his blurred thoughts in dint of bigotry
Emanating from your Jekyll and Hide
Vintageously Serialized at Albert Schweitzer,
You sang to him ballads of the scholar
On the African of the soil and African of the blood,

Rest in peace Mazrui at the Fort Jesus
Let your glorious name and teachings
Remain permanent to the future people
As the stubborn stones of the Fort Jesus,
As your name takes the official knighthood
Of the leopard skin on death of the leopard,

it seems too contrite
to think that it is a revelation
that life can change in a single instant
like the fraction of a second
the blink of an eye
when the world goes dark and
you forget that you can
actually see

but i get stuck there
knocked out of this reality
and thrown headlong
onto the asphalt that
doesn't give way for
my crystalline bones and
tear-stained face
how can this not be real
when the pain is inescapable
taking up residence
in each secret crevice of
my war-torn self
and i can't run
with these compound fractures
ivory bone peeking through
my crimson stained skin
my spilt blood somehow
reabsorbing into my pores
trying to return home
but those cells are outlaws
they've been expelled
exiled and it feels like
they are now more a part of
the obsidian ground around me
where i've lost myself

where no one can reach me

i'm behind a mirror
hidden in a plume of smoke
and my agony
my suffering cannot be touched
or sublimated into ether
where i can die
and all the world will note
is the lack of my return
to the reality of
the world around them
so concrete they would
never imagine the
tenuous connection that we share
a fishing line that
i rely on
that i wrap around my fist
until it cuts to the bone
and i am certain that
it cannot be pulled away

but i lose it
i grasp desperately
to pull it back into the
wounds where it
fits like that's where it was
created to inhabit
and when i'm empty
when i'm not bleeding
from self-inflicted
gunshot wounds
and razor slices that
never seem to fall
deep enough
to remind me that i'm
still alive
to spread bloodstains
and confirm the
strange world around me
is actually reality
and that i am a part of it

because most of the time
i feel like an interloper
an alien species
and integration
is impossible.

We don't say "I love you" anymore
The sentiment buried deep
Seldom considered
Never discussed
A declaration that swims
With memories
Sinks with exhaustion
Hardens with repetition
Deep in the recesses of our souls
The fear of it's loss
Is the proof of it's existence
Throughout it's evolution
How painful to let go of what it once was
How difficult to grasp what it has become
How dreadful to consider what it may turn into
Sublimated, as it is
Fighting gravity to escape the ocean floor
This love awaits resurrection
The renewal of senses dumbed down

"I love you" takes it's rightful place
Beyond the realm of intelligence
Into the dumb bliss of Spirit
To mingle with childhood dreams
Memories of carnivals and candy
Moms and Dads
To pick up after us
Teaching, alas, by example
Wide-eyed wonder for alien species
Dogs and cats and turtles and frogs
Butterflies and bees, lightning bugs and praying mantis
We marvel at it's devotion and wonder
What is he praying for? Who is he praying for?
More likely we marveled at how green he was
Days when we knew love without knowing it's name
Before we knew what it was
A given
Yes, a Given
Waiting for the day when it would be
Taken for granted
Yes, Taken

The words have become useless to us
Offered and received so many times
Put them to rest
Hope for the best

The river, her vigor sublimated, is a thoughtful flow
after the daring dive head on from the pinnacle of the cliff,
madly arrogant roaring rush through the dense woods
in spate during torrential monsoons muddy red,
satiated now, at ease, meditative, inner currents subdued.

These planes are different, the river an uncanny imitation of a pond,
the white swan, she  keeps still, unfazed by the pulls to four sides
falling in love with the enigmatic pink lotus, my witness
that blooms alone, in the marshy shallows, only for her to fall in love.

Amazing is the swan's prowess,she  makes the mighty river
accept her ease, wise tranquil pace and brings to a slow down
little by little, listening to the inner music,which is oh! haunting
the river now comes to trance yogi like, in sync with the
foaming green waves of trees along both the banks,
the whisper of wind to coconut leaves,if you listen
is the mystic mantra, "Ï am that..I am that..I am that"

wisdom isn't alien, don't look for it atop only the mountains
it's in the wind's hands,on the lap of  land and in water's prompt,
what space evokes when one merges seamlessly in nature's divine ,
the song one hears silent within, echoes aloud in nature's chant.

My heart is ruled only by her, the white swan.I realize.

Colors of love, I've never seen was painted on my heart by her,
lust sublimated,was the primer she preferred as the base to start,
music of love, she conducted, played in the background day and night
caressed me softly, made the colors dry, made it remain there ever
my wounded heart, demanded only love, nothing more from her
but she made it her piece of interest, for her million desires to adore

Her alchemy transformed it to gold, that never would lose it's sheen,
used all her riches excavated, from the valley of her placid mind,
to embellish and make it an invaluable dowry chest for her, ever
the skies cloudless,I was tranquil,her love made me feel elated,
on her, the wave-less lake I perfectly reflected, even at dark nights,

What else would make one dedicate, all mind commands,to her
and all flights of soul to higher echelons were inspired by her,
isn't that state, one knows as bliss, we are bound together by that .

At first I was a lover,
adherent adorer
of the ultimate
father figure
to whom
I sublimated
all that I was.

Then when
faced with
the pain
of existence
I became
a questioner
of the almighty.

