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Hymn to Hypatia III

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  • Hymn to Hypatia III

    inquietum est cor nostrum
    Hymn to Hypatia III

    You feare being lost while you already are.
    At bottom, you feed on dead vegetables;
    And all the tip-toeing we end to fly, underground.
    Where the xrytai's enerji makes of us Sounde--
    Etheria-- The Highest Ranke's. I am Arounde.

    The tone of your voice, and the Sip of Lethe,
    Before the Boate-ride. Here, my Soule, What?--
    What is left of the Humane Soule? Soon, there
    Won't be a thing. Remember the grave,
    With stars studd'ed inside, and the Eastern Xhao?

    More like My Owne Suicide. More like my Grimme.
    In the skullery. we meet, it's moor'd(the boate)
    And the Grey Sea calls us, with such Feare
    In our trembling, disconnected hearts. Jupiter--
    My crotch disconnected from my Crowne.

    And we are about to take the harrowing trip Downe.
    Where in the caverns the driplets raise;
    Where the fighte that always happens:
    But we never before won? -- We won, but Time
    Broke open, and there was a Quarantine?--
    In the entrance. The Sumerian River meets River Lethe.

    The Hourî--time spelles you, and we watch
    The rushing currents. The water is slick, black;
    Like oil, and then we rush, and struggle against
    The tide which rips us further on. We grimace,
    As in our hearts the Feare is Stronger.

    And your Xrystos-- I remember lessons,
    In silent meditation, and the water droplets
    Settle on the ceiling of the cavern.
    It is an Arch, and the glow in the dark Wordes.
    My heart is disintegrating, like grain of Sande.

    I am dizzy, and no longer on the boat.
    I see A Schilling; a Token; I see the floor,
    Of heaven, and it never ends: A googleplex of dots,
    Star'ry steamy vibr'ous tendrils extend:
    And an octopus, we watch your Tangle.

    We see you spit your ink, and the black,
    Black, blackest waters. Suddenly become white.
    Both you and I-- Now separate. One soul.
    "Did it hurt?"-- I smyle into my owne eyes.
    The others are on our taile. Danger.

    Now the white water, like paint, so thick.
    Back on the raft, little twists of lilac;
    The smell of honeysuckle, and growing warmer.
    The heat from the water, white,
    And the bubbles (The Arch raines Down
    Purple, pink, the neon and violet raine)--

    Danger. The tail, goading us further,
    We bite; We bite until we bleede,
    And see the seedes from the bubbles
    Settle on the water, and how
    The rain and the water is bubbles

    On the surface of the Deepeninge River.
    Lethe, you monster-- I Love You.
    Where is Cerberus?-- Soone, soone.
    The white and purple, pinkish water.
    The thought of "voices"-- Jupiter.

    Neptune remains outside of Time.
    Brother's owne Unendinge Toiles.
    Where each to each singes,
    Sometimes forgetting, like those bubbles
    Resting on the surface of Lethe.
    . . .
    Voices, voices, echoes, echo'ing.
    - - - -
    The water grows from boiling hot, with cyan light
    Lit from within--Ferrous, and acidic,
    Burning my eyes. I cannot see, but smell
    Sulfur, see bursts of color.
    The bubbling water makes it harder to tell

    Where we are, or if there is more than one
    Of us; I barely know what is happening.
    Shift, sounde, and the river cold.
    The river arounde the bend, turned Golden.

    While the rhyme's been written,
    We cannot leave after the Trip down Lethe.
    And the tentacle's own cups,
    Suctioned to our Soule. What am I, what are you?--
    "Gode, I do not believe in anything."

    The water is like glue. I no longer move--
    We do not move. Nothing moves.
    There is less than sounde, nor Paine;
    I am calme. Danger, none.
    I see from behind blue-lids,
    A snake's owne eyes before it sheds.

    Milkye-blue, like the way of the Grey
    Being such inside this ample Raye--
    While I end, and it's more than a Daye.
    And my soule's lost back there-- Infra-raye.
    Patterns, chatter, nirvikalpa. I am to saye:

    "This is Lethe, the River
    Of oblivion. Where the Fel is strongest.
    Where, its depths, never ende;
    And it is a live, living beinge--
    And I am supposive, and I am bleedinge---"

    Her wordes. The watery substans-- Aquae Permanens--
    My delite, a daughter and a son.
    Beneath the Waves I hear her voice, her voice.
    Caustic, and causing bubbles to break.
    Turbulence. I feel malignant Rage. Subdued.

    Her basilisk black, forke'd tongue,
    And eye that Petrifies --
    These be the waters that never move.
    The arch which inverted.
    We are Frozen, without temperature.

    And we are Turne'd to Ice, to Stone.
    Moveless. This is someone's Home!
    We are powerless, and heavy;
    We are almost moving.
    Our bodies are deade; our soules, gone.

    But-- I am one! I have to be one!
    The words, bubbling laughter,
    Draw from the deep, from the bottom
    Of the Sea, where singes Medusa,
    Enchained beneathe River Lethe---

    The gorgon-breath Of an endless depth;
    I'd like to kisse you, and smyle to know
    "My dreamse have come again,
    My dreamse have come again."
    And I, or us: No karma, No Sin.---

    Rushing through, the melt.
    Ice flakes, and the cutting coldness,
    From around us the tentacles
    Move and turn the corner.
    Our raft is (--my raft is) water.

