Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Dark Ebony

(A Tribute to Shawn and Cody)

When all your youthful days are over,
       you will come back to me,
          you will return.
Although your thoughts will be more sadder than death—
For you will remember how love once was.
You will come back to me; I will be no more than ashes under
       a tree—
 but I will have
tasted the wine of life (you were of it…)
You will think of dead eyes, a hard heart, dust to dust, wasted
Slow it will come, but fierce will be the grief—and then soon
       after, in separate deaths, you both will parish
We are not all that far apart.
Thus, I close my door, for there will come none after, and
       there was none before
But there was a wonderful spring with laughter…
Once upon a time—with both you and I—so long, long ago!

#3378 (7-16-2012)

The White Corpse of Wind

Death Rides a

The Devil is the prince of liars: let world leaders babble
       on and on,
They empty out the minds of the devils—the world is duped
       every day by them.
Follow your intuition, your senses…
presidents are over-valued, over

What do I know for sure?
     I know our government like so many others do like
Frightened squids do: shoot out ink-sacks of darkness:
You know what I mean: smoke screens—you know:
       lies to stupefy their own people.

This is when the earth will freeze over, when the
       planet will die
The sun will be blocked out, and all that will be left will be
that will not stir,
For lack of air and wind—: and all that will be left of mankind
Will be White Corpses, which at one time were brushed about
       by wind, now far-off in the galaxy.

Vast is the night that will come with green famine—
“Go away, go your own way!” I heard people cry.
And they threw stones at the Messenger
“Stop your dirty and debauched ways!” bellowed the
But it was coming over the hill, the Third Great War: God
       did not stop them, and Heaven embraced,
The flighty tenderness of the sky—knowing it would soon
       burst wide open, and one of every three would die
And when they fought the war, they fought as with
       wolves’ teeth…no mercy, no pity:
  everyone with snail-eyes.

The fireworks, to the Third Great War, started sixty-two
       years before;
       after the wreck of Europe.
I myself, fought in one of the several since. They come in
       streaks, will continue to come in streaks, until it will Reached a peak, until the big one—‘Cometh!’
Right now we are living in a sick peace, but I am old, you’ll
       have to fight the next one alone…
The young enweaved, untutored, naïve, the dumbbells of
       the nations, will fight this one.
This war we’re provoking will catch up with us, and we’ll
       be sleeping ducks, I mean bleeding ducks!
The Tombs of Europe are filled with Americans, who can attest to this: all for valor,
       evil and victory!
All for the politicians, the heroes of the day, that will never
       see war, nor their families: as they ravage
       the planet with horror, all in the name of Patriotism…

#3371 (711-2012)

Dropped From a Tree

Two bulls are in one herd, like two friends might be in a
       pasture; like two drunken swine!
Can they be two friends in Victory?
Which bull is evil, which is not?”
The old man thought on this dragging his mind
       every-which-way, cried fiercely: “The Aggressor!”
“Neither one has morality, or meaning, or purpose.”
The old man thought on this some more.
“To whom should I give the earth to,” said the heavy voice
       coming down from heaven.
“To the wild boar?
To the fish?
To man that will destroy it?
To the seagull that will eat the fish, but preserve the earth?”
“Had I a choice…” the old man went to say, but held his
       tongue silent, after having a second thought, one without Pretence… (least all mankind perish)
“Well,” said the voice louder than thunder, heavily
       reverberating: “Oh, it’s my fault, it is far better I let man Destroy himself, show heaven and its multitude, how much Gentler
       the great bears and saber-tooth tigers were…you see I let The powerful ones perish for man, an absurd ape dropped From a 
       tree, to rule the earth: now, no more than a blasphemous  Grasshopper in rags and bones, hiding in the bushes…”

#3372 (7-12-2012)

Papa Manuel of Cajamarca

(A Tale Told, )

It is a pale evening
Papa Manuel, all alone is near a creek
Within the creek, a naked woman stands
Her back to Manuel, shapely…
He is thinking he knows her (?)
As he nears her from the edge
Of the Creek bed…

Looking up he sees a gibbous moon
His home, nearby the farmyards, with the
The eucalyptus trees somber:
Their somberness made by a haunting breeze
The birds take flight, they know something
Is lingering, something is eerie!
They know it will come…

The young womanizer, tired coming from work:
Dusk comes as it always comes, as promised.
To the naked woman in the creek he says:
“My dear lady, how beautify you look,”
And comes nearer to her, and when she turns
To greet him, as if to be his saviour in lust,
Comes the face of a she-devil
With the expression of a wolf!
Shocked, to the white marrow of his bones—:
Thus, he falls, landing on the edge of the creek…
Unconscious—; had the she-devil had her way
He would have been drowned…!