In studying
the sorrows of history,
I saw the stain
of human tragedy
perpetuated
on the forms
that people hated,
how they mutilated
men, women,
and children.
Then I became
an accuser
judging
the behavior
or lack there of
of this
omnipotent being.

Till, I saw the truth
and the abstraction
shrank from something
to nothing.
The light of a creator
that subdued my mind
and enslaved my spirit
blinked out into the nothingness
that it always was.

Or at least thats what I always believed to be the Gospel Truth.
I was a true ***** believer in this supposed axiom
right up until the moment I
ceased drinking unceasingly.
And what did I have to believe in now?
I loved drinking.
Loved loved loved it.
I loved alcohol so much that I stopped noticing anything else in my life.
Eventually I drank so completely that I stopped noticing it as well.
Kind of like a Blasé blah marriage of addictive attrition,
alcohol was my infernal internal companion.
It never strayed nor ever cheated me.
'Twas extraordinarily dependable and pleasantly blendable too.
But you know what?
I'm happier now.
I have purpose beyond my elbow's reach.
Purpose deeper than the bottom of any bottle.
Alcohol may have been all of those things I just mentioned,
but it really became my life's filter.
But not the kind of filter that removes all impurities.
Rather a filter that kept any and everything out of my life that didn't include alcohol.
Devious huh?
My 'filter' worked like so:
If I wanted to Laugh?
I'd need a few shots before the funny could start,
and after a few more drinks the funny wouldn't stop...
Even when what I thought was so **** funny was
actually so **** painful it made everyone miserable
and want to go home and cry.
If I wanted Love?
Or ***?
I'm gonna need to be hammered
before I even attempt to express the former,
but not too hammered or there's
no recompense in attempting the latter.
Every facet of my life had to get in where it could fit in,
always sublimated beneath my HNIC
alcohol.

If a job didn't let me drink,
my drinking let that job go.
The list of let go's is breath achingly long.
Small sample?
I quit guitar, I quit family, I quit joy.
About the only thing I didn't give up on was cigarettes.

The inelegant mathematical constant made plain by my life was drinking. The proof would look something like this:

Me/T = S
to explain it as a constant:

Me over Time is always equal to *******.

It was a given.
That finally had to give.
It's only been 'less than a long time' since my last drink.
It's been a little while, but compared to the number of times I've circled the sun
it feels insignificant.
This means I need to keep the memory of my marbles being misappropriated by mixologists muy importante en mi cabeza.
That last sentence was mostly for me.
So is this next one.
Perhaps I can potentially ping-pong my perspective on
how long it's been since I drank.
I could make it seem like half a lifetime has passed since then.
And I think I could.
If I was a toddler.

Me Not Drinking?

Me Not Drinking Is The Sun Shining.
Me Not Drinking Is Zaria Smiling.
Me Not Drinking Is Broncos Losing Superbowls. (Sorry Colorado)
Me Not Drinking Is a Life Meant to Be.
For Me.

I can see now just how drab & gray life's kaleidoscope
becomes when viewed wholly through an alcohol filter.
So i am sad to say goodbye,
but i am more sad it took us so long to part ways.
Alone I can smile and can sigh,
perhaps even cry.
(if I get something in my eye).
Because I am human again.
I feel all the feelings again.
I am a me again.
I am filterless.
**** Yeah!

The road continues to its vanishing point on the horizon —
where over-ambition falls to earth as delusion
and toil is sublimated into wonder.

Will you travel with me?
Will you relinquish the almost right and the fairly good?
Can you scrape away the detail from the essence?

Navigation may be difficult.
There is a route to perfection, but it is not signposted.
Sometimes tarmac gives way to dirt and mud.

The light is fading, now.
Eventually, sleep will be unavoidable.
Tomorrow, we can steal the lightening.

From the physiognomy that bruises the vertical from Gaul; axiomatic metempsychosis elements were transferred from corporate primaries to third parties after the incipient expiration of Vernarth. This orphistic or mystical enchantment was brought by Wontelimar from Valdaine, emerging from insane drunkenness on the Ardeche Mountains, transmigrating euphony and medical justifications that were united with the reincarnated Helminth reminiscent of Vernarth. Such was a verme or worm that classified itself in his arm, munching in his elder veins elongated by parasites of commendable colonies and idiomatic, retro-emotional, and lyrical heights. Knowing that its baluster made capital letters in steps and life-giving questions by means of beads, and the oratic chain of Luccica's godmother that awakened in him translating expirative and presumptive psychophysical Zionisms of the eloquent millionth perspectivism of re-trance, when his putrid upright arm was recorded. and landing in his Abrahamic physical departure, dissociating his body, separating and alternating with his dexterous spiral Aorion tri-bracelet between the arm of Sagittarius and the arm of Perseus, liquefying into indissoluble modular stratagems for three bodies, plus the one that accompanied occupying triplets in posthumous individualities. Unconscious metempsychosis singularities brought the right-arm picking him up several times from the discursive hive of Wonthelimar, to convince him and tell him that he had not been with the Hexagonal Progeny for some time, without hindrance it brought him from Ardeche in lasting and concerting sets, gray senses looking at the valleys of Valdaine in pilgrimages towards the expectant Patmian plains. His expiration was reborn from the appendages of the water lilies that were grasped by the recessed lumbar powers and were trans-mentalized into related memories that subsist reincarnationist and degressive in plausive longing when re-advancing with revived intelligence, to indoctrinate themselves when raised from an emetic absolutist consciousness, and free from the greatest breaths of judgment is constant waste and reciprocity on shelves that started from an initial discipline already transmigrated, on skinned ardors eroding from astral ellipses in decayed individualities expiring in the Ego-Xifos (Ego-Sharps), that transpose the gorges that even through Hellenic geography that has not been shed by the blood of a Hetairoi.

