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g-d sm4ck, lazy tongue, halfpooch wyldfyre, soma soma 
22nd-May-2011 03:59 pm
I am strange swarm.
I am sitting in the cascade
water part left and right
dreaming, becoming
god's cold hard, tired of
cranking the season to
bitter blind and negligent
lords. muffled vassals
and dead scattered peons.
Now bitter biting
dark solar winds
turn the crank
God eases from the task, chosing instead
to be making his house more
he is going to rest, soon.
padding his bedroom walls like cushions
decorated witht the sort of elegant
fare not seen since madame
Blavatsky retrieved dna strands
in a monocle from ectoplasmic
alien vomit
time travelers licking her ear
fingers on her corset
helping her up.

God has a big bed with a canopy.
King, style but princess
in extreme fancy.
All the plush love made for a lord.
He will turn down the
temperature thermostat, remove relieve
the suicide wave, the psy wave making
tears bitter as ice in heavy
space holds too alrge to deny
the crush on soul, spirit.
Not mending aching bones.

God will sit in a fallowly
just and serenly comfortabley clamy
atmosphere adjustment. More moisture!
Not boiling. breezes and warm
enough for comfort life.

God with long white beard black
skin nice uncircumcised cock,
large balls and gorgeous eyes.

Night gown. Frilly and funny.
Sexy older god in skin, cocoa
his favored ambition.
tired of cranky corners of whiteness.
a god, made rainbow.
bored of fanfare for pallid flesh.

god, tired and copulating with his
right hand.
tastes his semen and
massages it into his scrotum
his granite dreads.

Photo of a pigeon.

West coast    East coast


Pigeon, Rock Dove
Framed in his

Mistress away,

Queen of heaven,
lately laughing hysterically
loud bellly laughing
taken form
shifting too much
to rest on.
little girl,
older woman,
laughing and crying
at the same time
Goddess, granting herself
this prismatic
overpour of
enlivened serenity

Lately she has
taken to painting
on clouds staring
at earth.
in her secret
a space within (and without)
space. a held blank
and bold darkness of its own.
outer space to the female
Herald of Creation.
her blackened roots
to her speckled dreads
tits full and sagg
in unappreciated
normal used clothes
stained, patched.
loved by her, the Matrix.
Queen mother, birther of beyond.
agile avarice, knowing contempt
she studies this.
So not, her winged soft smile
wrinkled nose, she paints
a world inside itself drown through
a hole into nothing
looking up and seeing a reflection
of creation.
Gabriel's playground and palace,
his heartache woods.
herat carved in petrified
wood, I love my phallus, palace
drink my wine heart.
No. Thats not it.
Just a love not to himself

a heart pierced with cherubim spear, arrow.
"garbiel loves you" scrawled in the middle

a note. a tag team effort
of his left side, right side
his hide and go seek invitation
to his salvation, redemtion game
and cedar song.
lonely blood. spark
stolen to indian salmon stream
black and red records of mary.
gabriel's herald. Dark.
his hand latticing understood, misunderstood
layers to creation matrix. azure, cobalt, navy moon
starshine world.
unkempt blueprints.
his careless locks tithin sight from his eyes.
gabriel. eyes down and sorry dove child.

queen mother, Goddess embryo crone

She is younger now but weather
lopsided awkward youth, still cacao.
God's flesh, Favored of God and God's flesh.

She paints lanterns. entrance to visual
in her painted piece has colored lanterns.
You are floating in water deep dream world
like she is. only you observe empty rowboat
and chinese multicolored lanterns.
close to edge. hole above your still.
backwards marker on the right side of the
scheme of things. you are here. that is there.
she takes
down her painting
out of her dream
art studio creation
her painting
is sold in a vintage store
in New York.
No longer what she
Paint stripped off the primed canvass.
it is dogs playing poker
or famous dead stars in a cafe.
This is the afterwards of life.
the epilogue.
the world is not ended,
she just misscarried, your choice.
gave up on dwindling
human heart care with knowing design
her - film ran out - what was she to do?
she had to take some time
for the dark between chapters.

New York winters come mroe easily
now and the west side is fresh in
a chaos that birth's their green x super
angel team.

King and Queen of Heaven

are slower involved in these  times.
each master of their own pleasure.
sometimes with mortal or
with other first born.
Spirit children of the EXISTANT creation.

They, God and Queen Bride, only
heralds. old accountants.
Still preferring dark flesh manifestions.
They masturbate, a lot these days.
Ruler's each respectively, of their own pleasure.
They take their time and move their
motions with great pace.
They love mortals and other god's children
god seeds.

a few times, drunken on celestial
harmoic found themselves
flirting unabashedly with their shadows
shadows animated and mercurially
seated in different moments.
God flirted, one evening
with his disinterested
shadow in someone's portrait
of a sloon.
Shadow, silent nodding
God nearly drooling
over his shadows innatentive smile.

