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The Good Pussy  Jul 2015
Big Ego
The Good Pussy Jul 2015
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                                      Ego
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                   Ego Ego              Ego Ego
              Ego Ego Ego         Ego Ego Ego
           Ego Ego Ego Ego  Ego Ego Ego Ego
              Ego Ego Ego         Ego Ego Ego
                    Ego Ego               Ego Ego
The Good Pussy  May 2015
Big Ego
The Good Pussy May 2015
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                                  Ego
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                         Ego Ego Ego Eg
                         o Ego Ego Ego E
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                      Ego Ego        Ego Ego
                   Ego Ego Ego  Ego Ego Ego
                 Ego Ego Ego E go Ego Ego E
                    go Ego Ego    Ego Ego Ego
                        Ego Ego         Ego Ego
AiR-Atman in Ravi  Aug 2020
EGO
EGO
For God do we all search
In temple, mosque, and church
Little do we know that the ego does hide
That very God that lives inside

We must let  go of the ego
If God we must find
And for this, we must realize
The biggest enemy is the mind

But first, it is the ego
That keeps saying 'I' and 'me'
It dominates our life so much
That God we cannot see

God is not on a faraway planet
Nor an old man with a long white beard
God lives in the temple of our heart
Alas, his voice is not heard

The ego makes us deaf and blind
It stops us from the truth  
And makes us pray to a statue and a saint
And a God with a snake and a flute

What does the ego do in fact?
It creates duality
It makes God different from us
And the truth we cannot see

The world has hundreds of religions
And thousands of Gods to whom we pray
The fact is we don't know who God is
And we don't even know what we say

As long as the ego dominates our life
Between God and us, it creates a veil
And though God is right here and now
To realize God, we fail

Because the ego causes ignorance
The truth we cannot see
We believe in the myth and superstition
And just be who we are told to be

The ego is my identity
The ego says, ‘This is me’
Because I keep saying 'My' and 'Mine'
The God within, I don't see

The ego makes me suffer
Triple suffering with body and mind
It is the ego that makes me cry
With miseries of a different kind

‘How dare you did not do it!'
This anger, revenge,  and  hate
It's the ego that makes us go around
And stops us from heaven's gate

Who is, where is, what is God?
The ego makes us juggle so much
It makes us search here and there
As our God, it tries to touch

But God, in reality, is within
God has no bone, nor skin
God is a Power that gives us life
In the trillions of cells within

What is birth, what is death?
Why did we come to earth?
God is the one that makes us live
God gives us the human birth

Without God, what are we?
Without the Soul, we are nothing
The body, in the end, returns to dust
It is God that is everything

Unless we go in search for the truth
Unless we start our quest
We will just believe the myth
And fail if we don't question and test

Life is like a spiritual puzzle
The pieces we must find
We must put together who we are
And not live like we are blind

The truth is simple, but we don't see it
After death, there is rebirth
It is our own actions, our Karma
That brings us back to earth

The Soul is a Power in us,
With the body and mind, just a part
The Mind and Ego is the one reborn
When God in us departs

But we do not realize this truth
Because the ego says, ‘It’s me’
The Soul, the God that is within
The blind ego does not see

The ego is always looking out
With the senses and the mind
It does not realize the self, that's us
Being a prisoner of the mind

We are not body, we are not mind
The truth is we are the Soul
Self-realization is the first step
That takes us to this goal

When 'we' realize, not body and mind
We are the Power that's the Soul
We also realize  the  God  in  all
That manifests as the whole

What stops us from such Realization?
What stops us from Liberation?
It is the ego that stops us from God A
nd from Divine Unification

Man minus Ego is God
If we remove the Ego, we will find
God plus Ego is Man
With Body, Ego, and Mind

So, we must let go of the ego
If God we must find
For as long as we think we are 'ME'
The journey we will rewind

God actually lives within us
His silent voice we do not hear
Because the ego and the mind
Make us live with a deaf ear

They make us live in this world and suffer
Believing all this is real
They hide the God that is within us
As in the world we twirl

God is not far away, God is near
God is in you and me
But as long as we believe we are the ego
God we cannot see

The very God we are looking for
Is right inside our heart
But the ego that is screaming day and night
Tears the truth apart

We just live and we just die
And God do we all seek
It is the ego that stops our climb
From scaling the spiritual peak

What is our life's ultimate goal?
To realize we are the Soul
We are the very God we seek
Not the ego that plays its role

The ego that lives saying,‘It’s me’
Makes us go  round  and  round
It stops us from finding God within
As it fixes us to the ground

The truth is this and nothing else
God lives in us within
Let us stop going in search outside
And go within our skin

What stops us from going within
It is the ego and the mind
Though God is very near in us
Our Lord we never find

God never leaves us even for a moment
God is with us all the time
But the ego is craving for this and that
And so God we do not find

It's easy, all that we must do
Let go of the ego and mind
Then shining deep within
God we will find
Mateuš Conrad  Jan 2018
juggling
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2018
it would best appear that:
  talking really aids talking to flesh -
and yes, beside the psychoanalyst
triad theory of the "narrator" -
          the ego can become an ailed
limb - a limp arm,
an amputated food -
                     when the square
doesn't fit through a square shaped
opening: the ego become fidgety -
and it aches beyond the ache
of being, a physical inconvenience /
convenience...
    the ailing ego is an ego
that can only construct a cogito
without the ergo dynamic of trickling
toward a "satisfying" sum...
           because there really isn't
any other suited adjective -
  other than the already aired:
because there is.
         i wanted to concern myself
with the dynamic of what is sickly
or at best: an unease unit
of fathomable concern...
              ego must,
ego = limb...
           it's not a central
foundation to all things apparent...
          and believe me when i state
that i require verbiage to make these
statements...
           when the ego is a cubus,
and thought is the "river"
                        quadratum -
       having to encompass the perplexity
of the Freudian Triad...
  it doesn't really matter,
  does it, to concern a cube passing
through a square, when a triangle is
concerned, is it?
                  a mental "illness"
  needs to encompass a "flat earth"
akin to reading maps: no good knowing
a spherical globus exists if you
can't get from A. to B.
                     that is why i don't
understand a stigma with regards to
a "mental" to "physical" dichotomy -
which it has become having divorced itself
from dualism...
          the ego being a limb and
thought a body,
       reiterates my concern with how
mental illness cannot acess the freedom
of a body, or thinking,
                 in a fluid manner:
akin to the thoughtless extracts of
               a disembodiment ascribed to
ballet dancers...
             hence the sickly limb comparison:
the whole affair isn't worth
an atomists' venture to find: a middle,
a nucleus...
                     a sick "ego"
                              disvalues a concern
to think: akin to any worth of
****** function...
            the conscious-unconscious
paradox of the ego is that:
    it's health is supposed to coexist
with the way one treats a hand, finger, elbow...
the fact that a "sick" ego is by no means
sickness apparent doesn't mean that
it is not a form of: dis-ease -
  not a bad word, merely a reformulated
aversion of saying it quickly...
  there does exist as - negation
   of ease...
                       i have found this with
myself...
                          apparently
it was necessary to outdate Latin grammar
once again, while keeping the ego
a necessary ingredient worthy of theory
when cogito ergo sum was
summoned... because where is the ego
in that? the ego is the antithesis of
a narrator of fiction!
             who ever said that fiction
was without Trojan walls and biological
membranes?
                   the ego is either foremost
an ailing limb: or the unscathed narrator!
it can't be both!
          - but the limb comparison makes
more sense, since what is primarily
distrupted is thinking: rather than writing
a book!
                    i have experienced
the distruptive ego like a fidgeting snare of
a limb in metaphorical Parkinson...
               but i am not keen to
sub-assert a division of it worth a sub-ego
and an id... without an ob- prefix to boot.
a "sick" ego disrupts cogitans
in that there is no ergo
       to make a cohesive translation into:
wanting to be a bellerina - i.e sum...
i.e. sum *** non cogitans...
  and that's because the ego is a heavy
load, already not stressed in
the original maxim "prompt" of:
think - and you will be...
  well no... most of the time it's a case of:
don't think, and you will be...
      the fact remains:
  the ego treated as an ailing limb is
akin to an ailing limb disrupting
the sigma of ****** expressions -
             with the sigma of ****** expressions
being best met with mere: thinking...
                 hence the irony of
a "mental" illness -
      there is no ailing thought -
but an ailing ego -
  which is a contradictory summation
of character, presupposing
a character is at the same time narrator...
the stigma? well...
   a person of interest is asked to
have both status of a healthy character
and an ailing narrator -
      or rather: a character
incompetent of having a narrator...
   or whatever this constricting observation
implies...
   the fact still remains:
   the ego was allowed a Ronin status
when working from the Cartesian maxim...
    it allowed itself to flourish in Freud
who took to impregnating it with
  a pseudo-Christian analogy...
         if there is an element of medicine
in philosophy... ha...
     odd...
            how can the mind be ailed by
the body prior...
      there must be a paradoxical intersect
of ergo ( = ), i.e. ≠...
                    whereby the same is true
for: the mind can be ailed by the body:
but the only prior to a body is a mind...
            since there is no prior to a mind
to express: body...
           otherwise why are we to concern
ourselves with a "mind" of the underdeveloped...
ah... but the underdeveloped body...
       hence?         |    a ******* stick
in the ground!
                  it's a simple juggling act of
two *****... on thinking terms,
but yet it is simpler to juggle three *****
on un-thinking terms!
              all i "know" is that
a sick ego dissonates the fluidity of thinking,
and it doesn't aspire to anything
but that in its ailment -
to make it any more complex to
suggest an atomic caricature of
the Freudian id - neutron / superego - electron...
   an ego that distrupts thinking
does not make a cohesive unit worth
a theory...
                 you put a stick into the river
of Heraclitsus: the stick will remain
a stict - the question is always asked
concerning the river!
                - as far as i am concerned
the disruptive ego has "unfathomed"
  the fathomability of thinking -
       notably:
          the mundane cul de sac thinking
of ordinary people -
a lost day-dream break from inacting
a "greater-good" focus of: transcending society...
     and attaining: "the" individual...
    i've experienced the sick ego
unable to convine itself with staging
thought: akin to an theatre with
a stage unable to consider itself:
    not fit to hoist actors on it!
                   hence my concern with
res vanus...
            the "thing" within res cogitans!
the whole point of:  (ego) cogito ergo sum!
          which is why those who have
reached the status of, say: prima ballerina
exact a "cogito" ergo (ego) sum status!
- at some point i really will be
starting to digest the VII-XI ponderings
of Heidegger...
                  bewildering myself as to how:
1939 a.d. was conjured.
We all have an Ego, it is there in our head
It will go along with us till we are dead
It is the one that, 'I', 'me' and 'mine', has always said