Man cannot bear disaster like the rocks:
Nor the naked deceitfulness of a devil;
Hence, sometimes it’s better to stay home,
With the cows inside the barn!

#3373 (7-12-2012)

A tale told, to the author over a spaghetti dinner, during a Sunday afternoon, the Author has taken liberties to add his eerie touch to it. The tale is a true account, says Manuel Valera (Deacon of the Parish Church San Daniel Comboni de Cristo Redentor)

Christian Abortion

(For Christian’s Only)

The persons I’m talking about wane and fade, become
       meaningless, but who are they?
They have 23 pairs of chromosomes, the same as us.
Their heart is beating at twelve days, the same as ours.
Their brain at thirty… the same as ours…
The Supreme Court says otherwise, that they are waste; they Are 
       not doctors or theologians: but right or wrong they rule, And it becomes constitutional law for a nation of 300-Million (nine people—guardians of the nation); thus we give to Cesar What
       belongs to him, and to God, what belongs to Him, and
       what does belong to God—these judges will have to pay The price, for they steal God’s treasures?
Abortion is a money making industry that belongs to Cesar!
But the Bible belongs to God…as does each human soul, and It says:
       in Genesis 1: 27 “God Forbids…killing…”
In Exodus 21:4 and 22, it says “A woman with child”
       refereeing to existence in progress.
The infants slaughtered by Pharaoh, in Acts 7:19
       does the same, Moses says: “Life taken, should be life
       given…” he speaks on behalf of God. Each judge who Has signed the Amendment to the Constitution will have his
       day of accounting…and it will be a horrendous day for Him or her.
God says, “Multiply after your own kind,” not decreases!
Who procreates a non-person?
Christ was born in the manner of men (Galatians 4)
In the likeness of humanity (Hebrews 2)
Man was created in likeness God.
Man calls it post-conception.
God declares it murder (Exodus 20; Matt. 5; 1 John 3.)
The Rapist should receive Capital Punishment (Deut. 22)
       not the woman (Deut. 22)
You are taking the life of one that has the image of God!
Life is God’s gift to man (Psalm 12 & 19)—
Perhaps he had a plan for that aborted child, one that
       now will never transpire, although he has his  alternate Plan (?)
People are chosen for salvation before the foundation of the
       world (Eph. 1)
Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee (Jer. 1:5)
Need I say more to the Christian?
For the non-Christian, it is Cesar’s Bible you must read,
       or Satan’s, you have already read.

Note: Written 7-16-2012 (#3377)

Monday, July 9, 2012


There was a season of the dying, not long ago underneath my family and neighborhood tree—
So many friends and family members dying, I could have had filled a box with their photographs, or a picture book
Nothing could be done, or changed.
Birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, funerals, an eclipse,
it’s all in some, in some kind of order, faint but certain.
Then the flesh gets buried and forgotten, on top of so many others: no one can see the bottom…, perhaps it’s better that way, we’re all just rotting!

#3368 (7-4-2012)

If What

(For: Czeslaw Milosz, the Poet)

It is easy for Czeslaw Milosz to say what he says about Christ, the sleepy and dream filled horny Christian in church while listening to a sermon thinking vulgar thoughts, the Church—he’s thinking they’re thinking what he’s thinking, but does he know the mind? Poetry, perhaps! Nobel Prizes’ are no more than a political tool stressing a point of contention, the committee wants expressed (they use people like him to get their agenda filled): they mean very little in a world that you can buy them for a price. Actually I think he is like the Jew, expecting Christ to return tomorrow and beat hell out of everyone, the Jew wanted him to do it 2000-years ago, and he just had a different agenda.

It comes to mind, no one needed to question Christ’s divinity, once he walked on water, healed the blind, crippled and crazy, turned water into wine, raised the dead—what other person could do that, had ever done that: no one! We need not believe this, but then it is as documented as Julius Casers’ life is. Perhaps better than George Washington’s life: whom should we start not believing: how about the existence of Alexander the Great? Did he do what everyone says he did?

If this is only a dream, as he might have put it, then I never did experience seeing Christ in my visions, five times, or got healed out of a coma and its devastating stroke, the doctors said I was a Fruitcake—but was healed in three days, while an angelic guard stood guard over my bed: missed two air flights that crashed, that I was supposed to be on, but wasn’t because of last minute alterations in my agenda. And of course the demonic world, who visited me perhaps as much if not more, right after I became a Christian, more than the doctors at the hospital did when I was ill. Whatever the case may be once experience, never to be forgotten. I was a Doubting Thomas, should you bend your knees, and ask Christ for a demonstration, Winner of the Nobel Prize, tell him I sent you, I get the feeling he might give you a demonstration.