Some nights
the two of them meet up
on building tops, let go of
city doves, not theirs.
purview chicago, as children
laughing and spitting, swept up
in the sweet liquor, pan's call
so often heard by blood
in youth. the enrobed nightfall
beckoning you to attainment of-
something not held by day.

Through shadow
streets the king and queen.
run and laugh fire intheir spirit
eyes alight with the wicked fortune
of youth. sandals, saltwater
and street tag.
They drink malt liquor on shadowy
corners in city realities that are
painted sets for a child's fevers.
blank streets one after another after
another. brick, cobblestone and empty.

young loves they are
28 looking
32 perhaps
on carribbean island corners
making house calls to
spirit first borns, gifting
Seasonal greeting cards.
letters, gilted gold embossment.

She pan's the seashore, off Havanna, in the evening.
aware of a myriad of critters
sun, moon and starshine and sparkle
observing footprints from the day, barefoot
singing to herself, crying at points, laughing at
other points eyes caught on a though, refracted and
learning stories from the remains of seashelled animals,
markings in the ground. Reading the world and
learning stories of love, life, loss, loneliness
and laughter.

Cuba, these lands no stranger to their admiration
for humanity, their caution in interferrence, their
reasons for taking time off for themselves.

The King relaxes, naked and young on the beach,
where the tall ocean grasses are, masturbating slowly eyesight resting
upon lovers former and current, different dimensions their
activity concurrent with each other. visuals fade. God's many
eyes. he sufferes a minor headache as he blinds himself temporarily
eyes colored by smokey white blue
cataracts, clouds swirled and reflecting the approaching
lightening and thunder now. a storm coming up from the sea.
she is coming. just to watch.
Mother of the sea. Large monstrous
blessing, harmonized and fury crackled with
storm. entrance brief warm the rushing wind
he moves his right hand up and down
his phallus.
Cock growing to fourteen, fifteen inches,
8 or 9 around.
foreskin, plentifull and heavy in its
pubic hair afire,
like the burning bush.
precum, sweet as honey
salt as the sea.
leaks. pink, dark chocolate and
firm fleshy fruit.
mouth opens.
blind eyes sensing only the rush of
blood cells
t-cells turned ichor
in his now growing form
dreads resting
barely salt n pepper.
still younger
than simple edged notions of this form.
slightly bigger than a mortal now.
metal, chain and beads in hair.
lips parting, back and forth.
like a fish, angel fish in an aquarium

Rain starts

The sea Queen climbs from the water.

Tits full and boyant. hips sway, large
and full. Ass - stupendous.
She rises.
skin meeting atmosphere with crackle and sizzle
phosphorous sparkle around her legs, drawing attention,
to this. Sea lover. Mermaid mother.
Black skin, Shining purple.
Hair strikes fire, changes from midnight blue
to red orange yellow white fire.
shackles adorn, appear around her. limbs, neck, midsection.
queen still naked before the sky.
love poem to her children,
black brown, white and red.
deformed, enslaved and accosted.
children who are like fishes.
She rises from the depths.
A large black creature of the depth
surfaces, from the frigid deep below.
Soft smooth skin and blinded eyes.
Breathing cold salted air through nostrils, ventilation.
She rests herself atop this proud blind beast of burdens.
She coos, fascinated with the King Herald
and touches herself lightly.

He is maddening now
Lips frothing some and sucking soft
his lips. blood some. ichor like holy metallurgy - like mercury.
nose pierced and decorated
she smiles, slowing her already moderated
and at ease exploration of her god sex.
She giggles like a school girl at him, some distance
away. eyes shining as she watches. curious and fascination
sipped through her attention. sweet and liberated. cool and observant
her smile flashes as the storm builds
he struggles some for ground, under

the building storm, he is enraptured
by the racing blood cells, t-cells, water
and ichor rushing cascading
through his body.
years of the savagery of civilization
start to flash accross his blinded eyes.
he is reading only dna strands
karmic backlogs, confessions of the hearts,
whispered assurances kept and broken, the silence
of heart breaks and the poetry of
love. the sort belonging to heroes and heroines throughout the ages.
not so much the sort mortall beings
have in their media, book nor film nor
song nor story.
bloodlines crossed and the heavy
darning of justice with karma,
under the heavy cowl of our mother of
peace. twin sisters, karma, justice.
mending seethingly yet meditatively high on the
lyrics of angels, the cursings of Demonia and
the howls of the blackescorners of sorrow
and despair. a stack of notebooks, their ad lib rules
stitched into their shared agreement, karma, justice.
feral sisters. Rules of love, and loss and harmoic
attainment. the legalities of the conspiracy of heaven
to move hearts in an effort to move men, and kingdoms.
That sort of, High treason. Sisters. Angry and howling
and all that comes out of their black chaos mouths
is silence. moving twisting universes. and echoes
answered. to the sorry, the sick, the suffering,
the sour and the sassy.
for their seriousness the sisters
mending find their stitches mended
madly as graffitti. in their book of

Mother peace always comes with
weight and the sisters born of different
wolves, have had their hearts crushed by
her. By her even handed and
granite temperament. her heavy presence
open to the limit of space which is none , but
weighted at its curtains.