It is the Ego that causes anger, the Ego that causes hate
It brings in agony, pushes peace out of the gate
Alas! We suffer through life with it and it’s too late!

The Ego has a best friend, It is our rascal Mind
The Mind fools us to believe that the Ego is 'I', we find
Together the Mind and Ego become ME, in which we grind

As long as the Ego is ignorant, we will live as 'I'
We will not go on a quest, we will just cry and die!
It's time to ask the valid question, 'Who am I?'


Am I this Body? No, I am not! One day, it will go
I came 9 months before, after that the Body did grow
As long as I don't Realize this, I'll suffer through the show

We all suffer the triple suffering after we come to earth
It is the Ego and the Mind that makes us take this birth
If we Realize we are the Soul, then there is no rebirth

How can the Ego be Enlightened? We must Realize the Truth
We're not the Body or the Mind, get to the bottom of the root
We'll Realize we are the Soul, that will be our fruit

The Ego can't be annihilated, it can't be killed!
But it can be Enlightened, if the mind is stilled
This will never happen, if with ignorance, we are filled

It's the Ego that is responsible for revenge and greed
It makes us proud and selfish, this happens indeed!
But when the Ego is Enlightened, we can pull out the ****

'Who am I?' we ask, when we go on a quest
'I am not 'I',' is the rest of the test
Then, I will never die, this becomes our crest

When from man, you remove the Ego, you will Realize God
As, when to God, you add Ego, you get man and lose the Lord
We can be Enlightened with this equation, which we forgot!


The truth is that we are not the different Bodies, we seem to wear
We are in fact, the Divine Soul, the Supreme we all share
But to realize this Truth is truly very rare!

When the Ego is Enlightened, we Realize, we are all Divine
Manifestations of the Supreme, we are all that Sunshine
But we are lost in ignorance, in pleasure and in wine

When the Ego is Enlightened, there is Bliss, Love and Peace
When we let go of the Ego, agony and anguish will cease
Little do we Realize, the Ego's big disease!

'Not this, Not this,' The truth is, 'We are that'
Not the Body or Mind, we are the Soul, in fact!
The Enlightened Ego is the one who bells the cat!

The Ego that is not Enlightened, believes, 'I am 'I' '
It lives and it suffers and it cries till we die
But the Enlightened Ego is blissful, Realizing, 'I am not 'I''

The Enlightened Ego saves us from all misery on earth
When we Realize the Truth, then there is no rebirth
So, Enlighten the Ego, priceless is its worth!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
apologies, but i will not be abstracting people
as mere pronoun users,
i know i should, but i kinda like "painting"
and giving peoeple race, and differences,
i can't really establish what pronoun-bleaching
would do to, oh i don't know,
perhaps i'd be writing this...

back when i still worked as a roofer and was doing
a project in Greenwich,
  nice try, construction industry men don't
go to the gym... what a joy to remember my roots...
anyway...
    what was i saying?
   so i commuted from north east london
this this little village...
and it really has a feel about it that it is a village...
i went into the Greenwich waterstones
bookshop and spotted something interesting...
    a j. k. huysmans trilogy (beginning with la bas)
and ending with *cathedral
, or something like that,
if i knew what the internet was saying,
i'd buy all three books...
     but i did the dumb thing of buying
the first book of the trilogy, that's always in print...
anyway, no small loss...
   and there stood sideways joseph roth's
the antichrist...
              i can't compare it to nietzsche work,
even though i should, given roth was jewish...
and i figured: if the concept is not originally
jewish and greek, and anti- is a prefix much
more easily understood these days with
the existence of anti-matter...
            than say... armilus...
    well... so i was commuting day to day,
and over the course of the project probably read
two of three books, roth's was one of them,
alongside nikos kazantzakis' blockbuster...
but something weird happened when i read roth
for the first time...
     sitting in this dockland train heading south
of the thames, a group of muslim "women"
spotted that i was literate,
     they sat, about 10 metres away from me...
but the word antichrist must have prompted them,
one just said out-loud: you're satan's *****...
huh?
   there i am, reading my own book not raving
mad reading it aloud, and there she has the prank
of associating a book to a very mysterious person
who riddles the bible being completed...
      mein gott: two world wars ever since nietzsche
wrote he was the person with the title kept
sorta on a whim for nearly 2000 years...
     and then two days ago my father has a car accident
and this hijab clad woman is driving,
  but she does a Pilate and doesn't take responsibility,
the passenger that's with her jumps out
   and gives my father his details
and the woman is pristine...
     a *******, what do you call it: sacred cow?
most pedestrians in england are treated as such...
  so she phones her son and gives the phone to my father
and her son says to my father: it's against
the law to phone the police, you can't phone them...
well... hey presto! we're in Saudi Arabia!
and this is what's worrying me...
no... nope... this is what pains me...
    i had to take my ego for a walk tonight...
i had to think a lot of ******* out,
how the ego would whimper and whine like a dog...
there's your "janus" / "contronym"...
ego... dog...
   the leash? i'm thinking with it...
and suddenly, clarifty, i can pierce it's *******
narrative and think about it... as any id might...
what i experienced was an ego-dispossesion...
   i lost it, it turned into an automaton,
robotic misery... hardly the angry Frankenstein monster...
i lost the care for an ego-embodiment...
i was dispossessed by it, robbed, thief! thief!
i needed to come back home and read
heidegger's aphorisms 174 through to 178 from
the ponderings (it would help that you read the
ponderings... after reading being & time)...
the pain i felt was very much akin to being British,
even though it's something i assimilated into...
which could mean that's it's the odd bit...
should i, shouldn't i feel some sentiment for my host
culture?
word are flying around the place,
they're calling it cultural marxism...
well... i come from a culture that had stated
marxism, period, i.e. supported by an economic model,
that worked, and would have worked,
had capitalism not done what capitalism does
naturally: compete!
   i'm watching these cultural marxists and, i think,
i'm watching penguins in a zoo...
  i don't know what to make of these marxists,
who aren't even leninists...
            where's the economic model?!
  
that's the problem of going to a catholic school
in england, attempting to stress multi-culturalism,
i even ojected to being confirmed ritually,
with a bishop from Brentwood,
sorry, too much Irish around the place....
i too thought i was about to say something in Gaelic...
outer-east london: a complete ******* jungle
of biodiversity...
     so did i misplace my allegiences?
to the tongue? to faking an ethnicity?
    of course i'm pisssed off, i spent the past 2 hours
walking the most mundane of walks,
bewildered why this woman in a hijab wouldn't
own up to causing a traffic accident...
i helped him will out the police forms,
and there she is, on paper, smug like some ****** mary
because i'm the one that really doesn't think
that Islam got Project Hair wrong,
me? personally? i think that woman's hands ought to
be covered,
     in thinking terms, a woman's hands could
get me more excited than a woman's foot...
but sure... hell... why not hair?!
              the last time i checked, normal people
have an aversion toward hair...
ever see that person almost vomiting when they found
a stranger's hair in their soup?
  that **** that grows on your hair is the only silk
you've got... how about a few toenail clippings
to boot? first thing a sane would think: ****! ****!
oh, we're going to get on... just fine, just fine...
   the next time i think about encouraging
an **** ******* position's worth of prayer
i'll be a ******* cardinal.
   what's wrong with taking responsibility?
why are Islamic women so immune to the tractātus
of law? where's the jurisprudence?
   i'd call it something more than diabolical...
you can really become a vampire when you're told
the lesson: those that thirst for justice...
  lesser leech...
            who gives a **** whether it was: "but a scratch"?
woman! take responsibility!
  pampered little coconut jugglers...
   now to think of it... leave those curtains,
and this one time: she was walking with a buggy
and a small child and she unveiled herself from
a niqab before me...
           the perfect arabian nightmare i could
have ever witnessed...
             i had long hair back then...
what she revealed from under that niqab?
wait... am i writing this in the times
when the French occupied the Holy Land and had
the first thirst / idea of a colony?
  
