So wheres su sap?

So see the su sought solice in the salty ordained chalice, but with quint quiver of a faulty shiver she sold her counting apparatus.
Why when what where and who, question asking by none other than you, where is of course the only real point for su sap has vanished and no longer in plain sight.
Then again the question of when would be simply delightful to know, for when was she last seen, and by this i do mean, su sap the one in question.
But when also requires where, because time without place is like runners without race and without racing the runners be pointless.
Who is answered already, none other and every.. person knows that we are talking about she
that she called su sap, glance back, glance back
why well of course that would be nice to know but when you dont know what you dont know you know theres no way.

so where is su sap, time being now, and why is she there now is that reasonable?
do you know, for i dont and knowing is a thing that fond of i quite am.

then again if i dont know, my heart will not break so, to hear of the su sap with that which is not me, and not one she aught to be but none of will hear i that.

Take the green leaves, and you will so beleive in the trees that do shed them this time of the year, but of course there are some trees that hold on to their leaves and take them the cold might may well not succeed for these trees, in their age, are tight gripped and dont sway to the whims of the weather that they hold not to pace.
Then i guess the main point would be that su sap may be seen at the tops of the trees, trying to take such held leaves, during winter this be a mighty achievment.

Why would she sap su see her see take the leaves that belong to the trees?

why, once again but why ask more question when you have not received your comfort of answer to the first?

Well well, fickle shell, shell of a fish or a bug, maybe the shell of an atom, are you hiding in a shell su sap does that quell your distaste for your endoskeleeton (purposely misspelled!) or do you like the shell for inside there resides a lovely morsel of gum? but to which flavour do you prefer and why do you fer pre it and would you mind telling me in due time?

so many questions asked but su sap at first glance appears to exist not at all
so why may i ask and you might also ask me why i would ask these things of something that does not and by not i mean is nonexistant?!

Hortley Hurr

Hortley Hurr a sly old cur
bear his teeth at a mistaken child
swap your drink with an acid vial
Hortley Hurr and his stench ridden fur!

Mean and evil he takes all day
planning and coniving
of dastardly tricks
on all of us that he will play

be aware for with speed he charges
blinded by the wind he flies
towards your face with worms
and into your mouth with them he barges

entering your oesophagus
and down to your stomach
with salty worms he will plummet
your intestines will be his haggus

Hortley Hurr the dastardly curr
to us all he seems so mean
but to himself he is supreme
Hortley hurr with your stench ridden fur

Tap, alap a tap to tap
Sip the lip slip slap
Bop clop top clap
Wuhoah! mean man!

Hortley hurr, was raised by birds
this explains his meanness but not his demeanour
with a shiny toothy smile he runs around
throwing water on the plants
getting sand on his pants

what is it with this Hortley Hurr?
does anyone know?
have you will to find out?
within his beacon tree he hides
afraid of smoke nose moths!

moths with large smokey noses,
how they haunt his dreams
they took his bird family away
as he was a child

alone he was left, to rot in a pit
but the worms pulled him back up
hortley hurr, how your heart must hurt
surely poorly raised by the worms you were
look to the sky, find solice!

Hortley Hurr your screams were heard
a lonely child with a feathered beard
no more need to cry, no need to inflict it on others!
find your friends Hortley Hurr!

Look up and down, all around!
do not give up when face you does a challenge!
you are strong, you have courage!
measly moths cannot stop your flurry!

Come and take the birds back,
for they haunt my place
and the moths left them here laughing,
teasing me with their smokey chuckles

silly moths!

Either nor a silent snore!

Foul and rotting, as fresh blood clotting
stenches arise and into the night they fly
sit upon pits edge and feel the death awaken

four nights long and not one more
does sit a clouded mind upon the ridge of death
ridge or rift whichever takes your fancy

watch as the silent souls cry
flowing with the rest
none stand out, they are all the same

the pipes of death all lead to the same sea,
as all roads lead to rome
the souls have walked so far, and with destination they are pulled so quickly back to their beginning

where does the walk take us?
does anybody know
do we keep anything from the journey

or do we return to the first stages,
fresh body and an erased soul?
or do we progress somehow

be there target or simply satire
do we embrace that which is easy
or do we take upon ourselves that which is difficult

does it matter?
or are we all surely to small
without point without means

find a point,
find a means
and all life will bow down to your will

do you plan?
do you fear?
do you tire?

lose control and reassemble yourself
your life and mind are simply tools
tools that you may gain power to use

find the power to make yourself into your ultimate dream
end the cycle
bring in the infinite straight

end the cycle

Surly Socks

Surly Socks loved his clocks and with his hands he would pleasure theirs.
Watch out! Surly Socks is on his way, what do we see today?
His eyes are red with hate and his shoulders raised,
heavy breaths heave through his body...
oh no, someone stole his clocks!