    We take obscene angles,
    Left-turnse, and we are in disarray.
    The froth of pink, vapor in the air.
    White speck'ed water.
    Black speck'ed water. And a Voice.

    Voices?-- Her words, she singes to me,
    Slowelye, as if inside my soule,
    As if there were no Sun, but it still shine'd;
    As if a Spot of Heaven drop't down;
    She sang her purple-blackishness.

    Of death, the skullery, and waitinge---
    She missed us (this visit propitious--
    The yonder wings we grew, unknowingelye)
    She is instructing us (instructs me)--
    Now it is a chorus of Voices, stinging.

    And my eyes are red, welts, pelted;
    The hot water burns my skin;
    I feel feverishe--- I feel Colde---
    I feel the tentacles loose me--- Let GO!---
    All their voices, now, rising.

    I can hear the agony, and the coughing;
    I can hear within the Darke Rifte,
    Medusa cack'linge-- callinge them forthe.
    The walls are stained bright green
    With the waters of amnesias.

    Slowly, fading, the color of memories.
    The water is a bright, metallic blue;
    And there is a fire rising underneath.
    No point. The voices of those Childrene
    Rise, like Garter snakes, banded greene.

    And the snake, the snake, the snake.
    Your head is full of snakes---
    There is horror, and transfix'ment.
    There is movelessness,
    And such petrification. This is our Vacatione.

    Feare. The impulse you cannot control.
    Beam'd from Axis MundI.
    Deception makes them weaker.
    They believe they have some control.
    They wonder, "What happened to the worde "Soule":

    They shall tell it to themselves,
    The entyre, grueling storye-- How they treated
    Only themselves. Singular, divisio--
    How they lived only for themselves.
    And that is the Harvest which they Reap.

    And underground, in the walls where the Elves live.
    The dungeon, to them, of Tartarus.
    To live inside that beam;-- that perfect Lack-of-Daze.
    They shall know, the red-ribbon snake.
    The water, a straight course, streaming.

    His teeth, drip vomit and venom;
    His eyes, vermillion flashes
    You cannot ever catch; his scales,
    O infinite --- How?---How?---How?---
    The journey beneath the Rainbowe---

    - - - -
    --- Part VII ---
    - - - -

    How truly Infinite.
    His bodye is the water, her bodye is the water.
    This snake, red vertical bandse of criss-cross stripse;
    This snake, Medusa'es trulye, IS the water.
    The green stripse-- which make four stripse

    Of two different colors, and then Midenighte Black.
    His scales(Her scales--) burninge, infernal,
    We writhe upon his adamantine Forme---
    We catch the bubbles rising from the Bottom.
    Liqht-scorch'd, and his prat'tling tongue.

    By this way, there are no detours,
    No contour -- just the Endlesse Snake.
    And the Judgment Awaites. The pontificate.
    We are Heal'd, we are wearing White, glowering.
    With the strangest hint of blue at the endse.

    Rocking, through the cavern, the arch above
    Where his scales scrape; and scrape;
    Bloode is Drawne, but not his.
    Sparks are thrown, the waters hiss
    Above the bodies: (Above the bodies Singeinge.)

    And the fire from his heart,
    And the tendrils, and the antennae
    A grasping tentacle.
    And his keen sense of smell;
    And his lack of Anye Emotion. Hse listens:

    "By the Dawne which called us Below,
    By the bodies and voices below;
    By the sanguine speckl'ed eggs,
    And the cherry stains upon his backe-- Bloodye.
    The bodies cannot die--the Silente Agonye."

    There is a trace of silver, and through the cracks,
    Hundreds of miles above,
    A hole in the ceilinge, filling us, covering us with sparks.
    Rain'ed down upon by the blue-Sun.
    It ends, and their voices continue (I hear from afar

    The matin of the Larke; and the Unio---)
    The Mysterium Ioniunctious.
    Our worke, begun, and their voices.
    Agonal, and crimson, and burninge--
    This is the Underwater Crucifix.

    The circle of perfect light, blue pricks
    Upon my skin. We pass through another Statione---
    Blue and white ferrous splinther---
    One and two -- the snake Transformed.

    Completely blacke, and drippinge with blacke blood.
    The moon inside the cavernhymn
    Makes glowing silverish runnels.
    They're all aware what this means.
    The bluish moone--- And their dying voices.

    Snakes from beneath, thousands,
    Come for the Moone.
    By the moore anchor'd, and their lipse;
    The jealousye they couldn't touch---
    Locked, in silence, the mewling Soulse.

    This is Medusa's laughter, aqua-marine--
    This is Medusa's niece, Merlae---
    This is me, Medusa & Merlae-- Smell!--
    An impish denigration, the heaviness.
    The snakes are one; and merciless.

    They eel through th' water,
    Sea-bands of coral snakes,
    Their rest disturbed by Promisinge Hunger.
    See the eyes they use, lidd'ed.
    See the Soules' Devouringe.

    Lunge, and a strike: One head, bitten,
    Envenomated. The fangs fall like silver
    Duste down to settle in Medusa's head.
    She lies down there Imagininge a Grin.
    Bodies swallowed whole--

    And each hole of each body rape'd.
    The sapping of the Life
    From they who thought they were Free.
    Later, they will beg for mercy,
    That this never happened. Simpletons.