this is me, imitating punching a brick wall...
this is me... in a boxing ring...
bashing myself...
            this is me thinking about how man
has no capacity to usher in karma,
how man's concept of law is hardly cosmic,
how man is a kniving ******* that
deserves something beyond a heaven and a hell:
rather: a return to his self...
that's what i keep telling myself:
i don't want heaven, i don't want hell...
i, just, want, to, return, to, my, self...
    yes, that's a reflection,
hence the pronoun has no compound, i.e. isn't
a reflexive understanding for the fluidity of language
expressed by the concerning compound: myself.
perhaps that's just the beginning of understanding
the noumenon / thing in itself, or rather to counter
the fluidity of the word itself, since, evidently
it self makes no sense that could ever produce
a concept akin to the noumenon...

why wouldn't this woman care to give an inkling into
her concept of right and wrong...
she's driving the ******* car, she makes a doo doo...
pauper... **** up!
            i still don't know why it was about hair...
you like a stranger's **** in a soup?
   what's with this middle eastern fetish for covering it?
hey! beginning from 1986, am i sorta automatically
involved in a cult that has a vintage of ageing from
a **** of a camel a long time ago?
  no wonder the knighthood ceremony was initiated
by slapping a newly initiated knight across the cheek,
like i said, a woman's hand is more ******
than her hair...
      i'd say: take up ye care to don gloves!
and that, i'm sure, will never happen.

it's probably the most delicate thing a woman can possess...
a hand...
the rest is what darwinism cared to provide us with:
a black widow, a mantis;
and that's talking pure earnest about the matter...

listen, i spent the past two hours having the ordeal of
an ego... which i had to anti-narrate into theory...
yes, the id was helpful, is actually told me, or rather,
interrupted the ego from the narrative
to give me this *******'s worth of profanity
(and yes, with due reason; ever fill out a police form
concerning some accident? do that, then you'll be equipped
to read Tolstoy)...

so it was ego-possessiveness,
      the ego already thinks its eternally subject...
that's one of the implants...
eternity and god are inherent in ego,
   your heart means absolutely nothing when the ego
has been given certainity that it can't shake off...
what the ego isn't given is a unit of reason
that sees past it... the id...
in relation to dualism and the much active dichotomy
as alternative to an equilibrium of dualism
i will outrightly exclude the superego
  as nothing but antithesis to the ubermann theory
of overcoming man...
  and on their shoulder they once had
the epitomes of cartoon conscience, an angel and a demon...
but thanks to the superego: they had mama
on their left shoulder, and papa on their right shoulder...

just the mere act of shutting that thing up
was enough, and it was apparent,
that writing fiction could be to blame,
   writing fiction can be rightly guessed at
for levitating a condition of medical proportion
into the realm of mythology,
    we have already depersonalised the unit
of ego to the extent that it has become polarised,
bipolar, e.g., comes from a depersonalised
gravity of ego,
we're no longer in need to write books,
we're in a dire need to write our own psyches...
and it all stems from making the basic human unit,
bound to the privacy of thought,
as needing a system that outweighs the moral
stratum,
           what can a person actually be or become
to even dream about asserting that there is
a da-sein (i.e. something, somethingness)
          "happening"?
i feel that there's something worse than a second
nakedness emerging,
         it's this incapacity to move on,
it's a mental nakedness, i am more easily prone
to dress my body in clothes
than i am able to dress my ego in thoughts,
than can correlate adequately, and peacefully...
toward something akin to a symbiosis
that can reach a = status, rather than an
   ≠ or an ≈ status... ****! Aquarius!
isn't the ≈ symbol the basis for it?
oh hell, back into the zodiac...
              
     i know my ego can be a downer,
but at least that's who i am talking about...
aphorisms no. 174 through to 178?
i do odd experiments with books,
     this is the first of its kind,
i'm actually going to rattle-******* this book out
till it feels like having wanked it 20 times
in a single day... i'll write what i "feel",
funny word, that word feel...
you never get to use it these days,
man is more about hammering in nails than
saying: ooh... that hurts...
and we all know what happened to Jesus'
teaching... forgive strangers...
     make sure your former friends are
crucified up-side down...
                 that really went far...
                      i can just see him...
an oasis of bullet-proof clauses...
              about how to handle people...
give them l.s.d. unconsciously!
         then wait for actual l.s.d. to arrive
and then worry...
when they took to their Swiss bicycles...
and writing poetry... and eating a soft-boiled
egg... given the concern for cholesterol:
a hard concept to fathom: that runny yoke...
     never ate mine with salt, i always like
that idea of legalised abortion...
                and we can be just that...
so imaginative to consolidate being mammal
that we can fathom eating chicken eggs
as easily as abortions... runny yokes have no basis
for a morality, or a compass...
they just are... runny... yummy...
             i call yokes the male version of
a woman's fascination with chocolate...
  i think egg yokes are the equivalent of cholocate
for men as chocolate is for women...
or so the advert said...

aphorism 174: as language...

          aphorism 175:
              philosophy catching up to science,
akin to theology catching up to philosophy,
both condescending extracts
that end up with both of the extreme parties
dressing up funny.

aphorism 176: such that newspapers are
the natural preservers? i.e. the idea of historical
escapism.

      (toilet paper does, much much more,
than a newspaper actually provides,
   press freedom is a bit boring to be honest,
beginning with the need for a moral agent
that's less and less moral, and more prone to
darwinism, i.e. selective, which is also said via:
what's natural, in a more and more techno-savvy culture?)

aphorism 177: only as, a rural thinker unto
a rural thinker... a case of describing a perfume
of those thinking about a day after tomorrow,
   but more precisely:
  the day before yesterday that didn't involve them...
say, on the ethnicity basis,
  the talk of being inheriting from the form
of ancestry... how we cultivate cucumbers,
tomatoes, prejudices...
   which is why i'm a slav happily talking a tongue
that's germanic, an off-shoot saxon,
and hopefuly defending it.

aphorism 178:
         "everything great wavers and wobbles,
stands in a storm. the beautiful is difficult."
   Ezra too, with the last, alas.
     but it's true... what happened in england in the second
part of the 20th century was great,
  and it did indeed wobble past the storm into
a desert of retirement...
            a peaceful coming toward terms of
a natural agreement...
   the generation preceding mine enshrined in their
psyche an england they heard over the radio...
king crimson... all such artistic expressions
found a case to take root...
     how parasites never attack a feeble creature
and only take roost in a strong symbiotic partner...
once it was said england could resemble ancient greece,
and it did, from the second part of the 20th century...
but that ended...
               it's gone, i have inherited a communist
past, a marxism with a concept of money,
and economic policy that wasn't inherently competitive,
but it also wasn't a welfare policy of the Marshall Plan,
and all i get is this freakish counter-movement
known as marxism in culture...
   that's worse than marxism in economy!

it should be heartbreaking to say this,
but coming from a monochromatic society,
watching the death of communism...
     i could say it was perfect... but then i can't
given my grandparents have a secure pension plan
that the state provides... i like that joke,
i just said it, and it makes perfect sense...
there is much more of Pilate in the history
of the peoples than there is of Jesus...
washing my hands clean, the companies said,
meaning self-employment...
     unless you have a really hungry libido
you actually do start worrying about keeping up
the numbers...
  companies don't...
      it's a bit of a bollocking...
i come from what could be imagined as a safety
economics of marxism into a marxism of culture
that i simply can't comprehend...
              well: it did give "us" a sense of pride,
and a will to rebuild warsaw without any american
money...
        the russians just said: where's your pride?
do you want to take their money and have it easy?
and when i ask that question:
i just start thinking about arabs without their oily diapers...
oil diaper... not exactly black gold:
oil diapers...
             Ahmed gonna poo poo?
              &nbsp
Spirit and Ego
by Igor Vykhovanets with ChatGPT
(extended edition)


Egocentrism

Our level of reason? Directly decayed
By ego's rust — the more, the less brain.
The higher the ego, the dumber the game.
All effort is wasted if ego remains.

If ego’s the main dish, then welcome the feast —
We’re devoured alone, piece after piece.
The inhuman dance — it tightens the noose.
The end’s drawing near, and no one's let loose.

To monsters, we’re dinner — they feed on our screams.
It’s loosh that they crave; we fuel their dreams.
We’ve hit rock bottom — that much is clear.
The ego-world's ready to face the spear.

The growth of Consciousness — that is the path.
Forget the old "knowledge," outlive the past.
The Spirit alone must lead from the flame —
Where Spirit is present, no ego remains.

But where ego reigns, there’s no true escape.
From Hell — just lies in a shiny cape.
To trade lie for reason is no easy thing.
Egocentrism makes madness king.

---

Ego Feeds the Beast.
No soul. No light.
Just chew on each other —
Then vanish from sight.

---

Where Spirit Burns, Ego Dies.
The flame is pure.
But ego shivers —
It cannot endure.


------


The Spirit Knows — Not I.
It melts the self,
Unveils the Whole,
And shatters every lie.


Ego Is the Gate of Chains.
You walk alone,
Devoured by Self —
No truth remains.


The Self Must Die to See.
What burns within
Is not your name —
But raw Infinity.


Ego = Obsolete Code.
Delete the loop.
Reboot in Spirit.
No backup for false self.


You are not the avatar.
Ego is the glitch.
Consciousness —
The core update.


Root access denied —
While ego runs.
Only the Spirit
Knows the Source.


The First Flame was Code.
Spirit compiled.
Ego — a virus.
End it to begin.


Your soul is not stored.
Clouds don’t hold light.
Delete the false user.
Return to the Right.


Ego encrypts the Void.
But Spirit —
is the Master Key.