The Old Man and the Baby

((“Spare the rod, spoil the child”) (A Story out of Huancayo, Peru))

It would be first light soon; the crack of dawn was just coming over the Andes into Huancayo, Peru. The old man asked his wife for his coffee: he like it plain, strong and dark. He was cold, so he remained under his two blankets, as he tried to go back to sleep, which would cure that. His breathing appeared to be with ease, he had adjusted to the thin mountain air—it normally took a week or two; unable to go back to sleep, he decided to get up and walk about his apartment, looking outside, through the window, the night almost ended, the tall streetlights beyond the bushes and flowers in the garden had just gone off, although one could still see their shadow; the inky like night had turned into a light gradation of grays.
       Cars and other vehicles were starting to become constant and ceaseless on the street beyond the garden’s bushes, thus, giving over to the hummingbirds dancing over the tall foliage.  He was still a little stiff, his old bones, and muscles, in need of a long enduring stretching out of them, he figured he’d go for walk to cure that cold inside them as soon as the sun showed it face fully.

       Thereafter, he went with his wife to catch a taxi on the corner, purchased a paper from the nearby newsstand, a little old blemished woman, sat in the wood and metal cubicle, always with an odd if not slanted kind of smile—and there were many neighborhood voices, and bird calls, unending dogs running by—a busy corner indeed.  He didn’t look any particular way, saw his friend, Poncho—who owned a taxi, and caught a ride.
       By the time they had gotten to the Mia Mamma Café, it was too late to have breakfast. Getting out of the taxi, the old man grasped for air, behind him the taxi had quickly taken off, his wife by his side, holding his elbow, he had fallen three times in two days, lost his balance. He thought for a moment of pulling his arm away, but he knew if he had, he could lose his balance again. He looked down towards his feet, the ground just ahead of him, and walked slowly to the café door entrance. His pulse and breathing racing; presently he was in the road, about to step up onto the sidewalk. He could hear the movement of vehicles on the two crossroads, as if they were almost upon him, but he didn’t look; he had to make sure he kept his step, his balance, and even then he knew his ankles might give way, as if the body knew before his mind. He looked around him, it was a weed and rock choked road.
       Once inside the café he saw the colorful silhouette of Mini the Chef.  The early summer light, and coolness of the sky had not vanished—it shinned inward from the road all the way through to the back kitchen   and onto the two pausing figures, Nancy and Mini. 
       “Hola, Hola!” he said, in Spanish.
       Behind the wall of the kitchen was the Garden Café where he’d eat today, he was hugging a few books he had brought along. 
       Mini and Nancy gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he stumbled forward on his feet, looking for the child he called the Little Elephant, a child, whom he was a Great Uncle to—soon to be taught how to walk by the old man. His wife went to go fetch him. He was huge for six months old, much volume for a little fellow. He feared to hold him, lest he drop him. He had an astonishing high voice he thought, like the fighting call of Bruce Lee. And when he mimicked the call the child trembled, and thus, he restrained from duplicating it again.  Now the ox-like expression on the child’s face interested him. His little fat arms reaching for the old man’s wife, as if to climb over him to her; his little heart and lungs drumming, as if they were looking for a safe-house, or a house he could safely control; he almost burst into tears, he wanted what he wanted, demanded, and got what he wanted. He saw the astonished face of the old man, knowing he’d not indulge him with every fancy, and started the Bruce Lee scream again,   incessantly. 
        “Take him,” the old man said to his wife, fed up with trying to comfort the child, without creating for him more pampering, which everyone else was doing for him anyhow. But he knew it was too late, the child knew who he could control, and who he couldn’t—hence, just start screaming, and he got his pampering: but not from the old man.

         Behind him, were the soups and hot dishes being prepared for lunch, it was 12:05 p.m., he lifted up the covers of the  pots to smell the aroma, as if he wanted to dive inside the big soup container. 

No: 440, written: 7-8-2009, Huancayo, Peru (reedited, 7-2012)
Original title: “Baby Obese”

Swinging on a Tire

(Minnesota, 1959)

I used to swing on an old tire (when I was a kid),
Roped around a thick branch of a large tree—
In the empty lot we called, Indian’s Hill:
Going faster back and forth—then with one
Leap I jumped off, flew to the ground—
I’d grow still and look up:
The jump did not hurt my feet or ankles
All that much, but the will to do it again
Was lessened, but I’d do it again, and again.
It’s kind of how my life’s been.

