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The Thirteen Sirian RozeQuarts Mothers of Zoroaster

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  • adalanada
    Hello Friends, hope to find the blue eye of an ibis, messages shall most assuredly be in the format of cut up method gleaning and hopefully yeilding some
    Message 1 of 1 , May 18, 2004
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      Hello Friends, hope to find the blue eye of an ibis, messages shall
      most assuredly be in the format of cut up method gleaning and
      hopefully yeilding some fellow scribe a luminous glimpse of
      themselves reading their own reflection in the form of glyphs
      gathered from the same feathers or sense of lightning in a familiar
      echo noble and old scabari, the writing is still magic and the words
      more so, hover always hover, like the ibis in silence, from
      scattered pages pebbles mirrors or most assuredly in the honor of
      the most humble and silent soul of Jorge Luis Borges who dissolved
      the mirrors of Averros into roses that lined the training camps of
      the wildboys erections in William Seward Hall's ivy lipped
      eternity. I say who coul find those shoulders collapsed on an
      adding machine, no one ever knows the scribe in flight, no one hears
      Hermes' keys, but they follow his rod and like bats that fall from
      the crevices the two saints wake up and Nagarjune sees Serapis Bey
      with a bone stick and El Mozaheem with a lute. Highway robbery, and
      when they put the railroad through the old cemetary the old man just
      about had it. Rumour was he just went out one night and took the
      form of a cyote, some said a black rat snake, but I know hes inside
      the mountain just about now putting on his wings. You stars and
      stripes sure got some kinda nerve droppin in on old man Baghdad
      again, don't you ever learn Jack o Reily Realator Rack rent landlord
      cripple jet. No forty acres, not even a mule, just you in a wheel
      chair with a bottle of gin grinnin at the sickle moon again and
      watchin the bison come back. You didn't even get rid of the tsi-tsi
      fly silly rabbit silly man. Mandrake moon murder modern scribbnery
      and a yoga magazine for the blond teflon cycles who proved once
      again that a book or even a page is a spell and when sliped into the
      cities of the red night can remotely cause a child in the country to
      remember the caravan and the banks of the nile. Like the eyelids of
      children the banks of that river and its golden child its green
      child its brown phoenix in crimson glory Magdelene eye mascara. I
      love you camel child, red with your unfilmed lives, do not stop and
      plant corn do not stop and plant corn. When we began to dwell
      around the well and watch the sprouts grow slow Hecate always
      hobbles up with a gourd and makes all the women wail aint you tired
      all that Greek tragedy Jack aint the magic flute done lost its charm
      or you still think them rosey cheeked cherubs gonna untie you when
      your six feet under and role you like a dung beetles ball across the
      field into Elysium, our faces grew long with dust and our lovely
      treck along the spine of our mothers yellow roads of gold became
      piles of stones to be stacked, a stone for the hermas a stone for
      the old man, remember the sky creaking low and green when the first
      hole was dug, when the first hole was dug. Forty acres and a mule
      Jack, Forty ounces and a mule, more like a gun more like a scar on
      the red rock hotel and how the idols wept obsidian wrath, Horus the
      Silent, Horus the Silver, Osiris the nether grey net bark gold,
      Horus the Silent, Horus the Child, who have you met on the western
      bank that was not wrapped in sheaths that was not staring from the
      moon at his home and his lovely skin colored loves baking bread for
      the owls nestled heavy in oaks. There is no passion except for the
      fish in the nile mud hiding with the cock of the King. That 33rd
      precious thing in the belly of a fish and you wonder why all them
      shanty boats float around day and night with lanterns lite. His
      queen could careless, his queen is careless now that her daughters
      are crippled with blindness. But they are still beautiful and noble
      says Horus "I will fish back their eyes mother and restore them to
      thrones, just let me get ahold of their phones, just let me tie the
      hands of the fathers who sold the eyes of their children for gold.
      Theres something funny going on around here and I smell it only on
      the days it doesn't rain, when they run horses around in circles and
      I play the flute in fields near water. The solar wind is different
      this year but just as unbearable as the three years preceeding, a
      new strain of ultraviolet messages, a new spectrum I believe and
      everyone still keeps asking me what I do for a living. I have a
      living. I have a living in this here white angelica. I have a
      living body Jack and what I do for it is all I could ever dream
      with. What I do for a living is have a living and it is a full time
      labour of love. What I do for a living is have a living and it is a
      full time labour of love.
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