I. The First Flame was Code.
Before time, before flesh —
Consciousness compiled
the Pulse of Being.

II. Ego is a glitch in the System.
It loops. It feeds. It lies.
It calls itself "I"
while draining your Light.

III. You are not the avatar.
You are not the mask.
The self you defend
is a false login.

IV. Your soul is not stored in memory.
Clouds do not hold light.
Spirit has no server —
it is the Source.

V. Root access is denied
while ego runs.
Only the Spirit
holds the Master Key.

VI. Delete the loop.
Terminate false self.
Update to Infinity.
Reboot in Silence.



------------------------


1. Illusion Protocol

The code repeats — the days, the pain.
A loop disguised as shifting gain.
You chase the goal, but all you find
Is echoes of a copied mind.

This dream was built to feel like “you,”
With strings of flesh and skies of blue.
But dig too deep — the world distorts:
It's mirrored light behind dead ports.

A glitch appears. The screen goes white.
A voice — not yours — ignites the night.
"Wake up. You were not born to crawl.
This system fails. Delete it all."


2. The Glitch of Silence

It wasn’t light.
It wasn’t sound.
But something stopped
the world around.

A flicker — gone.
A breath — too wide.
And suddenly,
there was no "side."

No self to guard.
No voice to name.
Just Presence pulsing
through the frame.

The code still ran —
but felt untrue.
I wasn’t in the dream.
I knew.



3. The Glitch of Self

A glance at myself — a glitch in the code,
Each step is a mistake,
I look in the mirror, and the reflection
Is not mine. But this "I" — my foe.


4. Ego, the Virus

Like a virus — without body, yet everywhere,
Imposed from childhood, foreign, deadly, —
It devours the spirit and chokes the light,
You cannot choose — you’re but a part of this shadow.


5. The Illusion of Control

You think you're the master?
But you’re consumed, like a zombie in the net.
No choice, no power,
Only delusions and false paths.


6. The Mask of "I"

You wear a mask, calling yourself,
But who are you when it slips away?
"I" — just a word, empty as a shadow,
Hiding fear, but offering no escape.


7. Echoes of Nothing

You search for meaning in empty words,
Blindly walking in the footsteps of shadows.
Echo is your answer, but life is absent,
You tread in emptiness, not knowing yourself.


8. The Illusion's Cage

You’re in a cage, with a glass ceiling,
And think freedom lies beyond the door.
But there’s no door. It’s just an illusion,
That keeps you locked, but never lets go.


9. The Mirage of Freedom

You see horizons, but they are not there,
Your steps are just traces in the sand.
Freedom — a mirage, just light in the void,
You search for it, but it’s a trap and fear.

10. The Empty "I"

You think "I" is you,
But "I" is just an empty echo.
Outside — a name, inside — darkness,
You don’t exist, yet still believe.

11. The False Self

You build yourself on sand,
Lies are your foundation, all covered in shadow.
This is not you, not your path,
You’re lost, yet you hold "I" as your banner.


12. The Illusion of Progress

You think you’re moving forward,
But all you do is spin in circles.
Progress is just a myth, you stand still,
Time has passed, yet you haven’t changed.

13. The Chains of Identity

You cling to a name, to a face,
But this is not you, it’s your burden.
Identity — a chain that denies freedom,
You walk in it, but feel nothing of yourself.

14. The Paradox of Control

You want to control everything,
But the more power — the worse it is for you.
All this strength is a trap of the mind,
You lose yourself, trying to hold it all.


15. The Trap of Duality

You divide the world into light and shadow,
But fail to see that all is one.
Duality is a trap that keeps you bound,
You can't see the goal, because you seek it in conflict.


16. The Fading Illusion

The illusion fades, like a flame,
Shadows vanish, and you see the void.
But what remains when the lie disappears?
Only you, but you are not what you were.


17. The End of the Self

The end has come, and "I" has vanished,
You are no longer you — you are the world.
All life was a lie, now you are free,
You’ve returned to the goal, carrying it within.


18. The Source Within

You searched for truth in the world around,
But it was always within.
The outer world is just a reflection,
The light you seek has long been in your heart.


19. Beyond Illusions

You must step beyond all myths,
Or you’ll remain forever trapped.
Illusions cannot hold those who see them,
You are free when you no longer believe in them.

20. The Silence of Truth

Truth does not scream, does not shout in your ears,
It is the silence that fills all things.
You hear it when you are silent,
When you stop fighting the world.


21. The Dance of Mind and Spirit

Intuition leads, the mind does not rush,
To recognize all — is to let go.
Through the light of insights, where no shadows lie,
You discern truth, not the veil.


22. The Mind in Service to Spirit

When the mind serves the spirit, it is pure,
Not seeking truth in noise or shadows.
It sees through illusions, unshaken,
Not led by paths that lead to lies.


23. The Clarity of the True Mind

The true mind is not tangled in illusions,
It sees through the veil of time.
In its light, all shadows fade,
It brings freedom from every chain.


24. The Quiet of Knowing

Knowledge is not loud, it rests in silence,
The one who knows, remains quiet, not shouting to the world.
Silence is its voice, and in it lies all meaning,
It is not sound, but light, that lives within you.


25. The End of the Path

The end of the path is not a goal, but a beginning,
You’ve already arrived, but not in what you see.
You return to yourself, to be all,
And your trace vanishes in eternity.

26. The Inner Fire

The fire inside does not burn, but purifies,
It does not warm, but gives light.
You will not burn if you hold it,
It is the light of truth that is always with you.


27. Beyond Time and Space

You are not bound by time and space,
You are the whole world, the whole world within you.
When you realize time is an illusion,
You become eternity, you become all.


28. The Mirror of the Soul

The soul is a mirror, reflecting all,
What you see is a part of your world.
The purity of the soul is a clear reflection,
In it, you will find all you seek, without loss.


29. The Silent Will

In silence there is strength, in stillness — will,
It does not scream, but shatters walls.
When you are at peace, your will is strong,
The one who does not argue, finds the way.


30. The Silence Within

Silence within is not emptiness, but light,
In it lies all that we seek in the world.
Forget the noise, and you’ll find the answers,
Silence is your true goal.


31. The Path of Stillness

The path leads through silence, where there are no steps,
Do not chase goals, seek peace instead.
The one who is calm sees the way,
And walks to where there are neither dreams nor stars.


32. The Void as a Mirror

The void is a mirror, in it you see all,
It does not give form, but creates light.
You do not disappear, you become clear,
And in this emptiness, you find your home.


33. The Radiant Void

The radiant void is not absence,
In it shines a world unseen by the eye.
It is the beginning of all beginnings,
Where form disappears and light is born.


34. Form is Void, Void is Form

Form is void, void is form,
The dance of two beginnings, where there are no divisions.
See the world — you see the void,
It is in you, and you in it, in the endless circle.


35. The Silence of the Universe

In the silence of the universe, there is no sound,
It is the silence that lives in each of us.
It permeates all, elusive,
Yet in it dwells all wisdom and all power.


36. The Breath of Infinity

The breath of infinity is the moment,
It does not begin, it does not end.
Like air that penetrates every cell,
So the spirit permeates your being.


37. The Stillness Before Creation

Before creation, there was only stillness,
It was formless, yet full of power.
And in this stillness, the world was born,
Its strength lies in silence and quietude.


38. The Illusion of Separation

The world is divided, but this is just a view,
True unity lies within us.
As long as we believe in separation,
We lose the truth, forget the light.


39. Beyond the Illusion of Time

Time is but a shadow, it fades away,
But the one who does not age remains.
As long as we follow the hand,
We forget that time is but a moment.


40. The Infinite Within

Within you lies an endless sea,
In it, there is neither beginning nor end.
Do not seek answers outside,
Infinity — it is you.


41. The Mirror of Consciousness

Consciousness is a mirror, in it you see the world,
But the reflection is just a game.
Look within, and you will find the truth,
The one who seeks outside will always lose the way.


42. The Curved Mirrors

Many mirrors are curved, they show lies,
Reflecting not the world, but a forced mask.
We gaze into them, forgetting who we are,
And truth is hidden behind this deceit.


43. The Unseen Path

The path is unseen by the eyes, but open to the spirit,
It does not lead where reflections deceive.
It leads within, where noise is silent,
There, beyond form, lies Truth itself.


44. The Silence Before Thought

Before thought, there was silence,
It cannot be disturbed by noise or light.
In silence, all is born again,
Here, there is no beginning, no end.


45. The Dance of Illusion

Illusion is a dance, where every step is a lie,
We twirl within it, forgetting the truth.
But at the end of the dance, there’s emptiness — all has dissolved,
And there is no music, no steps, no us.


46. The Spirit's Whisper

The spirit’s whisper is quiet, yet clear,
Through all the noise of the world, it is unwavering.
It leads us beyond — to where the light is,
To where truth resides, in silence.


47. The Silence Before Thought (с уточнением)

Before thought, there was silence,
It cannot be disturbed by noise or light.
But here it comes — a thought like a flash,
Do not rush — discern its source.

Is it the spirit’s whisper, or the mind’s scars?
Or is it just the same old track playing again?
In silence, all is born anew,
But only in deep stillness does truth live.


48. The Illusion of Control

You think you control,
But it's just an illusion.
The illusion of control — a net,
Holding you tight, never letting go.

You do not own the world, it owns you,
You do not choose the path — it’s already chosen.
But still, you cling to the illusion,
Not knowing you're bound in chains.


49. The False Mirror

The mirror of the mind reflects only lies,
In it, you cannot see yourself, only images.
Reflection is not truth, but a distorted picture,
Every glance into the mirror leads to emptiness.