    - - - -
    Viper stings, and the bodies
    Swallowinge bodies; blood, the water
    So stille on the surface where we are,
    Looking down, clear, to where we can view
    All of this (this is our showe).

    Those checks, and detritus in the waters.
    Those wavering, quavering metal waters.
    This Daughter Of God, swimming waters.
    Liqht extinguished; dark upon the waters.
    Under the Ægis, Love made these waters.
    - - - -

    A slowinge down. Yet,
    No one is tired, not the Shrille,
    Whose hoarse voices gurgle.
    Not the bloode, it still pumps
    Juice from Medusa into these Childrene.

    And atop a cliffe, in a break in the stone,
    Sits the birdess. So royal, so angle'd.
    Serene in her Pose, taking Silente Notes
    And throwing them like fire to the Soules.
    A broken bottle, with no message,

    Bobbing on the Sea of Lethe.
    The dome opens up, and we see.
    The liqht mystery, of Foodes.
    We are satisfied, less hungrye.
    This happened, too, in our Youthe.

    The excited bubbles still on Hir breathe--
    The Yang'tze--- and Iatro's owne hand to Heale--
    He extends it forward as the snake
    Rubs slowly up against the tan Shore.
    "I have arrived." ... And They are back to Sleepe.

    - - - -
    Thou Dyssian cull, abrasive;
    It rips apart the Soule, and leaves
    Dead branches, and a Cross
    On fire; In the belly of the Sea, the dreame.
    I am being shed of my personality, my name.

    By the shore, where we met;
    When the spye came, through the leaves
    Which now are dead;-- His face
    I remember not his face, but His Minde.
    It takes time to process time and place.
    - - - -

    Through the foliage, he stalked
    Soundlessly-- Bai. His purely-purple eyes
    Were almost shut. And, in a trance,
    He spoke, mutterings beneath his breathe;
    Visionary memorye -- And the exception:

    By Dyssian foame, upon the waters riding,
    Swirling in a whorl; the vortec energy
    He solde his Soule; and she did, too.
    The bonds, the beams, between them
    Broke, and they wondered, uncertain.

    "Certainty, and certitude, of Human form.
    We were never even Human, Merlae--"
    She hears the words over the tide, hears
    His crack'ling voice, but sees not his eyes.
    She is Halfe-blinde. She is holding her teares.

    Within the hand, which held them both;
    The seeds which were crushed, the voices
    Hushed. Split between the two-- Three.
    And the bat-wing broth within the cave.
    And the hollow pain of Separation--- Dyssianese.

    No forest birdes, or birdesses, to call.
    Absence, voide-ness, and lack of movement.
    They both are pinned, they both are pinned;
    Upon the bodies rests the Steele Anvile--
    And between them, not very much Sin---

    None at all. Dyssian waters, drunken,
    Make one Clear. Their brackish debris---
    Delight to drink, and sip, next to the Rocke.
    Take time to digest; to some, this is Poisone.
    Your soules are being ripped from your bones,

    With a gruelling crunch, and the marrow
    Aflame; with the smyles, from pain.
    The enantiodromia, the reversal.
    Ante-Al'khem'ies--- The potion now like the skye
    Which cages the stars (--Or do the stars bar it?)

    By the hollow resevoir, and the changing. ...
    His face, her face. The tip of the ears, suspicious,
    And his hair-- changing colors.
    He looks at his hands (--her hands);
    Watching through the waters the gold'en duste.

    Both of them, in silent agony. Unable to praye.
    Between, the Ghost of their Heart.
    Between, their olde mind rupturing from the mundane.
    Open, as a coconut against a rock,
    To spill that white-blood in a gash of pinke.

    He touches her face (His Dyssian Minde--
    Becoming X. How he wanted You.
    His face touch'd by both their hands)
    The loste look as between them both
    They struggled to find any Separate Eye.

    A maelstrom of Spirite, where the Elves
    Merrily dancing on the valv'ed heart, swirling;
    The language and the Voice and the Songe.
    The voice and Songe of Gode---
    I made You. This is Our greatest Paine---

    While they ache'd, and the hollow sore parts
    Make for deathe a Home inside.
    And the lack, with the riptide, pulled from
    The eyes they both used to use--
    Separately-- The way of the Fel. A jar.

    Brownish hues, and they are One:
    Two Gods, in one Hoste. The Elf.
    "My name is D'Heqose-- and I smell
    The purest Dawn come as by surprise.
    I am the one you've waited for."

    Answering from inside, "I'Atrose,
    My given name is I'Atrose---
    I am in Search of a certain Energy.
    I am in Need. I am hungrye.
    Do I serve you, or do you serve me?"--

    A deliberate pause between the thought;
    Thinking Elves within one mind.
    Dis-orientation, and a bent shaft of Sunne
    Brought down to keep them Warme
    And blurry the eyes, and Make them Forget.

    A deliberate pause. Between the thought,
    They began touching each other---
    Hands moved in places of Hands.
    They tasted feathers, and remember Nothing.
    "The rock in which we're hewn

    Is heavier than Sin; And Sin is for Humans,
    For those who pretend to be that thinge;
    The sex between D'Heqose and I'Atrose---
    Elvish tongues, and Celtic knots between them both.
    Rocking, rhythmically, and speaking Poetries:

    By the unbroken light, which we sende
    To the Deity which is us Bothe;
    By the Name that remains Unsaid,
    And unsayable, we each turn into One.
    The enjamb'ment of I'Atrose and D'Heqose.