Surly Socks hath had stolen his clocks!
Look out for angry Surly Socks,
he'll swap your teeth and lick your jocks
give him clocks, all the clocks!

The finest clocks from Greensworth Abbey
the smallest clocks from Linchthorpes Tarp
Large grandfathers, none other would he rather
Seven wrist watchers, for magical Surly Socks

Surly raised a large sandy banner,
the centre of town was shadowed for its monstrous size
upon the banner it stood, a warning for all to see
"Steal the clocks, if you must, but dare not to theive from me!"

A message well learnt by town and tourist,
to steal not a surly socks clock,
though they understood his ways, the could not condone his demeanour
"we have an example to set for the children yet,
we cannot allow them to see, rage displayed for you and me"
"Respect must be learnt! Banish surly, his punishment, to teach the children!"

Surly was banished by the towns bird leaders, and so he ventured
all his new clocks on his back borne satchel,
a tear filled his left eye, as he half looked back in remorse,
Four million years he spent, living in his shack, on the street named Bent
Four million years he spent, watching the town grow, watching it through times hard and times bountiful.

But now he had to leave, and suddenly he realised,
a journey..nay! an Adventure would surely be the result of his leaving
Surly Socks took his first steps on the road to nowhere,
without a plan, without a care
he would travel to the ends of the earth,
he would become the master of the clocks!

The Lonely Mountain

A mountain spurts from the earth, as I walk through all the wonders of life. It blocks my view, but I have a strange attached feeling to the misty top which prevents me from going around. I begin to climb. Blisters almost immediately start to form on my hands and feet, but the feeling grows stronger with each limb I stretch forward. My hands start bleeding when I get to the halfway mark and I cry out in pain with every move, but continue to climb. All of a sudden rocks fall from above and with a big yelp of pain I swing off a ledge and catch another side of the mountain. It almost felt like it was just my bones that were connecting with the mountain, all trace of humanity in my hand had long gone, but now only a third of the way from the top, the attached feeling surpassed any form of physical pain.

I climbed even faster than I did before, but the mountain started to boil under my skin just before I reached the top. I felt as if I would melt when suddenly a hand reached out of the mist and scooped me off the cliff face. When I came to I could see about a foot in front of me and no one around me but I immediately felt better. All my wounds were healed and the searing pain was gone. The feeling was stronger than ever before and I began to call out “HELLO! Is there any one here?!” I started feeling my way around as I called out but no one replied. When I realised I was alone, the feeling turned to a strong longing and then I’d realised what happened.

I was on the same mountain as before.

The Outer Rim

The man took a draw from his cigarette which lit up his face under a black broad-brimmed hat in the gloomy room. The only light came from a high barred window. Dust particles hit the diagonal rays of moonlight and drifted slowly to the ground. It was a bare room, with nothing but a simple table in the middle of the room which seemed to attract the moonlight, and a massive door opposite the window. The limestone walls felt as if they were crushing the lifeblood out of the room, leaving it foreboding and melancholy. A perfect scenario for the man in the corner. He stood up and tossed the butt of his smoke to the ground after one last draw.
He was dressed in long black robes which lightly scraped the floor as he walked toward the table, avoiding the beams of light. He stood with his back to the door facing the table so he was still fully enveloped in shadows and he began to chant. It was a sound the Earth had not heard in millions of years and shook its very foundations. Time seemed to fall back on itself, repeat and twist in ways that didn't even seem plausible in a fantasy. He continued his chant and raised his arms, there was no longer the room, only the table covered in moonlight, the door behind him and the images twisting and contorting all around him. He chanted louder as his arms got higher and higher until they were above his head. All of a sudden he clapped them together in front of him and crossed his legs.
There he sat, in a hovering meditation, eyes closed, the void of time still shifting and changing around him. The moonlight on the tabletop had shifted into a silver veil which covered the table. A figure appeared on the other side of the table, completely naked with a cloth wrapped around his eyes, in the same hovering meditation as the man with the broad-brimmed hat. They did not use their mouths to speak...
We cannot look at what cannot be seen, the naked man's voice had a strange accent the man with the hat could not discern. The voice crept back into his mind, life is the energy that created the universe, and the energy of the universe created life. Stare through the veil and become one with the universe, with no true form but with the feeling of every life in it connected as one, or take the door behind you and you shall have your human form again.
The man with the hat knew why he was here. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, which were staring directly at the cloth-eyed man. I am ready, the man with the hat communicated. The naked man faded out. Slowly, the man shifted his gaze downwards to the veil. The moment his eyes hit, coils of space seemed to crack and break all around him, Time was not even a concept anymore and all the man felt was falling. His hands started groping something soft. At first he didn't know what it could be. His legs and buttocks began to feel it aswell. He felt it for a bit longer when he realised, he wasn't falling, he was sitting and the thing he was groping wasn't any unknown object of space and time.