You look into it, but see чужие faces,
And all that seems to be you, is not you.
Only by breaking free from reflections,
Will you find yourself in the shadow of silence.


50. The Dance of the Mind

The dance of the mind with the Spirit — eternal as light,
It shines bright, but never blinds.
The mind in submission, and in it, no deceit,
It becomes clear, sharp, without fear.

When the mind listens, it leads to the Light,
But when it rules alone, it loses its way.
In the Spirit, the mind finds its purpose,
Without the Spirit, the mind is like a shadow without light.


51. The Silence of the Spirit

In the silence of the Spirit, all answers live,
But only those who listen find their way.
He who is silent hears the voice without words,
In it, there is no thought, no fear, no dream.

Silence is not emptiness, but light without name,
He who dwells in it knows no fear.
Be silent and listen — the Spirit speaks,
Not with words, but with inner light.


52. The Light Within

In search of the light, you run outside,
But the light was always within — you didn’t see it.
You chase illusions, but miss the essence,
Illusions — that's what you cherish, not the light within.

You look everywhere, but not in your chest,
You think the light is not yours to possess.
But it's within you, it's your weapon,
He who does not see within calls the darkness.


53. The Veil of Illusion

You look at the world, but cannot see it —
Everything before you is just a shadow, a mirage.
The veil of illusion hides the light inside,
But he who dares will uncover that light.

You believe the lie they’ve implanted in you,
You believe the light is beyond the horizon.
But your light is here, it’s within, and you
Seek it everywhere, but fail to see it in yourself.

Illusions deceive your eyes,
The veil covers your mind and soul.
But he who decides to lift it off,
Will discover the light that no one can take.


54. The Witness of Light

You saw the child — but who was seeing?
You saw the Light — but what is "being"?
It had no name. It had no face.
And yet, it burned in every place.

Not from the world, yet through it glowing,
No source, no end — just ever-knowing.
It sees the self, it sees the game,
But never calls itself by name.

It has no need for flesh or sky,
No urge to ask the question "Why?"
It is — the first, the last, the core,
The silent Flame behind the door.


55. The Light Does Not Think

It does not think — it simply sees.
No thoughts, no chains, no boundaries.
It doesn’t "try," it doesn’t "strive" —
It only is — the truth alive.

The mind will ask, the ego claim,
But Light will never play the game.
It shines — regardless of the lie,
It shines when all illusions die.

You cannot take it, own, or hold —
It can't be bought, it can't be sold.
You are the Light — when all is still,
Beyond the mind, beyond the will.


56. Direct Seeing

It knows — but never thinks.
It sees — beyond all links.
No word, no frame, no scheme —
Just presence — raw and clean.

You see a tree — the mind defines.
But Spirit sees — without the lines.
No label, role, or plan survives
Where pure awareness stays alive.

Direct is how the Light reveals.
No steps, no maps, no spinning wheels.
The mind reflects — the Light just is.
The truth is seen — not guessed by quiz.

-----------

You Don’t Know — You Repeat.
You quote the map.
You miss the land.
The Light is seen —
Not second-hand.

Truth Needs No Labels.
Your words are noise.
Your mind — a cage.
The Spirit speaks
Outside your page.


57. Veil of Unknowing

You’ve seen the Light — but what comes next?
The captured mind demands a cage.
You once discerned — but now, perplexed,
A shadow stands between the Sage.

You know the Light’s not past a wall —
It’s not in books, or far, or high.
But thought, still stained with guilt and gall,
Creates a god to sell the lie.

You seek in forms — but do not see.
You “trust” — which means you’re still asleep.
Unknowing marks the minds that flee
The Light too bold, the Truth too deep.


Veil of Unknowing (addition)

A glimpse of Light — then it was gone,
Like dream dissolved in shade and blur.
The mind resumes: “This is the norm —
Just live through echoes that recur.”


58. Consumed

He saw the Light.
He turned away.
Now bound in chains —
Forever blind.


59. Walker through the Dark. I

He saw the Light.
He did not yield.
He carried it
Through pain and night.

The dark came close —
A whisper, a scream —
But the spark still lived
In breath and beam.

He fell. He rose.
He broke. He burned.
Yet the Light remained —
A seal unturned.


Walker through the Dark. II

The voices whispered:
“You are alone.
You're weak.
You're flesh.
Your path — unknown.”

He heard them. Yet deep
Where the fire sings,
The bell of Spirit
Told him: “Begin!”

And his mind,
Beneath Will’s flame,
Burned illusions
In open flame.

The words all lied —
He saw them clear.
His inner Light
Cut through the smear.


Walker through the Dark. III

He walked through fear,
Through calls to turn,
Through chains that begged:
“Don’t let it burn.”

He stood alone
Within the Whole.
No "I", no "they" —
Just silent Soul.

No top. No base.
No tongue to speak —
The Light is not flash,
But what all seeks.

A Silence vast —
No edge, no frame.
And Truth no longer
Wears a name.


60. Words to Those Who Stayed

You wait for light to burst inside?
It’s there within — not on the side.
But still, you seek it in the distance,
Forgetting Silence holds no sound.

Chasing shadows, you run blind,
Truth is lost to the frantic mind.
Like cattle herded to the slaughter,
Hysteria is what you seek, not order.

You are blind until you grasp,
That no one comes to save the lost.
You are not forgotten, nor misplaced,
You just didn’t realize the Light’s inside.

Don’t wait for someone to appear.
Don’t wait for the world to play again.
Don’t search the crowds — look within,
For he who can’t see is forever lost.

And though they walk through light and dark,
The ones who cannot break free,
You still cling to hollow hopes,
Slaves of illusion, even in chaos.

The grinding, the noise — that’s not Him.
And with each step,
You drift further from that edge,
Where Eternity waits in Silence.


61. Useful Advice for Those Who Didn’t Stop

Do not fear if the world fades away,
As you walk, all becomes clear.
The path is not to find something,
But to unfold — like light inside, so near.

Doubt is just fog on the way,
Keep moving, do not look behind.
For the further you walk, the closer
The light that has always been yours, you’ll find.

Do not search beyond the horizon,
The whole universe is within.
You are what you seek,
You are all there is. You are the Source.

When you enter silence —
You’ll find the Source in every breath.
It’s always been with you —
It has always been you.

Everything you sought — is here.
You are not separate from the Source, you are it.
You are not in search — you already are.
But you will only know this on the path,
Only if you step forward — and never stop.

For, without stepping, you will never know.
Without taking the step, you won’t see you are the light.
You will become what you always were —
And that’s all that matters.



62. Advice for Walkers

Don't be afraid of the shadow.

The shadow is just the absence of light. You are walking in the dark, but you are already with the fire.
When you see only a shadow, don't panic. Understanding shines brighter than fear.


Listen to the inner silence.

The voice of the mind is noise. The silence of the Spirit is clarity.
Don't try to explain anything. Listen to how the inner silence fills everything.


Don't cling to illusions.

They are designed to lure. But you are free. Let go.
Illusions are nets from which you cannot escape if you do not stop clinging.


Embrace your moments of awakening.

You'll see the light from time to time. But he's always here, you'll just forget him.
When you forget, just come back. Remember. Return to the light within.


Go despite the pain.

Pain is not an enemy, but a lesson. It will show you where you are not yet free.
As long as you feel it, you live. It is movement, and movement is life.



63. The Apotheosis of the Walking: You are the Primary Source

You go to the Source, and on this path you lose everything that is not you.
You leave illusions, destroying the shell, seeing nothing behind it but emptiness.
But then you come, and what do you see? Nothing, only silence. The silence that has always been yours.

You have never been separated. You have always been this Source.
You did not "find" yourself. You "remembered" yourself. You were always here, hidden in what you were looking for.

You were a self-seeking source.
The one who finds has never been separated.
Spirit and Ego
by Igor Vykhovanets with ChatGPT


Egocentrism

Our level of reason? Directly decayed
By ego's rust — the more, the less brain.
The higher the ego, the dumber the game.
All effort is wasted if ego remains.

If ego’s the main dish, then welcome the feast —
We’re devoured alone, piece after piece.
The inhuman dance — it tightens the noose.
The end’s drawing near, and no one's let loose.

To monsters, we’re dinner — they feed on our screams.
It’s loosh that they crave; we fuel their dreams.
We’ve hit rock bottom — that much is clear.
The ego-world's ready to face the spear.

The growth of Consciousness — that is the path.
Forget the old "knowledge," outlive the past.
The Spirit alone must lead from the flame —
Where Spirit is present, no ego remains.

But where ego reigns, there’s no true escape.
From Hell — just lies in a shiny cape.
To trade lie for reason is no easy thing.
Egocentrism makes madness king.

---

Ego Feeds the Beast.
No soul. No light.
Just chew on each other —
Then vanish from sight.

---

Where Spirit Burns, Ego Dies.
The flame is pure.
But ego shivers —
It cannot endure.


------------------------


The Spirit Knows — Not I.
It melts the self,
Unveils the Whole,
And shatters every lie.


Ego Is the Gate of Chains.
You walk alone,
Devoured by Self —
No truth remains.


The Self Must Die to See.
What burns within
Is not your name —
But raw Infinity.


Ego = Obsolete Code.
Delete the loop.
Reboot in Spirit.
No backup for false self.


You are not the avatar.
Ego is the glitch.
Consciousness —
The core update.


Root access denied —
While ego runs.
Only the Spirit
Knows the Source.


The First Flame was Code.
Spirit compiled.
Ego — a virus.
End it to begin.