    Sudden respite, and a vanishment;
    The clothes they wear are fire; behind them,
    Smoke. The two-together: Mirror-Foote.
    They count between them Six sides
    Of the Crystal in which they are imprisoned.

    Impassioned, to break free-- Is it an Egge?
    What ley are we on, I'Atrose?--
    I see that lack of any Ethyr,
    And we are filled with something.
    What could this mean? What happened?---

    Almost too dizzy to see, they both
    Felt merry, to Be back in this way.
    Inside the glow'ing xrystai-- xhao--
    Almost too delight'd to Breathe,
    There is no more Soule Left.

    And of our bonds, bereft, we are Jina.
    I'Atrose, D'Heqose, Wydded Dyssian.
    And still unconfused mysterium.
    The green bright lantern, the xrystai---
    They were born in a grave, Underground.

    - - - -
    --- Part VIII ---
    - - - -

    I am not obligated to care
    What it is you want me to think that you are;
    My spirit's drum is lost, on some lost star,
    Alone -- like you have always been.
    Like they could never be. My match, I've found

    Is put out by gasoline that sat for days;
    Your breath, while you smoke
    Those trusty sticks; blue ethyr, and my Daughter
    Borne before me; and My Mother, nameless,
    Never named her. We left it up to she

    Whom by looking at you, forgets---
    There is nothing even akin to "you". It is only I.
    And while the obsidian knife
    We already found, the vampire dagger
    Will be found within the ground, buried deep.

    An hexagram to stop the Sayinges.
    A little baby, swaddl'ed, and unsmiling.
    A Hindu Goddess, dreaming of Tusks.
    A necklace made of rust.
    And time it takes to leave this place.


    One left-turn, and I am here;
    My spirits, they peer, and the mirror
    Of our hate grows Sharpe;
    We are peerless, and we are Sere;
    The August house is in repair.

    The liminal spaces are ours to occupy;
    The deadly vengeance, the Lorde's;
    Not mine. The Lorde, does he have another name?--
    It is to that Unknown name to which I pray.
    And your headdress, and your saddle.

    Myceliae-- I push my fingers through
    The dusty, cakey fiber. My Father wants me to see Her.
    I am dear to All, and my hearte
    Beats with everyone's. You can call me Andræ.
    Borne in a place like this, fully forme'd.

    My necklace is that of Kali's Owne.
    The dance down from the Skye--
    Th' Vibrant hues of my Auric Shone Black--
    There was never an easy fix, nor to blame
    The bane which we consider:

    For what would that do? Make us ignorant.
    As if we Knew it All. But we do,
    We must. We have to act. Our duty is Home.
    And here we are, they are on our tail;
    I smelle bloode in the water ...

    And from where I came there is a trail
    Of something having been dragged
    Up the steep hill. I almost fell several
    Times, carrying that bag of bones.
    I can kiss and taste my own kiss.

    Nothing matters anymore, but this:
    And all the dolls sitting button-eyed
    Inside your mind, with which you place
    Upon the foreheads "6 6 6";
    And all irrational fear, and cortisol.

    An overdose on Lustische:
    My seede, in the water, where the lettuce leaves
    Drifted like they had a mind;
    On the pond, close to the Sea,
    Where the temperature and humidity

    Are high, enjoyable to me.
    This little stick in my mouth, I suck;
    Things come out of me,
    Come into me, and I suck even harder.
    Trying to find the answer.

    Where is the Source of Emotion?
    The antecedent of feeling, and proper allocation?--
    What TRULY. is wrong with us?
    You, the foreste, answer back: "Nothinge:
    We've only just begun to live."

    By blisse- the Etherians gone walkinge through
    The water (Jesus Xryst above);--
    By trystinges of the fealty to the Superior.
    By the inferior, we know who we are.
    The sun-sets in cold yellow, upon the sea, walking.

    The divisio,-- While they kiss, the sea Boiles.
    And my face is an essay in Someone else's face:
    Beautye, now, how you holde me close;
    In lace, and fake the passionate embrace
    Where I looked and you were gone---

    How could you want to be Somewhere else--
    Silent Anxious Agony. Sagittarius, the Elf
    Before you. Kicking his cock-roache tunnele--
    Having hex'd them all-- now, more prat'tle.
    Shares of our demeaning Portione:

    An expose in hell: To watch them frome the Garden
    Made of flowers, budd'ing, and on fire;
    We inhale the grass and the salty sea,
    And the water behind us -- the Childrene at Sea,
    Lost, and not wanting to be founde.

    The lighthouse, and next to it the tallest tree;
    The Love, O Bloode and Love, mix't.
    To form, and create, by proxy, th' Simulant.
    Where Hse saw by my own Crowne
    How I watched you Edit me, and my Memorye;--

    The Hourî reflect. The ice upon my tongue,
    The ashes through which we run, and sung-songes
    Of how we prat'tled each day, each to each;
    I now know not who or what I really am.
    What rule is there that One can't possibly change?--

    It is up to us to pick those flowerse.
    It is up to me to watch the morninge showerse--
    And the bricks of the Castle of our Universe.
    How we settle in the skiey grainse; How this--
    I watched you, a part of my worlde, to kiss

    That other world, and never come back?--
    You will never be anything like them.
    You see, there is the subtle difference;
    Your own needless infinity, and ingenue
    Calms the central beating Heart. Praxis---

    The steele that is jag'ged,
    And pushed further and deeper
    Into the hazy substans. How I drink
    From your lipse, my daughter, myself.
    How they watch, from afar.