Both sisters sit side by side
in the place of place, a hllowed
Castletorn mountainside and heavy
storm clouds. Mother Peace is terrible at times.
Coming in to scold or usher them, mend faster.
face torn and bleeding by her dreams and
Nightmares. The war town torso of the earth
takes its toll on her ancient bodym still strong as
the mountains - epoch after epoch.
tits that still lactate. a child conceived of
the greatest heights to divinity. virgin mother, still
concieving, young and as ancient as ever, her terrible children.
dark and alight with hers and hers as fortune.
au lait starlight candle. milk eyed and morose.
a child of and children concieved of, the greatest heights
to divinity. that infinite point.
genderless and resplendent in its unending completion,
creative transition. that godhead as lightspeed. so to speak.
Our lady, Mother Peace.
Eternal grattitude and terrible mother sister, guardian
of our mortality. herald of eldritch and rainbow wet nurse to cherubim
buddha infants.

Karma and Justice

Darn and mend the tatters of story on earth.
concerned with the red sang and the
hearts contentment. sang real. they move in swaths
and never cease to surprise as giants.
the brilliant twins, storms each of
them, hold their fury and it raises them royally
as rosen, featured high above the movements
of man and woman.
Each mending to their
creation lullabye, the contentment of the heart,
the placement of heaven's conspiracy and
the alchemical quincux owed and due to those dark
and brooded many, but equationally few, that are world/soul
tracts for the unbelieveable limits and extents of stories
due as birthrights and maker's mark in unending
existance in the universe.
both darkly a brightly anarcharchistic
in momentum. Sweeping chaos and inspiring
harmony in the hearts of Samsara with its
demonic undertow, viscious elusory tracts to her
veils and infernal machinery still throwing the
sister's work out of the easy somewhat sleep grasp of providence.
Providence; their mettacognizence and the
silver spur that birthed the two.
Children of the Skies. Born of a Bromeliad
hymnal - the fettered tatters of
Europa's faith in love, her innocence drowned
and gagged.
A vibrant reccolection of the heresy of women.

God, the King Herald, Their work
behind blinded eyes.

The sea mother, Witch Queen watching
entranced. picking up pieces of the twin
sister's work as though HIS blinded eyes
were television screens. eyes avidly eating what little is refracted
from his eyes to hers.
Yeye emo eja, Mother Whose Children
are like Fishes. This Witch Queen, Mother of
the Sea, Christian Crucifix for her softer emanations,
mermaid goddess and brilliant yet viscious
vanity of flesh. She lulls now, asleep in
a half knowing and contented haze as the
storm increases.

The Queen Herald is down the Shore.
mildly more mature in form matching the
king. Under a large umbrella, in a
sundress and hat, at night. her hat rests
to the left of her. she can see
the firstborn of the sea, Mary as she knew her.
She had sometimes appeared as her. Sometimes
she still does. As herald she is herald of divinity and
ruler in throne. A menial position, yet without threat.
Thus her King and She had settled - with time
into a comfortable pace. she is shuffling cards.
tired and drifting deep into sleep.
Into the Dream Deep.

The Storm rages and it crackles
Scarlet, red, purple, gold. The Whores colors.
The sacred temple, the red tent. The color
of bones and blood and marrow and fat.
Shadows, reflexes, lustrous sorcery and
GOD, high, drunk
on the incoming brilliant blue lightning
set amongst the phosphorous orbs rising with
mist. zooming around and crackling
wind spirits flooding the area, grins and
hysteric bubbling like babbling babies.
the sky an electric atmospheric
american flag at once waving and at
once torn and aflame.

The witch Queen at an amused
lull by it all sheds her chain
and cuff adornments for nudity and white
gauze hair down, now alighted moon
crescent on her forehead.
seven stars around and Queen mother of the sea.
The giant fish, too, brightens up.
Chameleon in turn, and lighter, grayer.
exposing crimson cheeks. An odd creature
of Her depth.
Sighs like a ship, steamroller, relative.

Lightning pours down now and the Angelics are heard.
like phantoms, barely invited.
their wrath crackles the sky.
smiling faces betray their intention, sound.
roses and offerings of sea shells shown.
the Vision closes. each time with wrath
and each time betrayed by their benediction.

the conspiracy of heaven.