It was the couch in his living room.

The old man sat, waiting. For what, he no longer knew. Nor for how long. Months? Years? Centuries? He had no idea.
And he did not want to know. This small dark room was his home, was where he belonged. He moaned as he clenched his stomach and released another prize into the ragged mess of cloth that was once his pants. He smiled and cackled to himself, oh how sweet life was!
He felt along the sides of his walls with his hands,searching for anything of interest. His eyes withered along time ago. He cawed in surprise as his bony hands
came across what appeared to be a small worm. Carefully he grasped it and brought it before his face.
"Of what do you seek in my realm, worm!" the old man enquired in his thin, frail voice.
The worm emitted a high frequancy hum of such force that it vibrated the confined metal surroundings around it.
THe old man had not come across this language before, and was baffled. He noted some similarity to the dialect
of the Uzank tribes.
"Ah friend, you must be from up north. A refugee from the wars for sure."
He held him up close and whisipered into his ear.
"I will keep you safe friend, it is dark times indeed. But i will keep you safe and warm."
He unzipped his satchel, kept on a strap around his bare chest, and placed the little worm inside. Right next to the old man's mothers placental sack. No harm will come to him in here he thought.
Suddenly the sound of metal scraping filled his ears! He felt warm light his his flesh. He screamed, a painful terrifying scream. Voices he heard.
"Woah man, theres a dude sitting in this bin! Holy shit it smells fucking horrible."
"That is just freaky, c'mon lets leave him alone. He is scaring the shit out of me."
The noises stopped. His room returned to its normal darkness. The old man's quickened, panicked breaths began to return to normal. What are these creatures that keep appearing he wonders, what are they saying? Why wont they leave me alone?
The old man sobbed and moaned for hours, until he fell into a nightmare filled sleep. He would not awaken for 10 more weeks.

And so it was

Once it was said, it was to be.
A dog walking beside the sea
taking its strides it looked to the side
and what did it see?

It saw not the sea, on the other side it be
it saw the banks
banks banks white sandy tanks
clicking clockety clank

and where was his journey
along the sea shore
to lead him today, tomorrow or more
nobody knows, its a dogs life after all

slip through the fingers do the grains
a mystical substance
sandy sand produced by the sandeus gland
a gland of great power, a gland of pure magic

the dog looked to the side, then continued straightforward
trotting at a leisurely pace he took his time, but won the race
the race was of course to go where he would
but with no destination he walked or trotted or galloped who knows

all we know is that no matter how far he goes,
he will end at his final destination
as does a sopping worm