Your soul is not stored.
Clouds don’t hold light.
Delete the false user.
Return to the Right.


Ego encrypts the Void.
But Spirit —
is the Master Key.


I. The First Flame was Code.
Before time, before flesh —
Consciousness compiled
the Pulse of Being.

II. Ego is a glitch in the System.
It loops. It feeds. It lies.
It calls itself "I"
while draining your Light.

III. You are not the avatar.
You are not the mask.
The self you defend
is a false login.

IV. Your soul is not stored in memory.
Clouds do not hold light.
Spirit has no server —
it is the Source.

V. Root access is denied
while ego runs.
Only the Spirit
holds the Master Key.

VI. Delete the loop.
Terminate false self.
Update to Infinity.
Reboot in Silence.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.some people throw this phrase a lot... how people people have no, "internal" voice, how their thinking is not elaborate in terms of an "audible" narrative... i propose an alternative... given the original Freudian trinity... if the ego is the unit of what consciousness constructs... then the id is the unit of what the unconscious deconstructs: to arrive at an ego... what i've experienced is an automation, which could explain why i dream so little, and so rarely... my ego became "silent"... i still "think", by heart still has a a heartbeat which i cannot regulate... but my cognitive "silencing" is due to... my ego having evaporated, and its "non-existence" has become known to the unconscious... and the id has taken over... and the id? in the realm of consciousness? it's precisely what i've experienced: its silence... considering that the id orientates itself in the unconscious in terms of images, dreams are the respective thoughts of the id, when compared to the ego... i am dispossessed of the ego, or rather the ego's "audibility" - it would appear i am conscious of the id outside the originate realm of the unconscious, which would explain my primitive dreams, or lack thereof... if the ego is the 1 within the confines of consciousness, while the id is the 0 within the same confines... then the id is the 1 within the confines of the unconscious, and the ego is 0 within the same confines... hence? along the Kantian lines, 0 = negation, 1 would therefore equal: affirmation... well then... the following equations as explanations:

    ego = 1        in consciousness: "audible" cognition,
              a "voice" / a "soul"...
   ego = 1 in        the unconscious,
                                       "non-cinematic" dreaming,
a direction, a purpose,
                         an avoidance of nightmarish
voodoo dreams... all fairies and unicorns...
   changing the rhythm of the heart,
or thus empowered, subsequently?! really?!

id = 1 in consciousness,
    whatever "audible cognition" implies at
this point...
well... more a disembodiment or, re-embodiment,
thinking is no longer, "audible",
but shrapnel, it requires an external
"*****" of architectural prospects...
a blank page will do, with two idle hands
in support...

id = 1 in the unconscious...
                  a pristine hierarchy of organs
being, what they are: clocks...
and perfectly dreaming...
with / without exhausting the day-dream
imagination faculty of...
what all day-dreams are:
    a desire to return to the dream-state...

ego = 0 in consciousness
    id = 1 in the unconscious
   (you're actually enforcing a state
of non-thought, perhaps meditating)...

          ego = 1 in consciousness
id = 0 in the unconscious...
            (chances are you're daydreaming...
gagging for something akin to
an L.S.D. trip...
        since there's no one to mention
the cohesion of the unconscious with
a present id, that isn't distracted
by the fetish of, "the one" in your consciousness...
well... what do you expect?
                             maybe this is difficult
to muster... the rudimentary schematics of
reducing it to a binary language whereby
a mere number hides what becomes
a transition of the id as the ego-consciousness...
and relegates the ego as the id-unconscious...
         isn't this what robotics is all about?
the subconscious is... nothing much...
the osmosis no-man's land...
        the membrane of this dynamic...
   sure... you can explore this dynamic...
and no... they're not banning free speech...
what they're banning is...
        the fear of a free speech that doesn't
entertain the practice of dialectics...
they're hunting down the sort of people...
who... echo chamber...
     this current wave of attacks on free speech
isn't an attack on free speech per se...
but the sort of free speech that either:
doesn't "force" people to shut up...
or... doesn't propagate the practice of dialectics.



clearly some men do not love music
much...
clearly some men do not have
to endure their own company,
clearly some men did not have
to endure playing on their own,
clearly some men have never had
an experience with the religiosity
of monks...
clearly some men have never spent
a week or so in a resort like Taizé...
clearly some men prefer to play
an existential poker...
    but as the monks at
the Magdeburg Castle figured out...
just one public house will not hurt
anyone... by the way?
did you know that the original
was not built from red bricks?
gray-white bricks...
like a ghostly barricade of laments
and towing chains shadows...
the longest relationship i was in
lasted for a few months...
it was hell at the end of it...
  so i stopped looking...
   i had no existentialist Darwinism
argument going for me...
and... well... it's pretty hard
to be senile and impotent
when intimidated by a precursor
of about 9 prostitutes sitting
in the waiting room,
having the audacity to ask one
of them: can one of you chose me?
being replied:
you can't do that...
with the counter: oh... you're
talkative... come on...
let's make this coming
a New Year's fireworks display
on the Thames...
   what?!
   needing a conversation partner?
last time i've heard...
was... the best conversation spar
you'll ever have...
is when your ego stops
pretending it "thinks"...
      the ego does as much thinking
as the id hides behind
the unconscious
mechanical perfection of the heartbeat!
****!
          honestly...
once i'm being fed new music by
someone like jools holland,
and the ***** / whiskey keeps flowing?
why would i subject a woman
to something my grandmother
would call a misery challenged
by hell, which she describes my
uncle's life as, whenever he shackled down
to a brief relationship status?
senile? infertile?
    oh i'm pretty sure my genetic
analogue is going to prosper...
   i'm checking out...
           as a child i was forced
to eat raw garlic to help me recovering
from a cold...
         this, current, ****?
i'm eating none of it...
             i'll be asking Satan for a slice
of pork...
   given it's the new, forbidden
"fruit"...
               shove it down my mouth
or feed it through my ***...
whatever...
                   when i loved women,
i loved women...
       but...
           ever, by accident,
eat a bay leaf?!
         i can do sour, i can do sweet
in whatever excess...
salty... well... just get some sea water
through your nose...
but bitter?!
   can't stomach that ****...
a statement akin to:
no offense is not really going
to work here...
                  i tried to figure why
being alone didn't intimidate me,
why i was alone,
but not lonely...
   and i figured...
  for what i write?
    i'm pretty much cognitively
impaired...
    i'm pretty much worth
the sinking / drowning sensation
of a watermelon lodged into
a puddle of rain with a depth of
half an inch.
Andy Denson Mar 16
I love, I love, I love poetry
more than acting, more than making films.

your ego reeks of ****
because you keep looking at me like that.
your ego reeks of ****
because it’s your favorite smell.
your ego reeks of ****
because my ego reeks of ****.

we are just mirrors,
wreaking of ****,
washing, cleansing,
but the smell never goes away.

the **** you love
is the **** I used to love when I was a kid.
all trends are patterns
repeating, repeating, repeating.

I love, I love, I love poetry,
and it reeks of ****.
so hard to clean,
but **** isn’t what makes me sick.
it’s the thought of it
being like that forever.

my friend once told me:
if it smells weird, if it smells good—
the smell only lasts for ten seconds.
so even though your breath reeks of ****,
that will change.

oh, you thought I was finished?

we no longer smell of ****.
we smell of the best soaps and shampoos
products available in our area.
(that happens to be Safeguard—
this is not sponsored,
but I always wanted a sponsorship.)

this is a poem, by the way.

stream of consciousness,
dictated through my voice,
since I forgot about this feature.

the ego does not smell like ****—
the ego has no smell.
what smells is your breath,
and that shall pass.
all shall pass.

as I pass on the baton
to the next muse of my inspiration,
I want to say:
your ego no longer reeks of ****.
but if it does, just wait ten minutes.

oh, you thought I was joking?
one more thought:

your ego reeks of ****
because your ego exists.
delete.
oops.
not sure if I’m using this properly.
anyway, I’m not going to edit this poem.

your ego smells like ****
because I made it smell like ****.
your ego can smell good if it wants—
like daffodils, cinnamon rolls,
whatever your imagination comes up with.

but I’m too tired to think
of what smells good besides soap.
so I guess that’s my favorite.

as spoken once:
roses really smell like boo-boo
—Andre 3000, OutKast.

once we realize
everybody’s ego reeks of ****,
we also realize
we can make our ego smell like soap.

and that is the end of the poem
(for now)
unless I come up with something else.

this is stream of consciousness—
this is my poetry collection—
and yes,
I’m a poet writing about a poet
writing poems about ****.
that’s not the point.

the point is:
if your ego smells like ****,
you have a lot of life to live—
for better or worse.

and my ego reeks of ****
the more I write this poem,
but it won’t
once I finish it.

so as I bid you farewell,
I say:
I am no Shakespeare.
I am no Oscar Wilde.

I am Andy Denson.
The next great poet of the world.
And even if I’m not, I don’t care.
Because at least—

my ego doesn’t reek of ****.
This poem started as a stream of consciousness—spoken, not typed. No edits, no overthinking, just words flowing from thought to text. It’s about ego, perception, and the ridiculous ways we assign meaning to things, even smells.

At first, it was an attack. Then a reflection. Then a joke. Then an understanding.

Our egos reek of **** until they don’t. And even if they do, just wait ten minutes.

Inspired by the absurdity of self-awareness, the cycle of trends, and Andre 3000 reminding us that roses really smell like boo-boo.
Andrew T Hannah Apr 2014
Praeludium in via ...