    There is nothing else here.
    I see the gathering of Love,
    I see it subverted, inverted, rerouted;
    I see willful ignorance,
    And learned helplessness.

    I see you trying. Which you shouldn't
    Try, if it never worked before, right?--
    Untrue, if tested beforehand,
    With new parameters.
    SKTISVA. Playinge with Dangerouse Animals.

    In the water, I pull,
    One long drink, like some snake enters me.
    I see the faces are glass,
    Do they matter-- do they matter--
    We want your Silence, and your Soule.

    There is too much space,
    Not enough room. There is
    One handle to say how to monitor
    The glass culture
    Which, now, just so suddenly broke.

    And I never wondered,
    But wanted you to wonder with me--
    How close we could become.
    And I am an Unbroken Lawe.
    And I am the gnarled, ancient, twisted tree.

    - - -

    Users--In stagnation, the puddle they bought;
    Abusers, the love triangle with God,-- Caught.
    Scheisters-- The ones who care more about Nothing.
    Truly yours, I'Atrose and D'Heqose--
    Saviours--- And Memoric Implantes.

    By the subterfuge in the eye they wear,
    And the Blue Cross burning the sky up.
    By the twisting screams of their Hopes against
    An immovable Monad: Always in motion.
    To raile against light, and transformation.

    Set in higher orders of Beingness,
    Watchful,-- not really waiting; not really Alive.
    Mankind, and the layers of scum,
    The depth from which we run.
    Seeing that mirror;-- Looks like Hate.

    Deeper we see, the Infinite Ocean,
    Its depth some gulf between the Sun
    And the land: Worldes, wordlesse.
    How she hangs upon me, I'm fire,
    With a puerile lack of any explanation.

    How she stalkse through the night,
    Black mane. Her jaw drips poison,
    And beneath, the ants die.
    Beneath the weight of yesterday,
    Only this;-- Our Owne Learned'ness.

    How could the Nighte take us all?--
    It only takes half. And pain, how could
    One become so used to pain
    That one was comfortable with it?--
    By the buried seeds in your heart.

    How could the Dayes take me away?--
    It merely breaks, in laughter,
    To see our toile, as from a Starre.
    And to watch them stitch up the seam,
    While I awaken from them, from my reverie---

    Entrant D'Auraes ---

    Beaten wings drop, and slap the air,
    So close to the budd'ed grounde;
    By the streame, He descended,-- glare
    From his sword blinde'ing, and cutting.
    The eyes cannot move; they watch

    Like eyes that died, with eyelids open:
    Frozen in Shocke, Petrified;
    In the dull forest, which the stream hides within.
    With the nest of Owls, and the ground
    Speckled with red and green.

    Around, th' soundes of the Birdse
    Halted: Haunted Foreste, where he Fell
    And drank his speed, to settle down,
    Absorb the blow -- Absorb the dust --
    The petals fall, but are not lost.

    And as he Wakes from His dreame,
    This gypsy mage, of liquid liqhtness held,
    Beheld within his Eye, the Scene:
    An elf tied to a tree; tirede, yes,
    And almost deade.

    "I have been waiteing for you,"
    D'Heqose spoke, in hoarse, thirstye wordse.
    D'Auraes cupped a drink in his palms, replying:
    "And I have been looking for you, Friende---
    Watchinge the forestse, waitinge, too.

    "Sup with me. Nighte is here;
    We will be fine, and you are untied--"
    The rope wound round his chest
    Was suddenly burst, and he cried
    To be free from that Tree, again.

    - - - -
    --- Part IX ---
    - - - -

    Eos shines above; through the moon-lit leaves;
    And morninge is soon to become;
    And the white shadows on the glowing barks of trees
    Yield to the Elves. They sit, together,
    And are happy to be here, again.

    The tallest mountains, taller than the tree-topse
    Save for one, which they will climbe---
    The Ethyric blue of their humming breathe,
    The echoes in the eyes and ears, ringinge.
    The nighte passed on, and they didn't sleepe.

    They never sleepe. By the hidden streame,
    And the lighte of Morninge--
    The birds again begin to Singe;--
    First, one goads with a sharp screech;
    Next, the others join in, very slowly.

    By the time they Lift up the Sunne,
    There is a purple tinge to everything.
    They have white lipse, and tipp'ed earse.
    They, the Elves, have such keen hearinge.
    They are sure they're Alone.

    Being frozen, this Foreste holds another foreste,
    By which you swim through the streame
    To enter, and inside, the buzz'ing bees;
    And the answers of the Owls, nests so huge
    A giant could sleep there, with extra room.

    The cold, blue iciness of the Daylighte--
    How the leaves are blue,
    How the tree-bark is white, flecks of cyan
    And the Tree, the talleste Tree,
    All of these creatures below you, Frozen.

    The melting ice on the water's current;
    Pieces of the Universe,
    Little lines breaking off to find
    What other form they might become.
    Elvish pray'r is heard, but Silente.

    "To be here, ahead of Us the planne
    To let loose the Elf's soul. I do not pity her.
    She chose what she chose, as did you.
    But I do not hold a grudge for
    It is my duty to free you--

    That we may be One again.
    Where the forests' cries are spoken
    Through the mouth of Shame,
    Which cut itself to get away
    Which made for us this difficulty.