#3369 (Sunday) July 8, 2012

The Fifth Moon

 (A Trip to Sheol)


((Unholy spirits descend to the Mosel Valley)
(A Dramatic Prose Poem)) 


There is a drawing of power within the moon onto earth, and those on earth can feel this pull, and the unholy spirits that dwell upon the moon—occasionally dwell upon the moon, draw from the moon’s and earth’s inner cores, their power, and after five- consecutive full moon’s, the power within the unholy spirits, also known as familiar spirits, are at its most condensed and greatest point of commanding evil’, and when they find a human participant—for whatever snares they wish to entrap their prey—they do just that,  they have the drawing power of the five moons within them to open up certain gates between earth and hell for the physical being that ordinarily would not be open—they have that inner power; and it is said only the most Godly of men and women can resist its heave once willingness is perceived —it is more than an implication: the ghoul or demon possessing the muscle of this power—can take its pry within its vaults and chambers—, and once he or she has, there are normally rituals and debaucheries that take place, it can at will own that soul, if indeed it surrenders. This is one such case…and this is also in one particular area of Planet Earth, where these unholy spirits, unscrupulous pale and nauseating creatures harvest their playmates, known as  the Mosel Valley, and its snake like river, in West Germany—and  now we shall begin the story…

Special Note: It’s a simple procedure once you have the strength, so Eureka Demonic forces have verified (demon that are capable of measuring the volume of an irregular solid and thereby changing it):   that is, restructuring subatomic particles, those constituents that form fundamental matter, matter that created the universe: thus this will be the goal for the demon possessing the muscle, the power of the five moons: to bring a physical human body down into the solid filled and hollow vaults of Sheol.   Henceforward, this will be the task of: Agaliarept, Henchman of Hell

The Epic

Eltz Castle, Light-evening in the Mosel Valley (1974)

              Castle n the Mosel Valley


I must talk to the dead,” Eva said. The old seer listened closely, she
       asked for one-hundred Marks for her services; but she would have Given them free. She herself had been dead forty years. Said Eva, “Is it
       death I must go through—, to reach him, to reach my beloved Brother?”

“Death, O death,” responded Ronda the Seer, “Yes, oh yes, you must 
       taste its flavor—pretty sister, if you want to get to him.”
The old woman started humming a tune, vainly waiting a reply. Then Added to her monologue: “If you dare, if you really, really dare, there will 
       be strange monstrous figures everywhere, in Earth’s underworld, but be not scared, I will be there, I really, really will be there. Also you will
       hear splash and sloth, murmuring and gurgle and whimpering—much whimpering on this journey: nothing will be quiet once they are       
       awakened to your presence in the underworld: but be not scared, I will Be there, I really, really will be near…

Then she pinched Eva on the thigh to see her squirm—her willingness to 

“For the land of the dead,” reiterated Ronda, “there is no beauty, just flies
       and bats, and wooden faces like masks: chambers everywhere, and People like Puppets and idols, being dragged here and there, by the hair;  
       but do not fear, please do not fear, I will be there, I really will be there, To protect you my Dear. But God will not be there, just crumpled
       voices, everywhere…”

Ronda, the Seer


So the old seer (at Eltz Medieval Castle, in the Mosel Valley of Germany)
        laid her hands upon her breasts, the Duke, called the Lion, looking Down out of his window, down into the courtyard of this Saxony and Bavarian castle (AD 1192) gawking, wondering: are they here again?

It was the night of a gibbous-moon, thus it was filled with sluggishly
       dancing shadows, and five full moons had come and gone; like pale hoary mares, the demonic forces tried to Appease one another, with a
       show: stretching out their shadows and
       shapes, likened to a blowing candle across the half lit moon, that seemingly was bearing spikes—awaiting for some kind of doom—thus
       they danced on and on—in the dim like doom!...

Said the shrieking Seer, once again—with wide owl like eyes, and a gush
       of watery noises, about to take that fatal step into the deep, with Eva: “You must not groan, or make a sound: make no mistake when you go Down, to the land of the dead, —  Down to the House of Hades, lest you
       wake them and spoil your quest, for no longer are you protected by the angels of Heaven— and my kind may wish for your pleasurable
       flesh, what can I say, that is their way.
Even if you hear weird sounds: like broken ends of bones grinding on     
       each other, remain quiet.”

Eva, she grew quiet like granite, more conscious, as she listened, then
       saw in the night’s sky, a white twilight ebbing around the moon, in an Everlasting repetition of shadows: likened to horsemen galloping half-
       inches apart, across its equator like exterior: while demonic figures, Danced and pranced in merriment, on the rim of the moon’s sill like shell!