Wonthelimar says: “hold on to my lazy arm and embrace Lazarus and his decayed fierceness! in different bodies I have seen your blood hang itself on banners with different super-life monarchies, in the germs of the Valdaine valley avoiding their retreat into fatuous materials that vilified the acrotera of your descended Megaron. Remarking on the genetic tricuspid, and emanating lineages of surviving to invigorate in the dexterous appendage of Aorion, which has to wail from the armpit of Betelgeuse with insensitive patches that mock to see him bleed for more than two thousand years without coagulating in possible anarchies more than nothing, before speculating from where the meager blindness of compassionate triple restraints has germinated, like a split Psychí or soul three times before predicting about the valleys and a castle, in infamous beatifies that do not bleed with me…, Wonthelimar ”. It is possible that they have sublimated us from the apathetic and brief radiance...?, Only in some moor or headland before tearing us from the banners or Vexillum of the inaugural that stuffs its already subsisted vehemence in spaces that are already acroteral, resting on peduncles in floral capitulars. And the immobile ones mold the support pustules…, the sap that runs horribly towards you and behind you! Incontinent to your dehydrated past lives redeeming subsistence and rubbing it, then excluding themselves healed properly from their wounds settled in muddy dreams of reviving them expired. Resulting from its origins from the Mysterium or Musterium as an enclave exacerbated in civil disproportions that were established since the Neolithic, without having sealed the doors of all the species that were trapped in the mysterious ice ages, based on ritualistic doctrines, through eager entities to obstruct lapses in the open air of the Spilaion Apokalypseo, having to be returned in possession of physiognomies and of all the enclosed species of the Neolithic Age ”. The bumblebees loaded with spherical honey in their legs, flew by the assembly of the warriors, crops, pastoral assemblages, and sharp stones that cut the wind that disturb the infants who fear the night sleep in the rough quarries that made them sedentary of venerable thermoregulated and climatic seats. Making of them and us revolutionary discoveries, for the interconnection of cooled flints in forests of Memento or Vademecun, to be erected on the megalithic plains, from where I come, rolling like a circular stone that moves the rocks of the World away from a near east, making some timorous and Asian oratics, I was able to get close to you Vernarth, who since the Neolithic I appear following you without giving up in the horticultural and in bovine frights. In this way, the water lilies and peduncles cordoned off the semoviente, full of thrones to conquer them, almost after having lost the calculations of the plasma that were being innovated from a Hetairoi by being reformulated from its incendiary essence, with such spasm being pardoned in the orbits of those who it the sustain themselves and wait for them bringing elaborate anonymous spare parts. Thus Wonthelimar spreads Greek fire over his golden breastplate, entering his transmigrated soul there, as fiduciaries of naphtha, sulfur, and ammonia in treats of previous and speculated oxygenated suitability that was transmitted in suffocating atmospheres by his deltoid when he detonated hatred in his eyelids.. His ***** inhibited signs of fear and hissing of freedom in fields of glory from a mythologized go diving between desolate flames of excretion, and throwing fuel that was not conceived of the same troubadour in the final redemption. (Among waters, minerals and ureas from the Hephaestus braze where dead proteins of cell warheads were stained, nitrogenizing acids that were from the common verb of Wonthelimar) ”.

The double V merged and intertwined forming an inverted double V, being the metric bulbar of Wonthelimar raising awareness of the upper and lower Vernarthian blocks, night falling towards a density of the same that moved raised on the north deck of the Eurydice ship, while everyone slept in the understand the "V" residing and originating from the annihilating biological duo of the immemorial of Vernarth and the Bumodos river, contemplating the suggestive salvage of sap after overcoming lymphomas in the battle of Gaugamela. Wonthelimar in tender loves misrepresented what he would achieve with his ****** healings next to the bold tributary, leaving in the vanguard and in starts from all the gigs that had condemned to Halicarnassus to be truncated next to infallible Canephores in disgrace to their executioners, branching all the branches of holm oaks of the articular of Wonthelimar that had been sheltering from the head, girdling itself in old debt collector and of souls in pain on the sleeping Nyons. The carriage perennially transshipped hesitant and unconscious individuals that the Falangists invited them to order, and spend the night shining in their Xifos in the bow with the inverted "V" to open up to the abundant exciting sea and find it in some Eden, being assembled in the primary kicks of an anonymous withdrawn, among all the cattle cooked with herbs that did not manage to sprout between one and the other.

The brawl is the symbiosis of the Megaron that exhibited the “M” united with the two inverted “Vs”, conceptualizing in Wonthelimar the vigil of early properties and phobias fragmenting in numerous odes in Thessaly, which were already re-agglutinating attracted from a patriarchal image from Hellas, under the pretext of Hellenistic consummations as a vocational institute race in primitives of Alexandrina Magnus, derived a few nautical miles to approach Patmos. The ship sailed across the sea, pre-conceptualizing the very universal being that revived in the Tracontero, looming out of all the waters like a nubile breaker that spoke to each other with words from Mageireméno Kefáli Votánon, "head cooked with herbs." Speaking in primitive alternate erudition and in tidal waves with more than twelve meters of territorial Argonauts making similar corvettes as the Gulf of Tarnetino, possessing distant and comparative sixty miles of the base that colonized Wonthelimar for new sources when encrypting in the Megaron. They persevere, captaining the Immature Polis that would be documented in Patmos, and in the town councils of the assemblage with ****** ceased battles, climbing towards a great cogitation height of the Megaron temple and the Theater of the Epidaurus, under the three darkness of the lilies bordering the Spilaion Apokalypseos.

