my mind begins to hum...

[mayavin]

library mentions the carved p'tah embrace

[the fire elf]

[Toolmaker]

[the fire elf]

[youtube][/youtube]

stuff... things that use stuff

rhymes with steeple

[mayavin]

choices make voices

[the fire elf]

here it comes...

that special time of year

when that saint that simply refused to take only the clothes on his back
f(lies) off into the night

saint patsy...

the scourge of ascetics everywhere

but then, when you're old enough, you finally find out

the great holy lie

the dupe

the rube

yep

one generation to the next, nothing like the joy of duping the young

everwhere you see the red white and black suit, you're sure to know

nearby there's a child, warmly excited, petting the rope and making snake cookies

evolution at it's finest

or a stratified habit... habit like a monk with a workforce

elves they say

blissfully content to labor with merriment

snookered into favoring humans more their size

size... little idols, big idols, manger idols, baby

yep

even baby

and the only evidence they give of the wise men

a little veil of symbolic gifting

yeah...

i hear there's a gift coming for ya

flaming sword, you name users... a flaming sword

jolly on that
[youtube][/youtube]

[mayavin]

a wonder-based teaching that say wonders witnessed shall determine severity of judgement



a sense of wonder created through mere misdirection








a wonder-teaching took root
and refutes the context constraints of particular siddhi
while adults feel compelled to have a special time of year to sneak around and eat cookies, lest saint nick not have come




teasing out authentic wonder
or speaking mimes in beard


wonder






















gifted and talented, in deed

[the fire elf]

for being where i am, the air is just as fair
game
to muse about

[mayavin]

The size of the glow on a particular city location corresponds to
___________________________________________________________________________the amount of IP traffic flowing between that place and New York City. A
___________________________________________________________________________greater glow implies a greater IP flow.
___________________________________________________________________________
















relax... there's a chance it's nothing but a metaphore
(electrophile)

[the fire elf]

[the fire elf]

[mayavin]

[mayavin]

[the fire elf]

[the fire elf]

[the fire elf]

[mayavin]

[the fire elf]

A Word From The Outer Dark

My ruthless hands still clutch at life-
Still like a shoreless sea
My soul beats on in rage and strife.
You may not shackle me.

My leopard eyes are still untamed,
They hold a darksome light-
A fierce and brooding gleam unnamed
That pierced primeval night.

Rear mightly temples to your god-
I lurk where shadows sway,
Till, when your drowsy guards shall nod,
To leap and rend and slay.

For I would hurl your cities down
And I would break your shrines
And give the site of every town
To thistles and to vines.

Higher the walls Nineveh
And prouder Babel's spires-
I bellowed from the desert way-
They crumbled in my fires.

For all the works of cultured man
Must fare and fade and fall.
I am the Dark Barbarian
That towers over all.

A Song of the Naked Lands

You lolled in gardens where breezes fanned.
The blossom's shivering shard;
But we were bred in a naked land
Where life was bitter hard.

You raped the grapes of their purple soul
For your wine cups brimming high;
We stooped to the dregs of the muddy hole
That was bitter with alkali.

And you grew flabby and round of limb
Short of nerve and breath;
But we grew rugged and lean and grim
In our naked grip with death

Silk was too harsh for your dainty skin,
Red wine too pour for your drought;
We hunted the holes that the rain stood in,
And stripped the wolf for our clout.

Round were your bellies, soft your hand
Soft with the fat of earth;
Yours was the wealth of a smiling land,
Ours the desert's dearth.

You sang beneath the locust tree,
Forgetful of hunger and hate;
"It has always been, it will always be!"
Even then we were at your gate.

You lolled by fountain and golden hall
Until that frenzied morn
When we burst the gates and breached the wall
And cut you down like corn.

We reaped the yield and we plowed the field
With red and dripping shares,
And you could not fight and you could not run
You could only die like hares.

Grim was the barter, red the trade,
With dripping swords for coins,
And your women screamed in the trampled sand
With bruised and bleeding loins.

Skilled was the brain and skilled the hand
That shaped the stubborn stone,
But the brain spilled on the bloody sand
When iron split the bone.

The hand that traced the gilded frieze
That scrolled the written page,
It could not turn the driven steel,
Backed by the primal rage.

Of what avail the heart and lute,
Gemmed gridle and purple cloak,
When the dripping axe was smiting home
In the flame and the blinding smoke?

Blood smeared your satin, and silk and lace.
You heard your children moan,
And your elders howled in the market place,
Where we stripped them skin from bone.

And where your bearded judges sat
And bade men live or die,
A naked slayer roared and waved
A bloody scalp on high.

Over the ruins arched and spired
The billowing smoke cloud waves;
And you lived when the sword was tired,
You live but as our slaves.

Our hard hands clutch your golden cups,
Our rough feet crushed your flowers;
We stable our horses in your halls,
And all your wealth is ours.

We have doffed our wolf skin clouts for silks
We wear them clumsily,
Our eyes are bleak, our beards unshorn,
Our matted locks stream free.

But our sons will trim their beards and hair
Don cloaks of crimson hue;
They will take your daughter to their beds,
Till they grow as soft as you.

They will trade their freedom for harps and lutes,
Discard the bow and the dart;
the will build a prison of satin and gold,
And call it culture and art.

They will lie in the lap of a smiling land,
Till its rusts unman and rot them,
And they scorn their blood, and the calloused hand,
And the fathers who begot them,

But our brothers still dwell in the sun-seared waste,
And their sons are hard and lank;
They will hunt the wolf-pack that we chased,
And drink the water we drank.

The hungers we knew they too will know,
The scars of fangs and briars;
In the rocks where they crouch when the sandstorms blow.
They will find the marks of our fires.

They will know the hungers that once we had,
While the streams of centuries run,
Till the burst from the desert, hunger-mad,
To slaughter our slothful sons.

when tantra washed ashore, it may have still been pumping

like a pleasant moment, enshrined in goo

goo to be, goo to've grown

ever seen what not-goo's shown?

when tantra washed ashore, it must've been something

angles for feet

drought for air

twice not enough

now's soo many there

forks to tune, vibrato soo thin

to pump from the breast

to wipe from the chin

...

might've washed ashore pumping



all downhill from there?

[the fire elf]

[the fire elf]

[the fire elf]

to live is undead
[youtube][/youtube]

[the fire elf]

[mayavin]

[youtube][/youtube]
A veneer is a thin covering over another surface

[the fire elf]

[the fire elf]

[Ugly Dougly]

Big Bunny Lives!

[mayavin]

just to have lived
as from where memory sets
slowly into the darkness


the earth and i go way back
as far as i can remember

just looks different depending on where you stand

but words are threedimensionallistacly challenged

[the fire elf]

[the fire elf]

[the fire elf]

redefining exacerbates