the locust plague of unquestioning unctuousness is detrimental to all living things diving into the prurient pit
<When Dionysus Came and Intoxicated us Together in Ecstacy
Maybe it’s Sophocles
Maybe it’s Sophocles
THE ELAPHOS KERYNITIS (or Cerynitian Hind) was a golden-horned deer sacred to the goddess Artemis. Some say the deer was a gift from the Nymph Taygete and was one of five, the other four drawing the chariot of the goddess.
Herakles was sent to fetch it as one of his twelve labours. After chasing the swift animal for a full year he finally captured it on Mount Artemision in Arkadia. When the goddess Artemis complained at the treatment of her animal, whose horn the hero had broken off in the struggle, he persuaded her to let him borrow it for the completion of his Labour.
The hind may have been assigned a Constellation like the other beasts of Herakles’ labours.
the attacker is without
Attacked from inside makes oblivion
The agora of erasure
When it stops you know that
It is simplistic to think of annihilation
Hold on his grace was cast in fervour
Blended with antics of softness that hardened
With kisses durable to withstand all unctous whimsy
With a mixture of macronic soul and eurhythmic moves
Hold on use the guisard to prevent those who hold the door
A wormhole and a perfect navigational tool
David Bowie Blackstar and concatenations BEYOND THE SAVIOUR
David Bowie Blackstar and concatenations
BEYOND THE SAVIOUR
The wind carried her name across the roof.
Then she yelped her name again more shrill this time like a puppy in bag heading for the river.
It pierced the air like a silent alarm. Contained and guttural, she knew the sound of that pitch; it meant save me, I’m floundering grasping at my life.
She put a shush finger to her lips, and he knew what it meant.
His startled eyes told their own story.
When she opened the door she passed her by ‘I can’t take it any more’ I can’t breath’.
She hurried her out to the back and let her sit; her stalagmite back struggled in the curve of the seat.
Her face contorted with shiny rows of furrows history jammed into the folds.
Her eyes vacant and entreating kill me, quench this fire.
It’s natural to run when the mind explodes having no particular resting place makes it worse having no one is worse again.
Run to where is the thing. Not many places to go.
Walk the dog.
Walk to the church.
Walk to no destination.
Walk to the local medical centre.
When you are crushed it is rest the body is asking for.
She resists this.
The temporal appears as solace, the spiritual is where it lies.
She tells her to go into the sitting room and says lie there.
Lie down there.
Fixing the cushions for her head to rest.
I can’t breath.
She lifted her jumper and felt her gut, a jumping palpitating heart was in there. Her hands pressed gently and she could feel her life in her organs. Each marching to the sound of the synaptic beats laced with pharma inhibitors death can be a calling when you are in this state.
That stare falling into the cosmic wilderness, a primeval rebirth waiting for the cord to be cut. The weight of life’s labyrinth pulled her under to hellfire. Destroyed.
She got a stone and placed it on her navel cold and diverting. She looked askance, her eyes wide, pupils pinpoints and she was frozen stiff with fervid anxiety.
Catatonia’s friend the paradox.
In revocation she will lose something.
But will gain something.
Mastery of reason.
It won’t happen she is too hurt, scarred, scared, confused and astrobleme on this earth wishing for a meteor collision.
The game is over.
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