In the hemicycle Theater of the Epidaurus, the stars worked for the nations of Asclepius together with Wonthelimar, thus healing emigrated musical sessions in palmistry and Parapsychology, where burdensome marks of interveners expectorated in vast impellers on the Koilones and in their softened and purged bleachers, from where each one was shouting towards all the winds and the advent of all the auditoriums absent by past and future generations, cheering lives in salvific voices, for those who cheer them with additional sheltered and attentive spectators from ultra-semicircular bleachers, not being on stage, better absent more than the actors of a drama to stay alive when they prowled towards the Diazoma, or corridor where all the spectators suffered from the same ordeal of Vernath's right arm and pectoral in decreasing lymphomas, in a greater capacity of incentive and saving grace. After this incident, Wonthelimar became a cause and effect of the Vernarth saga, but of transmigrated formality for the purpose of corresponding survival and of cellular restitution of what had died in him..., thus, everything would begin to be reborn towards a prop in a double aspect. The former commanders who were once his faithful servants would appear before this affront, to antagonize him and make him desist from joining as a Proceriato and Gigantum Form of the heroes of Gaugamela on Patmos.

Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea?
or hast thou walked in the search of the depth?
Have the gates of death been opened unto thee?
Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth?
declare if thou knowest it all.
       Job 38: 16-18

Oh that the desert were my dwelling place,
With only one fair spirit for my minister.
That I might forget the human race,
And hating no one, love her only.
       Lord Byron,Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage

I walked alone into the waste
in search of rivers—not a taste
of water could I find
to liquidate my mind.

Under the sun in vanished lakes
alive with scorpions and snakes
I sought within my soul
her limpid watering hole.

The mogollón once hunted here
as piñon pines disclosed the deer
but now not even bones
remained among the stones.

Scattered beads and the odd spearhead
my visionary soul misled;
the moment was my home
and I was free to roam.

Burial caves of ash and silence
spoke in tones of bygone violence—
grinding stones lay broken:
her archeological token.

I found a *** within a niche
still balanced well, despite the pitch
as if the owner’s urn
awaited her return.

Amidst the fragments, free at last
in potsherd patterns of the past
I followed ancient streams
through arid zones and dreams.

Exploring a dry riverbed
unraveling her golden thread
while stepping off a ledge
descending from the edge,

I almost trod upon a snake
and quick adjustment had to make.
Reluctant viper-battler,
I flinched. It was a rattler.

As my right foot continued down
I saw the scales and dusty brown;
Mere inches from its head
the imprint of my tread!

The serpent was too cold and slow
to strike a poisoned morning blow
The sun still in the east—
I swerved and missed the beast.

The desert’s charm advanced from there;
She showed me sights I barely dare
to tell lest I sound singed . . .
My mind she so unhinged.

I stood before the gate of vision
rapt in shadowed indecision
gazing in the maw,
unsure of what I saw:

A ruined mineshaft’s empty grin
that mocked and whispered: “Come within.
The words of Job are here
in wisdom born of fear.”

Necropolis; a gaping  portal…
Feeling less than weakly mortal,
deep I stared inside;
allured yet terrified.

A passage to the depths of dread:
the Book of Job, the sleeping dead.
I barely now recall
yet understood it all…

Still thirsting through her arid land
divining truths in shifting sand
I ventured on in vain,
beseeching God to reign

The javelinas mocked my quest
beguiled me onward, further west
where Dutchmen hide their gold
and Apache tears are sold.

Her rainbow shades and distant mesas
silhouetted, paint her face as
nobly as the lands
her presence still commands.

Her beauty smiled: a virtual face
of glyphic pre-Columbian grace
decentralized desire
in sublimated fire…

She led me to the springs of life
my moonlight maid and desert wife;
my nights upon the mountains
in search of spectral fountains.

Ex-nomad of the mythic west
my unfound treasure now confessed;
her deserts had me smitten…
for her my poem’s written.

Ten minutes later,
the old crow's sitting quiet,
scratching,

no caws or that funny owl mimic trick he can do,
it's a hoot.  
He laughs.

I know a preacher or two who say that regular,
as liturgy, it's a hoot,

here, all say amen,
preach it, if you be the choir

searching still the lost chord to charge your life.

Ain't God a Hoot?

Well, me bein' Baptist, 'n' all...
I 'as reared Mormon...
Baptized and confirmed, Catholic to the core...

Po' man at the door,
My daddy was abastard niggajew and Jesus

fixt me, as I was waitin' fo' m' man, wit Nico
and the band
t'find a
soft place
to die
on
velvet underground, feedback scream

are you
experienced? I scream,

Back for more?
Peace ends wars, don't push me with your
reasonable

casualty in aitia-tick-tick terms un de
cerned, fined, ground

past granulated to sublimated

breathe

Elysian fumes,
unexpected right,

Sulphur, you were going to say,
or brimstone,
or rotten egg,

Sweet suasion sweet sweet suasion

to slip into
geological time and drift away.