A thousand years

spend a thousand years to think, take your time and ponder
a million days had passed before, now take your mind beyond
the walk of life has taken you, far away but no further than your beginning
have you learned?
have you heard, smelt touched and tasted, have you seen
do your eyes see anymore? have you thought
deeper than your deepest thoughts, beyond the walls that keep you here
is your mind caged?
are you caged by your mind or your mind caged by your world
the people around you, are they real, do they hold true existence within their limbs?
listen to your sinew, it will tell its tale, the earth and sky and all between a million tales
think of your achievments, are you proud, will you remember, will you remember when your walk is over? will others remember or will you be gone?
should you care? thats not how it seems, you were not asked to exist but simply forced into it, or were you eazed into existence
Who knows?
do you remember your first breath?
do you remember the first surge of energy, the one that brought you life
do you know how you were created, do you crudely pretend to understand
a whisper on the wind, a scream under water
nothing is truly clear, your senses will fool you, but will your sense bring you knowledge, will it remind you of your fabric
fabric, the fabric of time, the fabric of flesh, all fabric, it can be unwoven, re-woven and it can be torn
but what do we know, should we live a life with no meaning, with no direction, do you create your own direction?
do you understand your direction, where do you think your walk will take you?
it will not take you very far, no matter how fast you walk, or for how long, you will end up in the same place.
with your dieing breath you will surely remember the beginning, you will remember and be forgotten
but what does it matter, noone else really thinks about it, noone else really cares, just accept what others say, just forget that your life will end and spend your walk enjoying as many sights as you can see
fair enough i say, but if you look closely that isnt what people do, they just sacrifice and sacrifice, learning to accept the way they make things
are you one of those people?
do you think that you aren't because i doubt you will go against the flow, noone likes to go against the flow of others
i dont know if it is just me that feels this way, or if many people do
but what do i know, what do you
i dont think we will ever know

Why hello there magical trickster!

Why hello, i said, that i did i said it and of course it is true that its said!
Why hello there magical trickster of mystical blisters!
And what it is that you would ask, it is what to ask of me, that it was the reply?
A piece of time, time that is yours, maybe now, maybe earlier or maybe in the near future?
Why of course, why not take all three my ludicrous friend!
And of couse i would, yes you know, i would repay you in kind, with time of mine and smiles all day!
That sounds rather fancy, maybe later, i am of course not quite sure what you want yet!
ah yes, my point that was, my initial request is that you show me a wonderous trick!
A trick? of course, i am the magical trickster after all!

HAHA i boomed! My satisfaction is almost overreaction, pure pleasure of great traction!
To say the least im pleasured thoroughly by your enthusiastic mouth motion!
Well then, care, would you, to show me this trick, oh be it enticing? be it captivating?
That i am not sure, and neither are you young fellow, for you see as the magical trickster my tricks are tricky and tricky they be for you cannot watch and see!
Ooh i said smoothly, does this mean you will surprise me?
Of course not! a surprise is a prize for captive eyes, and your eyes young man are less captive than they may well be!
But that is not true, i am captively awed by you, o' wonderous lord!
Is that so?
It is so!
Is it?
Yes i do beleive it is!

Then watch closely my young man
Of course!
Tricks and traps on the tar bean claps put your hands out straight and *POOF!*
He was gone!

A tale of fortune

Taken on the day of borrowed coins, a story long and forgotten now, this record was.
Prelude to initiaton is a note, that without a broad valley inside your mind, will you never make sense of what is laid down upon these digital pages.
The time has come, to recognise knowledge as your ally, and perform magical ceremonies to remove ignorance from your life.

The cold winds flowed, with hollow whispers of truth, a construction or combination of human flesh and rigid metal churned and clicked through the wastelands known once by many as home. The sun seared but the clouds hats above, slim slivers begging permission to pierce the ice that had long captured the land.
The machine man or man machine had spent a thousand eons searching for the answer, the answer to the riddle, the riddle holding life hostage. Not just humanity, but all life that had once lived had been sent to the after life, not life after, but the existence after life, in all reality no existence at all. Through the wasteland he had marched, the earth itself was still barely alive, beneath miles of ice a molten core continued to flow. The man machine thought to himself, even though the humans had managed to exterminate all on the surface nature it self would still prevail.
For you see the humans had spent their short time constructing and destructing, improving and repressing all at the same time, eventually this process lead nowhere and with the combined fear and foolishness nonexistence was the only product.
Alone in on the world the man machine did not rest, he paced his way through the barren remains, on a journey with no destination, he need not sustenance, that had long been removed from his needs.
He knew not his creator, but he liked to imagine, he imagined it was a righteous one with pure intentions, he liked to imagine that he had been born with purpose. All those around him agreed, proving him right, though, of course, he was alone. In reality he had created himself, to an extent, what he was now was not what he was before, but now he was better, he beleived.
He had weapons, to defend himself from himself, to attack himself, for a greater profit, a profit that would undeniably be of no real worth. He had educated himself with knowledge about himself, he made assumptions about his very foundations, about the foundation of existence, though he may be wrong, he was not argued with and so he felt proven correct.
He had no contact with anything at all, he had forgotten how to read the other animals and the plants, for they no longer existed, he did not beleive in the myths of other animals or plants because he had never seen them, or so he beleived.
Long forgotten were the words of his elders, but they no longer existed, in his memory or his reality, the mistakes past made, by him and by others like him before him, has been forgotten, and so the lesson they had taught was also wasted, like all things in the wasteland.
This was the riddle, that noone posed and noone knew, the riddle that was the truth, its answer sublime, but where was the riddle? Noone dared search for it, did they truly beleive in it?
Their time was wasted, they spent it in fear of the ones that sat on a throne of power, the entire world owned by a single fearsome entity.
Where were the people? noone knew, all thought was a collective selfish motion, to go against it was foolish, to try and change the pace was impossible, unless you sat on the throne of power.
The flow of course did lead to the wasteland, time is not as we beleive, the present the past and the future are part of the river, our time is flowing to the death of what we can prove to be the only planet of supported sentient being.
To stop this who is? noone is and there never will be, for without the power to change the flow of time you have no control over your fate, and without the plan to destroy humanity you have not the chance to gain the power to change that fate.
One can only be thankful, thankful that they needn't experience the final fall of mankind, feel the satisfaction of having no responsibility, feel no guilt for you know not the consequences of your actions.