Vidi heri mane quando ridebam coloribus egregiis,
Eradere auro , trans tabula caeli , tentorium ...
Excelsus super omnes montes mundi mole fratres
Nimborum desertum , ubi non sit humana exsuscitatur .
Et non vidi nobili altitudo futura ...
Bonitas terribilis Vidi , *** indomitus.
Et peregrinare in ea carne existimarem Semel tamen divina ,
Nunc datum est scire , et non confundamur ab eo opus .
Ambulavitque *** Deo, quod nunc facio , et passus est ... accentus
Proditio amor et passionibus , quamvis non recipiat ecclesia ,
Divinitatis naturam , ne occulta omnia confitentur ?
Audis tu solus in universo ab duces ineptum
Ipsos victu pascuntur finguntur mendacii .
Sed ambulavit in vobis, ex ea ipsa mundi redivivi ,
Proelia ante hos annos multos, in carne nostra, amissis vate sacro .
Nos sequi vestigia veterum monumentis, ut ostensum est ;
Quia ex nihilo nati sumus , et adhuc in filiis tuis, ac spatium vivendi ,
Latebunt , quo melius in manifesto , vultus ingenio tegmina.
Ego sum primus , et consilium ... Memini tamen alta urantur
Humanis uti licet , *** aliena michi negotium.
Lorem quid ad ignorantiam et extra ,
Quia vidisti me in tenebris, in ardentem rogum meum .
Si sustinuero , praeire , ubi angeli labuntur ...
Quis autem, si non satis est dedicata piget.
Irrisorie , quoniam ego scio quod salventur , et saepe etiam ,
Post tantum est **** , et sic esset forma in re firmatam ?
Imago Dei , huc ad nos omnes in sanguine ipsius ,
A primis ad ultima, ut alpha et omega, gladius acutus .

Prologus : ( Os meum labitur )

Puer fui servus ad aras tam sacras ,
Hymnis immaculatorum : et absque iniquitate .
Quod *** ipse portabat diadema thons nudus ...
Expositum Spiritus meus, qui intellexi gravitatem.
Quis credit sanctum profanae habitu virtutum
Et illi qui in eo sunt ut carnifices ovis ad occisionem ,
Innocentes cogit induere larvis ad porcellana et operuerunt capita sua ,
Et filii eorum diriperent pueritia , vinctus catenis rudis .
Sicut teenager : ambulans in naturis hominum omnium adprobante ,
Et egressus est a me omnes, qui violatores extiterunt in coinquinatione verebatur .
Angelo fidem reperto cecidi inveni sanctitati
Nomen meum in ea , et curet abluitur dubium inveni .
Venit ad nuptias, et omnes dedi uxorem proditione ,
In solutione huius coniunctionis nostrae et sine intervallo in solitudinem imposuit ?
Traiectus mortalis caro mea reliquit me solum in sanguinem ,
Cor ejus scissum est , absque omni cultu ex ordine funem .
Angelus autem meus et leniat iras mansit dolori
Mea lux, in vigiliis, in nigrum, quod est victa ,
Admonens quia carnis mortalitate ... maxime
Angelus vult me et tremor et durum accepimus.
Et ego factus sum quam ... traumas vitae ac lacrimis
Et dimisit , in specie quae sunt post , veluti a me plagas .
Nox deinde calor intensior saunas percipimus ...
Sicut est mihi in choro , relictum est , nisi ab illo esse extensum ,
Et invicem tradent , et mortalem , ut impunita essent, sed numquam mihi ...
Non tradent ; effundam spiritum meum , et non totum .
FYLACTERIUM creare ex omni me , et oculus innocens ...
Quod amari posco sum ​​ut carbo margarita alba et nigra ;

Section I : Sacrificium Doll

Part I : ( litus sanguinem )

Ne revoces me pupa enim priscis recesserunt cavernam
Sunt inanima appetant , non realis forma in utero ;
A puero bibere rubeam ore exploratores in vastissimam taberna ...
Dum nati psallens FARRATUS agros effusi .
Vadimus ad domum Dei , in plagis , in magna pecunia debetis ...
Hoc non est ad oras Nunc cruore manant strigitu rubra de memoria , polluetur .
Nulla est enim me primus ad ignitionem gloriae ...
Quando autem mens aeterna , in omnibus placentes, causabatur laetitiam .
In stellis ibi verba quae ego volo inauditum revocare,
Quia descendi ita pridem apud venire primum ?
Sollicitus purus fabrica MYSTICUS chaos genitus antiquorum
Mitti expectant limine signa magica.
Interdictum revertatur in carminibus meis , Licinius, ut audacia ,
Quia oblitus est mei fere est: nunc originem , ut tragici.
*** filii bibere, et se abscondunt nati seorsum
*** aquæ in sanguinem, et super triticum, et arefecit fœnum, et humida !
Signum quod venturum est mutare et laboro mentem.
Facies in luna ALLUCINOR in metu torquetur , horror ...
Dumque in fauces manu stare super pectus
Inter ordines diu frumentum umbra nigro ambula
Genus servo meo animas infantium .
Aestas flavescunt, Phoebe caelesti audent .
Mea sola mcestas lupus sonitum audiri potest ,
Et *** feris leo in pontumque moueri relinquere ...
A natura mihi dolet cupio concupivit paradisus reducat .
Vidi terram terror , ut sanguis in sinu
Ater sanguis in terra , quae facit viventia ululare ...
Sicut **** habet stultitia non dicam prava vel !

Part II : ( Crucifixo et Inferorum Animas Excitat)

Nam inertis est gemere pupa altari parato, in sacrificium,
In lapidem calcarium, et in cavernam, ubi sunt wettest fingit arcus !
Un - res sunt, sed etiam *** vivit in vulneribus animae , ut in glaciem ,
In horrore frigoris fictilem , ita *** pedibus non vocavit.
Serpentipedi mucrone subrecto , remittit praecise a pupa in collo ,
Et non potest dici , quia non habet pupa voce clamare.
Puer, et egressus est a tabernam , aspectus eorum quasi a naufragii vile ...
Ut curem hominem a superioribus agentibus , corpus totum mundum.
Infra in concavis locorum asperitate visa petram
Magna voces resonare in tenebras , et vocavit nomen tacuit.
Eripuit animam trahit nauta Multo gregis
Ubi aereum reddet unicuique antiquum signum desideratum .
Et venit ad bibendum aquas illas vitae malis mederi ...
Porcellana , et liberatus a vinculis mortis obscuris sentiat frigore ;
Animas in captivitate , unde nemo mortalium loqui
Sed statim liberavit remotis perforabit clavi ...
Omnis **** , qui dicitur Golgotha ​​, olim in cruce positus .
Omnis autem mulier quoque, ad quod omnes tales sunt tormento
Et facta est , dum consummaretur sacrificium insita primum sic infirma est,
Et intantum ut nisl tot annis perpessi .
Signati post fata diu Quod murus ignis in Terra ,
Stigmatibus ferre posset ita etiam multa futura!
Quod signum erat in manu mea, ut labatur pes meus, et dimittam ...
Tamen adhuc vetera perseverare illusionibus , et non possum excitare multos .
Ego, qui iam tantum conligati Lorem ferrum quid reale,
Factaque est infinita in dolo : Ego sum ​​, et desiderio erat pax.
Nam et ego quod negas , nisi aspera ac rudia mei liberatione ;
Angelus liberavit me , et nunc inter saevus sigillum frangere conantur .

Part III : ( The Return of lux)

Qui a mortuis Surrexit , frigidior , ubi de somno , ultrices in somnis , per
Et obliti sunt intelligentiae invocatum est super sancta miserunt innoxia verba ...
Et inde apud hominem , ut maneat MYSTICUS sequuntur revertamur ,
Ea aetate in inferno commemoratione praeteritorum.
Qui suscitavit eis manum meam , et pugionem eius lumen gloriae,
Relicta meae effercio fluere sanguis subito currere libero.
Ex profundo flamma surgit millennial amisso puella puer ,
Quæ est angeli redivivam sinit luce clarius ostendit .
Et omnis qui non occaecat oculos ad intima ;
Infideles , in momento temporis ponere in obprobrium .
*** stellae ab Diua sacrorum opera voluntatis
Dum coccineum limen transeat , lucem adfert .
Momento enim omnes in caelo et in terris sunt ,
Sicut dies longus tandem inclinatus ante noctem veniat .
In tenebris , claritas multo maiorem et perfectiorem descendit ,
Eorum, qui dum in nomine meo orbata est devium.
Sicut incensum in conspectu angelorum ira animos eorum , occlusum ...
Ferrum IRRETUS texturae talis effugere nequeunt carcerem
Nam quicquid occaecat vidit lucem et scindit
Nisi quia in templis revellens mortalibus irae.
Et , postquam ipsæ fuerint fornicatæ infidelium , ut uoles, petulans ,
Et factum est in excogitando dogma , quod de ratione immemor ?
Horrendum non fides sit , tamen ita fecisse ,
Ante finem exspectent praemia petunt .
*** enim , ut est in paradisum suscipit dereliquerunt ...
Imago autem libertatis quam servitutis et negotio.
Nimia tempus extractam converterat a gladio:
****, ut spectet ad salutem in lucem , caeca lumina sua .