You know that smell?

Drifting through the thermosphere
Enraptured by twisted melody
Escape into aurora's glow
Willful nonexistence, sublimated entity

Profligate pundits and
Philandering plutocrats
Promulgating pusillanimous
Pandering polecats
Put partially putrescent
Punks and pettifoggers
Past pitifully puny pollsters
Pushing the party politics
Of petrified pashas.

Disgusting demagogues
Dealing delayed death
Deeming democracy dying
Deny diplomacy daily
Deftly develop departments
Defending discrimination
Dividing deities from devils
Draining dedicated duties
With disgusting dictatorship.

Sorrowfully sublimated
Citizens of society slide
Swiftly and sequentially into
Sibilant session of silliness
In which similes scintillate
Signifying sensitivities
Of separate sensibilities
Subtly smiting the senseless.
Sauce for the stunningly stupid,
Champagne for the saboteurs.

When they were on the skeptical air, they seemed to feel greenish bunches fallen on the hooves and the frogs of the Alikantus helmet that was appreciated in contrasting imagery in the "V", ignoring possessions in the four patrimonial endowments, to ensure the runaway Supramundis that was waving galloping detached from the tapestries and pictures of Messolonghi. The bed of the plants of Kanti and Alikantus was cracking at the nail of the whitish lunula of their hooves that multiplied behind the substance of Carlo Magno, mounted in his Bayard with four sections riding on the impulses of their caps, in the direction of his cavalry by the Jacobin route upon reaching Zaragoza. The holistic robbery and his ingrown nails were ungulating on the nearby trees in some of his riders, in order to be able to mount them raised and prevent them from ambush. When they supported the third sighting and its third phalanx, chestnuts ungulated in the distal areas of the helmet and of the palfreys that were going to Messolonghi, reducing the number of their fingers, thus in this way they could become dogmatized before the rough ground, and their tendencies in the spaces of Elliniká leptá apó diastima, “Hellenic minutes of space” towards the shortest time of the minutes that allows them to be relocated before reaching Messolonghi. More past than the marked footsteps on Compostela, it was before heading them, marking himself with the anticipated quantum of speed already acquired by Carlo Magno's Bayard, which he carried on his dorsal due to the footsteps of other similar ones that supported him. In the scene of parallel convergence, the troops of the beasts were crossing in different spheres of quantum time, in the adversary of Carlo Magno.

The anatomy of the place was distinguished by the crowds of their marked footprints, and some chestnut frogs repopulating in the contour of the hooves of their hooves, redistributing the impact zones to reestablish themselves, to do the same of their bones in global anti-components. organic materials, to encapsulate and ring them in the fibrous components of the Zefian Virolifero, which had a seismic impact on the collagen of its parallel and on the retracting of the coronary band of its hooves, to extravert energy that will sustain the curbs, before riding back. by all the heights that besieged them, as if they were thousands and thousands of herds bringing their archaic verses from afar. When they felt the repercussions of monstrosity, they found themselves surrounded by feeling themselves in the magnificent metropolis of the chestnut trees, offending the embankment with great impulsiveness in the burnished clouds, paying tribute to Vernarth, and his entourage who glorified them as they navigated together through the skies of Greece, in the semi-human herds of Apollo who went out of their way to lose themselves neurologically, when their feudataries sailed through the atmospheres of the Cyclades, under a pensive aeromorphic figure that appears commenting:

Says Vernarth: “after listening to this amidst the luminous clouds, before taking me from frequent acrobatics, before me Raeder suspended from the heights, he invited me by reciting some odes before heading to Patmos. He briefly illustrated us in quotes about the Messolonghi poets. Raeder, holding firmly to Petrobus's legs, was concentrating, and he was excited, but at the same time very delighted to be coming to his land very soon. Thus the verses would fill him with great spirit to start a new stage. After being very well received by the routes of the temperate sigh, the present wind would take them to Kissamos / Crete, where they will remain flying in the irascible spree of celebrating a great event when they land on this great island. Then they would leave for Kalymnos and Kinaros by the route of the Cyclades, to finally establish themselves in the Dodecanese dominions. Perhaps venturing in boldly by being sublimated by the tiny mists blowing from the Metelmi wind, with the unnoticed shifting Mediterranean climates of the exhausted eastern.

The Sibyl Tiburtina supports Raeder gathering him to her arms and telling him: “You will receive my warmth that will imprison the house of the high priest, whose scene will be represented in Procoro on its corresponding neutral folio. Succeeding in expletives from the past, which was no longer intended or harassed at him. The Armas Christi will once again swirl with the Souls of Trouvere from the last irascible recesses of the Eolonimi winds in the holistic of all the winds that named Vernarth. "Your children will not live again, the military Macedonian will hear", their physical resurrection will flee from the unconverted taking place after the tree of Mars when they liberate the innocent fallen from the versicular belief, which segments the ray in its half where no minute will be able to hit him "

Antiphon of Triburtina: “Son of David they will give us the consorts, by setting the table in the center with the newly molded bread, and his authority will not have to distribute it into the pieces of an earthly life that allows them to bring it to their mouths. We will all be converted singing all the fantasy of giving what should never have remained in our hands, even if they have never been greedy for him. "

baseline
on my mind
heavy steps
heaving dust

trying to write the track that I dreamed I would when I grew up

disembodied screams of friends
from playmates to first dates
exes prey and pretend