    The Spiritse of the Olde Ones.
    We are They.
    By the grey rockse, by the sea,
    The Mermaids still singinge;
    Still summery, and golden-greene.

    --- Blue'est Dawn --- BLAU MAGISCHE

    When I'Atrose lickes the stainéd sickle,
    By the Dark Harvest of The Soules.
    Metempsychosis--- Gypsy wandering.
    A life of exilic loneliness, hopeless
    As romance cold; light-green flames

    Lick the skin of the bruiséd body,
    The dark liquid dripping from the mouth
    (Like lime-green words we kept inside)
    Such harrowing, such waste: The End.
    As deathe, his reaper culling torture;

    I'Atrose beneath the thicke robe,
    A friend to none, and unworried
    At the pressing future he will live.
    To feel emotion for such a being,
    To be mute and numb.

    A licke of flit'ting flame breaking darknesse---
    I have avoided you long enough.
    How deepe into my Soule do you wish to peere?
    Is it the Shade, whose strength only grows--
    Is it the silence, the land of Silence?--
    These Silent Landse are Heaven for Use.

    A dreame, we live inside a dream; there is no
    Consolation, save for our constructed veils.
    The snow melts, and melts, and melts.
    Assail Peace, Push Hell Backe--- Watche
    As Michael's Will is Taken---And to the sleeping forme

    Awaken. Din of bone, broken, crush'd.
    Compassion upon compassion gathere'd ruste.
    The lustische, the passions, the sexual body:
    A craving appetite. We share it Jealously.
    We guard our body. There is no consolation.

    Take off your Human forme, and sit.
    By these days of our wandering, together
    Whom have we impresse'd? Each other?
    The hopelessness and coldness
    Seduces me, reduces me into your palm.

    I am calm. I am come, that ye may have life.
    I have no words about all the recent deathes.
    Life, so precious, how do you commit
    To your own extinguishment?---
    We smyle, smyles that are painful.

    It hurts To Feel. It hurts to hear the Voices
    Of other people. Shocke to my heart,
    As in Slamm'ed door, and the pests.
    Pestilential plague upon the Homes.
    Blood over the door. And Hestia, come.

    Listen. Sup, sit with me. By days gone-by,
    In the aethyr still changing--
    There is such a blow, such a blow
    That.even deathe reeles.
    There is Penultimate Reason.

    And then there is the Human Ego.
    Bound to itself (either by words or feeling)
    And little control over what will happen.
    I have no choice but to continue
    This way, through the Unreachable Forest.

    Though there is nothing to finde.
    My love, my love, like the bees inside
    A flower, at home; locke'd out,
    And losing water. The pollen so dry
    For which they were never even hungry.

    But still the bees singe, and whirr,
    Buzzing lines in my heartless heart.
    And still the colde, this drama
    Of having to Behold. Of having to behold.
    A melted wedding ringe.

    Shrunk round their bod's like yellow stripes.
    What do they do?-- Do they Faile?
    They suffocate, inside the Evil Flower.
    There is no way to make this right.
    There is no consolation for those Lost.

    Wanderers, in search of people like themselves,
    Gypsies, in search of desert fathers.
    Who grows so tall that He can leap beyond Nod,
    And eat the Screamse of Soulse of Gode?
    And rape th' unwilling daughters.

    They, whom my sickle longs to flirt with;
    They, whom claim unresponsiveness.
    Thy tortured soule, smyle not, nor move;
    I am here as a boon.
    I am here, as close as the moon to the waters.

    I pull you into me. I do not break
    That seal, but the tears begin to flowe:
    Why?-- I have no answer.
    As if the answer would satisfy.
    I am loste, and wante to Die.

    I desire Deathe, and to Kille.
    I reckon, vengeance is sweet enough;
    Sweet enough to rue,
    As these victims turn you into them.
    The babe, the blonde babe, unborne.

    And I cannot finde-- I cannot finde
    Reason. Justice, none. My greatest love
    Taken from me.
    While I am supposed to be comforted
    In the future comeinge of Our Lorde?--

    I am tested, alone.
    I no longer want Heavene--
    I no longer want the Dreames of Peace;
    To prat'tle through my Earse
    The false comfort, which numbs me.

    Give me Wrath, and I am either:
    Wicked, as in unfeelingly tortured, and torturing;
    Or Tortured by Feelinge, for Choices.
    Hidden in the textile of the Heavense, sent
    The present moment, so xryptically writ.

    Should I desire my own extinguishment, as well?
    Should I pretend that I am already gone?
    That my heart, finally, no longer beat
    Because I refuse it to? I am not afraid.
    I am emptye-- I am emptye-- I am emptye.

    Much more dangerouse.
    What have I to lose, to gain?--
    Her voice is in the winde,
    Her voice longes to be spoken
    For the last time.

    The sickle, clean. I long for Nothinge.
    For the silence to consume me
    Like ants consume Sugar.
    I want the Breade Burnte, and my Daughter
    (My Daughter is myselfe)

    How could you allow such as this,
    Those fiends so torturous,--
    With what logicke gives me, I am even
    Emptier. A priori, those lawes
    Did I write them upon the sky, like raine?