The Sisters, far nOw from the scene are grieving and exclaiming in gratitude in turn.
Guided by their eye in eye, the star steeple, lighthouse in the mind, sunshine sparkle that crackles
behind eyeballs. Their mending done with hands clouded by storms, their standard piece, mended, darned,
woven, right here-right now. in the moment. oh, hallow of hallows and storm of storms.
their standard; taking form of their heart. bleeding, shining and blood. Brilliant and burning American flag.
Their needles; angel arrows, lightening rods, spears. Weaving in nothing, weaving in whispers,
screams of the tortured, the slice and cut of whores slain, grams measured, the silence of death on the hands
of bureaucrats. Those wicked kings of parodies.
the reigns. the sisters pull in the reigns now. out of their clouded work.
the umbilical reigns of empire clouded and muggy with tox and biting windspun debris.
pulsing and bleeding in their hands. they reign in their work.

the two entranced in the storm.
faces shown. each, a mask momentarily off. the face of blood and war on each.
a nuance of old Japanese, but it is recycled. Justice this one. the stitchings on the
side of her face. smiling panda with bamboo in mouth, hands at red sun's base.
Karma with flag after flag of countries and states to come. a country easing itself to independence.
Cascadia, and a dark storm cloud. the Others shuffle by quickly. faster and faster
like cards or used paper napkins.
their masks return their faces to them.
eyes all black, they bleed from tear ducts. mouths swirling darkness. silence. their silence is Heard.
The swirl jiggles, adjusts and reflects nebulae and star galaxies.

Storm water rushes blood off their faces and returns their eyes to them. they weep gently
as Peace approaches. Muddy faced and as strong as ever. Barefoot as USUAL.
Cowl flying and dressed only in short britches. looking like she had been wrestling bears or planting
camas in the clouds that inhabit the mountains. Gardens for storm giants. bruised eyed and grim,
though grinning, she approaches.
the two had returned to smiling and weaving fortunes. the sisters.
Karma and justice.
Both in their black work gear. supplies and paint buckets strewn around.
Mother Peace howls at them in some sort of intonal gibberish about the storm and raises
a pointed remark at the heavens. a light shines down from above into her and then softly fades.
a skies with doves are seen in the lights. Body alighting for a moment in soft gold, light blue and white.
then easing some, she marches off to scrub. mumbling something about mumbai and Eritrea.
pamphlets of universal joy appear her as she stomps off, littering the halls. each stamped with a
veiled elder moslem lady. the word "Messenger" below her black and white messenger.

Karma and Justice started in on it. A polished piece of howardry, the gossiped long and graced
over the Rose's dominion. The doom kids and the processes in a world silently - spaciously - awakening
from its imprisonment to the infernal machinations, the brotherhoods of death and blood whose turn
it is to fall, if not for the violence, then for the lies. the lies only a portent of the violence.
the realm shifts occurring on the planet. the delinquency of the roses. the towers of shame and violence
that haunted rose and hers. Also addressed was hell-on-the-table karmic backlog of shadows girth,
made to keep the world enslaved to the Evil Empire's infernal machinations.
The howls of the suffering living and the theatre of the dead. the sisters offer extra blessings upon
the red-and-black-blessed "doom" generation as they halfheartedly nudged words about them.
The two had been working on the dowry for them; the living earth and the entrance to the garden.
the unravelment of fortunes of young young firstborns, god seeds, angelics, guardians, hearth keepers,
heroics and starseeds. The incredible explanation for dimensional data being converted into intention
and creation and spatial shifts.


Months later

The King and Queen Herald found themselves enjoying their moments more.
Somewhat sleepier, they noticed the signs of dream's udder activation.

Dream, now happy to be online. Light cream, drenched by star and moonlight.
Softer now, and more stern in her explanations, movements.
Dream, now properly online again.

The heralds. Their micro awareness went now to the smallest of dream's
inhabitants. gathering their awareness, the heralds sent light-some angelic and fae beckons on the wind.
soft utterances of atonement for missing moments. Dream's recollection. Of herself.
mildly, dream blushes. and continues.
Like both Yin and Yang. Drawn ON, and spent forth like the day,
always curving,
always moving,
like water.
Love, Rose's breath, first
on the breeze down from the House.



Invite you to the seasonal masquerade.
An invitation of Art and creation.
Welcome Life and Love anew
as season smoothes along.

dressed as the best, dressed as the rest,

yours truly,

King Deo Divino and Queen Dea Dea Divina**

Word was soft, and would be, for some time.
Spirit firstborns smiled a little more,
Loa stirred. People moved.
Left. Appeared.
The seasons shone and Bright, but kind.
an echo of footsteps and sweet breezes.

I enter, My PEACH.
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