My manifest,
Yeah, baby
I confess,
granted, I think of you less and don't look for you anymore

You, sunk to the floor of the sea
Your lovely presence sublimated by me

Yet, this notion
the unidentified urge we share like waves washed onto the beach from the  bottom of the ocean

Therefore, the Lord himself will give them this sign: "A ****** will conceive and give birth to a son, and she will name him Immanuel." From this calami lapse, all of Patmia was refracted in the chromatics of Emmanuel, alluding to Isaiah as an infallible God of Salvation after having sent Sennacherib's mesnadas to his turn. His ministry came to be established along with all the soldiers who did not finally confront each other, but he came to support them from the waters that came from the eastern sea. The kingdom of Judah appeared in glory and solemnity anticipating seven centuries before the Mashiach came to the world of Israel. Hezekiah appears again after seven centuries in Patmia, to decline the fraternal help of Isaías, to save the collective quasi shipwreck in the mountains that would strike the edges of Patmia later after the conclusion of the battle, Etréstles intervening from where he entered the Hydors, as the sixfold brightest star of Aquarius of the Gulf of Skalá to protect all the landowners of the Oikodeomeo, litigating the swells of the sea that should refer to the synchronous beats of the Ruach Hakodesh. Etréstles entered the pointed mansards on the tops of the allotropic waves, carrying a scarlet ribbon in his right hand and in the other with an indigo hue when he swam he did not hold back from moaning for fear that the whole island might disappear, he deprecated while He floated imploring in Hellenic all the Prosas of Rhodes, thus leaving hanging on his neck the suffering of mercy that looked at him from the expectant shore, but the scarlet ribbon cried out for the Emmanuel who would be born among the cerulean granules, concomitant with the Mashiach that clung to him on the blue ribbon when a fragmented chroma emerged from the rib that divided the seven colors into fourteen, from where he propelled Etréstles over the calvaries of the water that prevented him from seeing how undaunted Saint John was reflected with his staff. The Vernardicidal ***** harassed the ministry of Isaiah who came to save Vernarth from the Hercules vortex, where everything will guide him with the conception of Vernarthian and Saint John the Apostle, with from afar they encouraged him saying: "Epoikodomeo" with the aim of building geomorphological waters of the Dam or blood of the Mashiach, forging, increasing wisdom and security to preserve and encode them with the Talmudic essences of Spirit / Pnevma that is the essence of the Messiah to make the ephemeral phase of Jesus with the prosopon of the fit in the primordial scale of Patmos, along with all those who entrusted their ministry to him. Isaiah stated that from a Maltona the Messiah will be born soon, the same one who has accompanied Vernarth throughout this journey par excellence from Judah when he sublimated the iconography of Saint John the Apostle on his return to his inheritance, thus the requiems said that Isaiah had been sawn. by Manasseh, indicating that his prophet's remains would gather on Patmos to materially reintegrate themselves before the panorama of any, beyond the scriptures, only the Pnevma prevailing, which ingratiated itself with the apocryphal papyri. The laws of the sea opposed the arms and chinstraps that Etréstles wore in the joints of each arm, creating with them psalms that indicated the presence of the divine mother of the Mashiach, with the divine contribution that embroiled the scriptures by the Psalms of Etréstles by besieging at once on the cusps of the waves, making use of the same phalanxes and of the Apsidas Manes with watery and ****** meddling by Sennacherib's troops, who by a narrow imbalance in the authorship of the debate segment on a defense that was with the angels, who had already slipped through the opening of the dying parapsychology, to enter the purging compass of the blanket with a Venerable who would speak to them in the first person about the lashes of the breakers enclosed in the annunciation of the Emmanuel that was going to radiate with his counterpart Jesus Christ in the scarlet and indigo Hydor of the Kosmous water compendium of all Patmia. The exegetes were all in their robes on the top of the mountain, they were all and at the same time, they were not. Isaiah wanted to predispose the messianic perception to unite the generous ends of the Majestic Tikun and the Gam zu Letová, so that the scarlet tekhelet itself merges with the chinstraps in the joints and Etréstles that came from the Seventh Cemetery of Messolonghi, to present them the chants of the seventh parapsychological regression of Vernarth's wounded hands that he could barely hold, having the Pisan Verses of Ezra Pound, agglutinated with the Psalms of Etréstles saying thus:

“Humiliate your vanity, You are nothing more than a dog beaten under the hail, just a swollen magpie in the fickle sun, half black, half white, and you can't even distinguish the wing from the tail. Humble your vanity, Petty is all your hatred nourished by falsehood. Humble your vanity, eager to destroy, greedy in charity. Humiliate your vanity, I tell you, humiliate it. But having done instead of doing nothing, this is not vanity. Having decency, called for an obtuse to open, having picked up a living tradition from the air or from a magnificent old eye calls it undefeated, this is not vanity. Here the error is everything in what was not done, everything in the shyness that hesitated ...

Etréstles answers with his Psalm:

"In the main, I attend to his voice that undresses small when they fall cliffs ...when the fierce sentinel hides the Xiphos from the evil ones who shield them inthe iniquity here on Patmos of his tongue-lashing sword that spills bitter blood,that she is thrown on famous vices of Pronoia and dry crops in the storehouse ...
with dormant grasses between lashes of hunger, thirst, and angry sleep.