    Snakes singeinge, now; voluting,
    And thunder low, rumbling.
    I am of the Elements, and I show
    My glass face, reflecting you.
    I am here to be Used.

    I am a Weapon of the Godse.
    I push Hell backe,
    When the fiendse get raucous.
    My eyes--my eyes--
    They hurt to see (my heart--my heart--)

    It hurts to know Such Separation.
    The higher one climbes,
    The less one belonges below.
    And one recovers, blow by blow,
    From the heartlessnesse bestowe'd.

    By living, mechanical Lighte,
    By spiritse stoppered up, glowering.
    And the place where we Bury
    The heart which they did not Consider.
    And to consider, t'would bring worse:

    Thy falseness touted True.
    As you breathe my aire, and singe that tune.
    Did you ever care, or did they teach you
    That it's better to take someone elses' truth?
    As if breathing in the liqht, a damsel

    --The entirety of Someone's existence.
    For years, chasing that Cloude---
    The yellow-scorch upon the sides,
    Where sunliqht hit, and bounced around.
    By the Suicides and Deathe, we wander.

    Grey World after Grey Sea.
    Why did I ever Hope?
    To give up logicke, and sink in an abyss
    Which was myself, and not myself?--
    I should have let go.

    I should have told them All
    The truthe that I am God.
    Now I am that wanderer of silence,
    In pale stars cast down, cast out.
    And even the serpents cry, tonight.

    And even the serpents cry.
    Where liqht bends round, and they coil
    To uncoil against my Failinge Dreames---
    Dysphoric, and Unending---Infinitely,
    Even the Serpents Crye, Tonighte.

    --- Borne On Darke Windes ---
    - - - -
    --- Part I ---
    - - - -

    Here I am, deade, searchinge for you;
    Who are you, that I so have seen hints,
    Traces within the Others? That you aren't
    Other, and you're my complete Self.
    The one, by the one who Never Shut an eye.

    Landing in the nest, where the vampyres
    Rest (not in any positive sense), I watch
    The halls between the trees, lined with birdesses,
    Humming, as a Gateway. Do I walk through
    This bamboo forest, fleck'd with icy thornse?

    And the mistletoe, and the pink carnations;
    The small, plump red berries, deadly,
    Sticking to my tongue; and the leaves, I suck.
    I suck until the juice starts to come;
    My tongue, with this thorny branch---

    I spread my wings to fly, and below,
    The shadow of myself is set, and waits.
    Shall I fall, shall I rise? Should I?--
    Could I?-- The pinkish drifting fog;--
    Take me away, take me away---

    Through the tree-tops, where Garudae
    Sits as every birdess, invisible;
    And my pangs, the taunt of a promise;
    Almost as if a promise were worth more
    Than what it promises (--Remember this?)

    It was no Commande which brought me here.
    Other than my Biosys, and my Memorye,
    The Hourî-- Of liquid tastinges,
    And metallic faces, now, growing deeper.
    Like wrinkles. Like wrinkles remind me,

    How, each worde means the worlde to you--
    How I never forsook the truth, and always stood
    Close; Always, my consciousness ancticipates
    An End. As it precedes, this is closer
    To that than this: A friend, always close, closer,

    Even to watch her hair fall down
    Across her Eye; she doesn't notice me
    Notice her. I am in love with her.
    I have no name. But she knows what to call me.
    I wonder where we are?--

    Somewhere, time lost parts of itself;
    Some tamper-proof safe-guard
    Failed; and from beyond my own control,
    We fell. Together. But when he came,
    Dropping down, a drip of spirit, sizzling,

    When he came to find us Bothe,
    I wondered why I never looked
    For a place to hide -- For I am lost in Time.
    Do I prefer to be loste?--
    Do I prefer the Frozen Desert?

    I am tossed by icicles melting;
    I am a sea of sand frozen, and moving me
    Down into the Underworld;
    I am the Siren whisper.
    I hear it, and I have no name, and I

    Am the Siren whisper.
    What is it here--- I cannot feel,
    But make decisions, half-sleepy;
    I am looking for my Mother.
    I am looking for my Father.

    What am I?-- No one around to aske.
    Who is "One"--
    I am spposed to say, I think, "I am the one
    Breakinge my own heart and mind and soule
    Apart. Which part is me---

    I have these memoryes,
    I see a man looking at a thing in the water,
    By a waterfall; it's sunnye,
    And he is---he is "Spyeinge"--
    There are words I can't understand.

    I am dizzy, disoriented.
    I have my own thoughts, yet
    There is also something else in here
    With me, which speaks."
    "Speak up, O dear One,

    You are right on time: You showed
    Your true heart (we wiped your memory)
    No need to be afraid,
    (You're also inside me.)
    And we have business, we have to palaver.

    By the way that they say
    "I am God, I am God, I am God,"
    This doesn't matter to me.
    I am beyond concepts, and language.
    Nothing else matters than this mission.

    Here, take my blanket,
    It is cold, so deep in the Earth, sometimes.
    Drafts fly through like birdse
    Who, unsingeinge, stll make a blurre--
    And the sound almost silent, the wings

    Beating against the sides of this place.
    Get comfortable. We are here
    For atleast a few days, holed up.
    Get some rest, and I will stande watch;
    I do not need to sleep anymore.

  • #2
    References culled from mainly classical, but also other, thoughtworlds - sometimes engaging, more often bemusing in relation to the unwieldy whole; unwieldy that is, to the mere reader. No doubt the author is conducting a symphony.