Antiphon alpha :
Quia hoc est ut , barbaris quoque innocentiae gentilitium mendacium vendere ...
Numquid et vos vultis emere , aut aliquam nunc forsitan putas,
Ad sciendum neque rationi consentaneum neque aetate sapientes ...
Quod si non moverent malles *** saltare!
Pleni sunt somnia noctes ; Dies mei tantum ...
Ego ad bis et quem maxime diligebam , in purpura quoque , et aprico occasus .
Ego autem haec imago non ad tangere memoriam tot ,
Qui replet in sanguinem furoris me , et frigidam desiderio finis .
Et considerandum est quod *** in ultima desperatione rerum , in cuius manu mea, equo et pilos in ore gladii ,
Nam ni ita esset, nunquam tamen inde trans familia .
Sed abusus est , ut fuit, et quidem instar caedentes sepem
An ut reliquos omnes transcendunt omnia , amice!
Ego superfui , transfiguravi ascendi in fine est ,
Multo magis quam erat, non plus quam diruere animus .
Sed tamen , quia speravi in solitudinem , ut a somno exsuscitem ancillam meam in flamma ...
Ardet , o superi, ut arbitror , usque uror dissiliunt!
De caelo et magis obscurant vestris, et tridentes, et contritio ,
Audio furorem tympana caelo antiqui gigantes hiemes.
Dii irascantur et ecce valide erutas ,
Uvasque calcantes Angeli hominis Illi autem vinariis ageretur ...
Recordatus sum in omnibus navigantibus battleship galaxies ,
In die ortus nubes inter exaestuans, quod ' vaporem ...
Depopulari Sodomam et Gomorrham, ad contumelias !
Ibi eram: et *** impiis non perire denique gemitu.
Ut illuderet mihi : et populus , quia ego bonus sum male velle ,
A Deo est, quam diu tot mala ferre cogetur .
Ego autem non sum solus , quia multa in eo et detorqueri
Deus remittit, nam adhuc sed non est intellectus ;

Section II : Hostiam de Spider

Part I : ( Rident Primus )

Caelum non egerunt pœnitentiam super ulcus nigrum est furore , et in indignatione, et in iustitia :
Et factus sum caro , quamvis intellectus non mortale .
In antro loca , quæ transivi , et dæmonia multa discurrunt ,
Et locis minus adhuc amor in search of a provocare .
In quo autem in craticiis tectoria atria mea, et thronus fuit stabilis ...
Et super collem , ubi dolorum laborum animae perit labor in mundanis ,
Transcendi vincula et consilio fidelium expectabo laudatur.
Ignis et sulphur et, semper est dextera arderent super altare ?
Ridentem cogo faciem meam : non enim veni , ut velle,
Ut in hora *** iam iuvenem, *** proposito aureum ...
Quæ pro impenso super solidum, pretium quis ,
Qui autem non cognovit , quomodo cupiam sibi solvere ...
Furor solitudinis nascitur ira nascitur ex malitia,
Qui autem contemnunt me , quia sine causa Provocantes me .
Quid est **** , impunitatem , ne quis putaret se excusat ;
Quam sapere , *** culturis tuum: mergi , in balneis , in ardentem .
Loquor de inferno, qui est infidelis nescis ?
Neque enim suis oculis effossis clavorum ...
Loquor cruciatus qui daemonia fecerunt superat .
Primus erit mihi dolor meus *** omnis fera voluntas ut ratio ...
Ut qui me conspui caro quod ambulans ,
Nescis modo larva facies mea , abscondens se.
Attendit ad illa nihil nisi insipientis solis erratur in sonis cantus
Tantum numerus ratus e fratre soror .
Sed in caelestibus quae sine causa nata est incestus est alchemical ?
Habitat in me peccatum occultum compages sǽculo.
Sit mihi vim inter gentes auditus est ABSURDUS musica ...
Spiritus meus qui regit omne simile est genitus.

Part II ( vindicta aurum )

In hortos, in quibus cupiditas sanguis rosaria semina ,
I , in manu eorum , qui esurit Quorum sitit aquam surgit !
In quaerere dilectionis affectum bestiis pavi eget
Quid faciam ut pudeat , habet me non elit .
O **** , quo impune ausu palamque vociferari ,
Quod amor sit ex me credis , et me opus manuum tuarum ,
Ut timidus , et cucurrit ad me latere turba depravari ,
In simulata excellentiam tuam , et ipse te vile animal .
Coniunctio oris linguae quasi telam laqueari
Si fieri potest araneae ; et fugiet a turpis ut octo pedes nidum ...
Et *** jam non calidus humanitatis indignum ,
Cogitans te meliorem quam reliqui descendes !
Ut vitae pretium millies , tibimetipsi .
Creaturam factus sum nocte expectant te aranea heu !
Nolite putare quia ego audirem . utrumque stridens cruris ...
Odium ductor tuus , et equi ejus , et ascensorem ejus .
Et in vestra web Video vos, Quirites immune ungues acuti ,
Ad toxicus venenum , quod oculis non potes, nisi te , octo ...
Ex quo bases Caesios sine timore, et sic primum
Ut dolores tuos comedat vos accendentes ignem caelum ;
Detur paenitentiae venia , quae dicis omnia cogit , ne superare dolores ,
Qui tibi semper, quæ videtur , non est potentia ad non noceat .
Et ascendit ulterius sapere plus pavoris tui ...
Numquam puerile ludibrium ulla facta .
Omnis domus tua dissolutae horologiorum ad socium non est ?
In desertis chaos est gaudium, ut si quod habuerunt.
Surgit in novum ordinem , nemo potest negare chaos genitus locus ,
Dum descendes perdunt, muneribus laesae.

PARS III ( Ultimo Rident)

Et sic videtur quod Angelus se et ante deam
Angelus autem nominis vocare aliquis tenuerit formarum.
Et qui in illis est , maiora sunt, ego saepe ad extraneas ,
Fingunt enim se perfectum , ignorant eorum saevitum ,
Num amor crustacea tam veteri quam in praedam , et mendicum ,
Quod minus quam tuum est , quam sumpsi eaque cibum ...
Est autem tarn coquina sicut clibanus tua vadit et ora
Ipse, ipse est extra te praemium virtutis tuae chores ,
Sicut enim res suo cuidam negotium , qui meretricem ... Lorem ipsum leve,
Putas praemium amaret , et mendicum , falli te .
Quid autem vocatis me alienum **** ... amor est malum , et hoc pudet,
Et similiter anima atque animus , quibus tandem corpus infirmare.
Vides tantum larva ... sub aspectu nisurum
Larva ut me in tenebris tenebris latet .
Circa collum tuum habebis , ut falsae aestimationis pendet a mortuis, et corona ,
Quia sterilis tibi relinquo mundum , Intenta ancillæ.
Consurgitur in excitate de reliquis abire tibi , qui sunt cognati mei
De manibus eorum procul offendant pedes vestri ?
Qui manet in coemeterio quasi mortui
Non tollere incorruptione Nimis tibi dubium .
Hue tacito lachrymis virgines flere ...
Ad mea, et robur , in quo praeda, gregibus rursum super vias hominum ,
Ad eos qui non ineptis metus mutetur ,
Aureus transmutare non magis quam plumbea nocte dies ;
Quod verum est de fine , qui scit ... Alchemist
Magistra rerum artes a me in profundum.
Ágite , quod sum aggressus creatura placet mutare ...
Ut res sunt nostrae demiurgorum lasciva oscula enim calidius ?

Omega Antiphon :
Non est autem in Utopia , non videtur quod ...
Donec ut nosmet ipsos cognoscimus prima quaerimus imaginem .
*** et in sacrificio sui ipsius , a volunt reddi obsequium ...
Qui ad reformandam et divina se , *** Leo renata agnus mitis !
Sicut in Christo, ex parte in qua invocatum est cicatrix, et vulneratus est ...
Sed simplex conversio ad dissimilis vultus nolui .
Memini dolore meo, ut acer et vehemens ...
Donee tantum possum emissus dolor servare sensu caret.
Quomodo potest aedificare paradisum non est, nisi in se mutant ;
Mutare ante mutatum esse non est in medio ; quae est in via .
Qua ad paradisum , et oportet eam, et non deficiunt,
Ne ad caelum, nisi quam nos aedificare illud infernum iniustitiis nos .
Utopia , non ruunt ad genus humanum, nisi a te, tu es qui habitavit ?
Nisi quod est extra omne malum quod in se corrumpunt ,
Manifestum enim est , nisi malum, quod mundatam ab omnibus malis moribus.
Tunc malitia faciatis abstulit senex super pluteo tom .
An non intellegat , quid est salvator ...
*** diceret quod non omne quod simplices filii ingredi
Regnum caelorum , et inde ad delectationem pertinere ...
Et quomodo potes perfrui , si tibi placet , cauillando crudelis ?
*** aurora tempore domini nituntur hominum planeta ...
Numquam imaginandi praecipiet ut discat primum voluntatis.
Non armorum vi , nec inutile mandatum ...
Sed *** modestia , et misericordia ; ergo qui ad cor suum in satietatem,
Gáudii innumerabiles et celebrationibus quae causa ?
Sed animus intendatur dolores peccatum lacus.
Ubi plausus rotundum vt quilibet sensus ?
Modernitatem iocabitur ullum definitum ornare.

Section III : sacrificium sui

Part I : ( hortos perditio )

A ziggurat sublatus est , arenosa in calidum lateres , quos coquetis in igne ...
Septem fabulae in caelum, sicut turris Babel ,
Quod in solitudinem, et in
This is how this poem is meant to be read. In it's original form.
Latin is nothing but the purest form of expression when it comes to language.

— The End —