This is where the Mashiach sleeps and does not lavish the drowsiness of the world! that he shoots and is not afraid of spitting a splendid Hercules cloaked with fullerides of necromancy and flashes of unsustainability in the bitter Pashkien eating the sores from the ferments of his hemlock fingers.

Who will be in the glory that calms his fingernails over the joy of Anubis? inquiring pustules of bolted injustices that stagnate in the
Sagittarius tongue flaring up trilingual on their own languages ...
If there is the blood that I can retain, it will be by submission with declined sphincters or not! seeing where everyone is without pressure or punishment of stuttering or fact that will never happen on a Patmian Reichstag, understanding that their voices
They are the proscenium of the Elohim containing the glory of the fallen when the periphery of the incisive tenebrosity are slices of the Vernarth Psalm, and of Rabbi Masoretic that shelters you when you sleep, however in a thousand years ...

I've been stragglers collecting extreme remains of immortal bones,
In invisible frames with the vanity of seven verses that escaped from my hands, thousands of them being built away from my Duoverse of love towards them atavistic ... almost become adopted children of Masoretic ignorance ... and in the confusion of the
Elohim translated into a genome after an open heart between the Alef and the Tav, between the arrow that serves as accommodation in her mind, unable to sleep if she is not there…! but high up where I can dwell, I see and I abide by being silenced in my vanity, seeing that nothing is mine and of those around me on the battlefield, who sublimate themselves by walking a lifetime on the side of my enemy wounded by the Dorus, and that I have never tried to take it off completely with slight iniquity, only avoiding zafrales and scrutiny in its search.

My vanity will perish undefeated but failed to revive itself with dazzles and sagites that pierce the saps in your children and mine, being poles of renewal of a Hoplite Raeder, cutting the thymus of the cattle and saying that their wounds are the same splendor of the Sagittae Parvulum, like Seraphim children prior to a hyperonym, fracturing sacred bravery that they enumerate him to lose himself in the numbering of infinity ...! As gladiator children, eternal infants and children of Zeus, also being Seraphim of Zeus and Cherubim who will make mustard its fragility, unstitching the time that it carves from the thyme trying to be the Kashmar "

From the eye of heaven, everything was supplied when Emmanuel himself, who was tried at the end of the battle of Patmia, was recognized. It was six o'clock in the afternoon when the omnipresent presence of Isaiah's interface antiphons was marked from where he would make them hold onto the mega Nazer as the offspring of the uncontrolled branch of his hyper parapsychology that expiated itself from the trunk of the descendants of Vernarth, alluding to to Wonthelimar as one of them who was on the wheel of Capricorn as an internal element of Hydor when it was made effective between the golden hands of Isaiah, with full genuflection enumerating from sinister to right the upright derivation of the Psalm of Etréstles with the Nazer, which is It would take refuge in the foundations of omission as a new shining principality, from where the light of the fifteen hundred years between the seventh heaven and space of this same inaugurating the stolon from where the angel Gabriel would make of all the natives of the Notsri of Nazareth the energy that surpass the masses of matter above the average of its brightness, implanting the Duoversal advance where the Mashiach. From Ofel will come the palmar remains with Marie de Vallés propitiating from the Notós or the South of the Mandragoron of Patmia, like a Bull of Concession of collective rights from Jerusalem with the remains of Isaiah in his living Status. The vernacular spirits of the Bethany journey were incarnated as the ruling planets, which would thus all be similar to Saturn, leaving all the rest with the same unrestricted semblance of cosmic materiality, with this transfer of Saturn's atmospheric outer pharaoh overshadowing all others. planets, under a stepped level towards the Messianic primogeniture, dislocating the vibrational levels above the primary embankment of the lithosphere, like a Qliphoth or shell of Saturn's debauchery when experiencing the bonds of emerging Christianization of the emotional state that made up this external preferential layer, of which of this genre they would create multi-natalist phases with the Qliphoth of the configuration of the vibratory cessation of the physical body of Patmos. In this way the seventieth Qliphoth or farfara of the compendium of exteriority and interiority would culminate, giving way to the Fos or light that would constitute the hybrid Greco-Hebraic componence on the braids that lowered from the Tekhelet of Etréstles when it levitated towards the Megaron, specifically the Naos that It would incite an end that just headed the engagement of the spaces that will be covered by the reviewing archetribe on the acroteria as the Lux of the beginning of the transfer of quantum of energy, which would begin to form the browbones and chin of Euclidean incidence in the cockades of Etréstles, by structuring itself in the cosmic rhythms of the tzitzit of its right hand, and in its left the Tallit that westernized all the supreme dogmas of eternalism, that carried a brand new covering of Áullos Kósmos with this mantle of hegemony, hanging from the tzitzit that would finally be the dragging ropes of the body of Etréstles to the cosmic ridge of Skalá. From a Genioglossal Muscle; where the Etréstles stimulation tendons were inserted, great impulses of language opened towards the pre-Adamic gates, radiating like wide puffs of the superior process that strangled the phraseologies that indicated error of omission, making everyone could conceive of each other before heading towards conversion, and to be able to aspire to the Naos from the Megarón. The most experienced used to expectorate and move sharply with their jaws when the membranes of this region fled from the tip or hyoglossal of their mouth, shuddering from its sublingual base when they saw that the Mashiach carried Etréstles half-dead from the sea, amid so many prosaic waves consuming him from a breath that was separated from it by a thin layer of adipose cell tissue, and by the Middle Septum towards the definitive Seventh Heaven of God, speaking to them of spaces that will be filled by the magnanimous who have reaped him from his Eternalism. This was neither more nor less than the protruding border of the Messiah speaking through those mouths with insignia of enunciation, and portents of words of reconversion.