    I do not discern Hypatia, in my dimness.

    I am borne along by intricately imagined fragments, kaleidoscopic, sorting and resorting themselves into now-patterns, now-mush, now-riddles.

    Many seeds of ideas just sprouting, but shrugged aside almost as soon as the first green shows.

    When I think I have a foothold, I am falling backward off the sheer wall. Or, I am momentarily upright in the flow, then turned upside down over the cascades. Dizzy. Too long under the long river.

    Not sure why the olde worlde final e's are necessary. They suggest a patina circa 16th century, a 'Hieronimo's mad agayne' vibe, yet their stronger impression is that of burlesque.

    This is a fugue-turned-farrago, shot through with firework flashes. I am at a loss to comprehend the whole vision. Unequal. In short, it is long.


    • #3
      Nice, I appreciate the humor... I laid down for what seemed like an hour, my thought process changed, and I am back and it's night again. Thanks for the well-received, and finely piqued critique. To explain, the e's are for that effect; yes; and that exact line, actually "Why then iyle fit" is the tone that I wish to summon, more or less. And you are right. I have a map. I shall show you, here on this post. For everyone, for myself. For you. Anyway, to make it more fugue like or more clear, I need more time. I am almost finishing the fourth hymn. Yes, hypatia is not in the forefront. I need to stick that one. I don't know much about her. I was randonly going through files on my device and somehow saw the word hypatia, and then hymn came or something--fugue--- i pronounce fugue like foog- so , yes. lol. Hymn to Hypatia was birthed in that breath of expectancy, the promise of ore. I know she was in ~300s and of Alexandria? She was record-keeper, astronomer. Heretic, it seems. I shall make it a point definitely to weave her more into it, now since i am capping off the end to IV and I have time tonight to Study! Yay. I love studying. I've studied a lot.

      See, it's a matter of my schizo-nature, maybe? The characters walk into each other, and that link between them is either complete agonal separation, or not so done well yet, the bliss. I figure i got hell to go through, from bottom up. Then the flowers and the festivale. We shall see. Thank you, always, I am humbled. Good joke.

      I need to hone my scalpel, see, and actually pull apart the meat from bone. In a dream, a long one, i removed a bone from the mouth of a hell-hound.

      Anyway. Something.

      Have a good day~


      • #4
        icTo the Muses----
        We do not rest until we rest in you.
        -------------inquietum est cor nostrum.

        Take on characteristics of all characters; blend olde and new "vernacular"; the sharp turns do they keep the reader or veer hir off?-- Turn to clarity the seeds which this dream is. I need to Shape Up now that I am on Hymn V almost. 5-fold reticence. Having trouble dealing with the overuse of words "shadow shade dark darkness bloode" which causes me to improve, I suppose. The writing comes in spurts, and I am delighted to share these musinges. The world is just being established; I suppose this is the recruitment. Now, where do all characters meet. What draws them all together? We have the dark having broken into the light. We have the separation. We have the crucifiction in so many words. We need the sunlight to clear out the edges and actually create that vortec energy to flesh out the beginning of this long, winding Hymn.

        To make it Worthy. To give it purpose. To go beyond myself, deeper into the mythos and mytharc, and create from This ore Something Truly Worthy of ... Mother Earth... Me.

        Colossal ideas, yet central atomies. As if my personality was blown apart and I was writing my own Afterlife. Moral reprehension, and then back-stepping; unsure of holes in Logicks. I don't mind editing, and dealing with large amounts of information.

        The picture is that the Planet needs these Beings, or Non-beings, and somehow they shall come into contact, in one form or another, with their problem of Existential Import. Why did you call me, Mother Earth? I am here. We are here. What SHALL we do, lest we like lab-rats just bite the feeding hand? I am not sure.

        Leave it to the Muses.

        Underwater Crucifixio
        Sky Crufixio
        Queendome Crucify---
        Psyche Crucify

        Dyssian Qualias
        Map of Hymn--
        Elemental Kingdoms:Queendoms:
        Animal Vegetable Mineral

        four+1 humors
        Reptid(Vampyre Gods)



        Lethe--- Fel is strongest
        Tartarus. Torturous

        Mid way station --- Fel xrystai

        blue security sun

        From where we fell. Lucifer () Anu.


        Unreachable (forbidden) Forest.

        Grey Sea---
        xrystai sea

        Bamboo forests---
        Frozen Deserts---



        Name the Sea of Sirens... Rocks.. new name, new words, new Enjambment, new style same style, different Shakti.

        Make more clear, make characters meet? Make more Blurry?--- Characters in travail.

        Turn lethe to stone and walk Into the Entrance Unto tartars, After the passage. multiple, secret passages.
        Amblicus is

        --- Need One More, Plus plus.






        Odin -- thor & loki --
        Mayvern the wyrm
        Sainte Jopline


        Plot synopsis:

        Plot holes:

        Character Development

        Character backgrounds

        Character Family Relations


        Tone, mood, and pacing. Colde- emotionless- Vicious-- Subdued Rage. Family, Kinship. Mankinde is not part of these families and Relations. Until.

        Grey Sea
        Frozen Desert

        Elemental Kingdom -- Four Corners.

        Reason. Purpose. Sense/senseless

        6000~ words per Hymn.
        IV hymns so far, iv incomplete.