Since it has been so long, I thought id post something special to celebrate my return. An image that is very important to me.

Tale of the Robotic sand worms

Sit around the camp fire lads, tonight be it a tale of sorrow and unbound freedom.
For your enjoyment, tis a tale to be told through form of poetic prose,

Trapped in chains the wild worm sings
a deep and shaking bellow,
a song that tears at the edges of the earth
the giant worm, in pain eternal
cries for solice, in his dark solitude

As he lies, bound by chains
he sings his tale
a song of fear
a song of hate

Many years ago did the black birds fly
flew they did above earths sight,
flying through space they flew
like swimming feathered fiends
through space and sky they fly

worms o hiding in the ground
find you soon, through shrieks of sound!
we birds of clamour, birds of DEATH!
the birds circled the earth,
centuries of birds and hundreds of planning
crying like demons, shrieking

the worms lay still, in their resting burrows
eating earth, devouring tunnels
unaware, that soon their end be made
by feathered fiends

Birds circle, through novas and time
untrue existence, born through hate
birds that were strong, in surreal energy
cursed were their calls, blackened their names
to crush and devour
control and destroy
their only desire

millenia of uninterrupted process,
worms that were once young,
now old
grow and tunnel,
and they die, to create more earth,
and thus it continues

celestial creatures, the worms
falling through their own ectoplasmic ridicule
the ancient seer worm, a mighty beast
with feathers ornamental, he sat upon his throne
his mind clambering through time and space
he sees

but black birds
hidden and despicable
unseen by the seer of all
possibly impossible,
to see all and not to see
the demons born of hatred
and unreliable promise
of pretencious eternity
none lay bare, weighed down by vain colossus

Birds descended
worms retented
all lifes gaze
gone
life shut out
by ethereal birds
controlling minds, controlling fear
eating the souls of the ones to bear
and creeping shadows
of pain and spite
swimming through the tunnels,
made by epic worm might

the birds consumed, and through their consumption
they materialized,
sudden fluctuations
flowed through worm nations
unstable energy, disturbing
interrupting the process,
worms died off, immortal as they were
one can always have the power to destroy ones self
this power abused by the birds
created their own existence

the final worm
lying on the pit of his own existence
no further down could he dig, he had reached the end
his cries, his song
to be heard and responded, only by the birds that destroyed his race

the seer gathered what was left of his might,
released it all, released his rage
his sadness, he released the truth
no process was eternal, all was eternal
all if in the void of nothing recurring indefinetly

the birds after a millenia of gluttonous life
orgies and laziness, they fed off the now passed worms work
unaware of the final beast, lying next to death
releasing his final redemption

the seers song was almost finished,
his mind began to flow once more,
with vision
with memory
and with memory, came hate
the hate boiled so strongly

the planet shook, the birds took flight
shocked, caught unaware the ground cracked and erupted
pure energy flowing from the seer to the ends of infinity
the birds were incinerated, their material bodies turned to ash
their spirits, still bound to the void that was life
returned, as all energy does
to the flow

The seers final action sewed the seeds
of yet another loop, process of recurrence
on a scale so large, unfathomable to those within
as are all things, part of one loop,
that is part of a larger loop
lost in infinity
the seer died, as his last vision was as far as comprehension could be.