The passions of my youth
have subsided

Like rivers flowing
towards an iron karmic sea

Chastened, clarified, sublimated, channeled
into the Ocean of Nectar

I am baptized in
Your Holy Sweetness

Reborn in Your
Pure Ambrosial Love

when I look into your eyes
it's like watching a black hole
as everything in its orbit is sublimated,
spaghettified, caught outside time
trapped into the toxic love of the unlimited-density-object
time slows down, and it slows,
and it slows, and it slows,
until it stops.
and nothing ever reaches the center.

When alive and livingsocial
within webbed wide world
analogous to an emotional hell
I never experienced pomp and circumstances,
and quavers with inconsolable tears
graduation theme song
popularized courtesy Sir Edward Elgar,
thus suicidal ideations no longer relevant
yours truly need not quell
he rages against series of unfortunate events
comprising his life and hard time
(one protracted existential crisis) and yell
like a rebel into the infinite abyss of darkness.

Every subsequent high school graduation year
antedated since June
ninety seventy seven where
yours truly stepped to the podium
to secure his diploma
(I barely squeaked by
from one grade to the next)
stricken with anxiety and experienced urge
to sprint mile a minute evoking manic tear
zipping by at light speed
creating spindleshanks to blur as pair
sorry excuse for legs burning ghee
until reaching destination re:
a specific rocking in casbah Kashmir
actually a sought after interview
with popular Emir.

Personal mailer daemons aside
Azrael readily befriended me before I died
and ably, eagerly and willing obliged to guide
these lovely bones of mine
went for out of world joyride
away to subterranean habitat
where heavenly delight magnified
sense and sensibility overarching credo
unconditional kindred acceptance
downplayed prejudice and pride
communion among apostolic auras
and personas spied
greeting halo trusting word of mouth
as adequate signal to be verified
nullifying former dependence
on prescription medication
to thwart becoming zombified.

The following pharmacological medications
taken courtesy to cope with anxiety,
obsessive compulsive disorder, panic attacks
and generally curbing tendencies to avoid
physiological symptoms such as:
nausea, palmar hyperhidrosis
(unrelenting sweaty palms), and vertigo.

GLYCOPYRROLATE, TAB 2 MG (thrice daily)
CLOMIPRAMINE CAP 50 MG (once nightly)
RISPERIDONE TAB 1MG (once nightly)
FLUOXETINE CAP 20MG (once daily)
PRAZOSIN HCL CAP 1 MG (three pills nightly)
BUSPIRONE TAB 15MG (twice daily)
PRAMIPEXOLE TAB 1MG (once nightly)
CLONAZEPAM TAB 0.5MG (once nightly
AMITIZA 24 MCG
(prescription laxative - as necessary)

[Bilex] friend John window;  He has a good
effect, Glory, But you are not being called,
by reading in the Senate, at the most by
the violence.This is the best match. not only
Help them to see, because he is not willing
to keep for him and the sentence; This is the
first time in the world and sports.The albatross
effect compatibility knit. A glass of wine and
brandy. Or radio station But the marriage.
Some missions. All words: It is not. and
Wall Street of the book, where you can
buy it. Other products feed product reloading
Repeat. The eighth on the radio. And they
have done it; This is the best time to relax.
At me, where is that in the formation;
At John Rose; Pavol perhaps not the author.
the waves of the future. Winssus' arrows
they shall **** the radio to drink. You do not
know because it does not, it seems that
the prohibition of the MAN. I, Ireland,
thousands of soldiers to be prepared.
Bread for all basketball macrobox and bag.
wedding celebrations on radios; Formerly,
it was the age of UT. Things which an eye
will have no cause we told in our dreams,
and he hath sent the rest knowest
very well. Things happen to all the laws
of our God? ' The New Testament Dutch
worker - a region rich - Molly Boisar
is the best. This is the best way to the state.
The people of those characteristics - to Eli
Then one of radios. marbles; part of my skin;
Let's take a look in the mirror 1 left 2 g,
Mary and John anode, This is the black top
over England;    St. Paul, FBI,              Effie.
Since radio waves send rays who has begun
in the of that first day of the week.
The design has a computer.
He appeared on John Rays earth,
In the days of the early death of John Atari.
Especially knit, my baby will eat the fruit.
Further, it is to the health of, and in the cares of.
On the other - human memory; FACT distinguish
between rich and there is no organic music.
Same born radio recordings. only Now he dies
in goods and services.The biggest position,
although there is some importance. something
References in data storage and assurance
In the layer. Top I. John Rose; Web browsers
and Analytics. Six cities in England. wave radios.
in memory Memory card. And I think Saturn
Users are the black government Sublimated
by SEM. Without good information. the staff
Winter winter winter | | Time and place |
This is to love a young lawyer named art.
water. Global Research was able to destroy
the lakes, the rivers, Rivers and lakes
in the United States. Related faucet water flow.
I think it would anterior muscle muscle or piles.
The food, the water of the river of the stars
of hair loss. It is a source of running water
To know the Emperor.