In and out of the courtyard the old Seer paced, swimming with thoughts,
       chanting—as if awaiting someone’s arrival...
Then someone started yanking on the iron-bell at the gate, a call to let  
       them in, and Ronda the Seer opened it, but no one walked through The archway, not anyone visible anyway; thus, there was little more to  be
       said on the matter—but it was, it really was, someone, and Ronda knew who it was: the muscle-bound Demon…called
       Agaliarept, the   
Henchman of Hell, Satan’s right hand man; he now possessed the muscle
       of the Five Moons and Earth’s magnetic core…!


From the breath of Agaliarept, came a shrill to twilight; it sank over the   
       valley, as a mass of dark reeking ill-faded shapes and shadows and silhouettes, covered  the dry evening air—like moths, choking out the  
       freshness and moisture, to a swell within the Castle’s setting.
And the shrieking seer, the old woman lay down, as if to rest, holding her 
       knees inward, close to her breasts, One arm tightly against them—Crushing both as if they were roots of soft grass…

The moon had lowered itself; it appeared to have acquired ripples…

The hideous night— was developing into a crystal orange, purple ash, a  
       thick watery darkness, laced with shady hues.
It now started to breed a reckless wind, and there was immense invisible
       movement: gaunt booming, crashes, as if the underworld’s inferno Was being—or trying to stomp out a fire, or stop a stampede.

There was nothing natural here, the thinned nose of the seer split open,        
       lips writhed with no voice, as if in a spell.
It all frightened Eva; what was next?

(What Eva was learning if anything was demon have the authority to supernatural


Eva remained silent, awaiting the seers awakening, from her solitary
       frozen enchantment—;  to allow the journey to begin!
It was funny she thought, so very funny, how the fall leaves that laid upon 
       the ground, around the seer—once stiff, were now limp like dead Fish—they were the sluggish and familiar spirits, descended from the

The vaporous shadows needed to branch out, and so they did: in nearby  
       trees, in the fountain of granite stone—in the gables on top of the Castle, in rocks along the ravine, all forming life figures all remained 
       russet, in their semi invisible cocoons—needing something more Solid to create substance, while waiting…
       Some drifting in a green mist as if stepping out of the sea, drenched: Also waiting to take Eva down to Hades, perhaps even to taste her flesh.


Agaliarept, Henchman of Hell

              cried in terror! It was as if two great beings held her tight. She felt her dress being jerked up, and her underclothing torn off. The heavy weight of just one of them came down on her, a hand over her mouth. His hot breath, smelling of wine and animal guts, blew into her face. Something came between her bare thighs, then a sudden, terrible pain burst up inside her, reaching her innermost body. She couldn’t talk, her throat muffled. His weight crushed the breath right out of her, the pain reached a peak, and then she started gasping and groaning, but the being just pushed further and further into her. It went on and on and on, until Eve felt she was drifting into a dark void, losing consciousness. Then he stopped. The weight lifted from her, she had lost all her strength, she had to struggle to get back up off her back, then the other being, even stronger than the first, mounted her, even more violently than previously, “Oh god,” she cried, “not again!” Her legs were now stretched wider—unto the point of per near disjointing them: another inch—so she felt—would have split her apart. The pressure inside of her, deepen, she passed out.


Sheol: land of the Dead

“Eva heard this voice again…”

Eva heard this certain voice again, the husky voice, the one that was
       trying to engulf her—the one called Agaliarept,  the one that came down from the moon, the one that took her breath away,   “Obey…!”  
       the voice said— cold it was—with no pity, likened to the moon’s Airless atmosphere, dusty as its terrain—; and there about him were many
       shadows pacing,  and  all the  unseen that had touched her, were
       forming a  substance to their Shapes, said:
“Obey…we shall take you down to see your brother, who was also, once
       your lover!”

         (And it was as if she became transparent, as if the air around her Became Pale and this high bred and empowered creature had a way to drain the atoms
       and molecules out of the atmosphere and fasten them to his will, as If Putting on new  Garments, this was her first step into Sheol; this spirit Was
       restructuring her  genetic makeup.)


In the House of Sheol

The Underworld (House of Sheol)

The underworld was truthfully that, a world underground; and Eva was  
       at present, on her way…
She witnessed much, endured insufferable heat, and she saw high     
       plateaus, flaming vapors,  hooded demon,  stagnate waters, decay.
A misty foulness reeked over the rocks by the pier—she tried to digest
       it all,  it choked her, growing more hateful at every step, it was an Intolerable masculine heartless world, she was invading.

       This was a detestable land,  with black slimy grey worms breeding Under rocks, crawling out from  under them with a thousand-legs.
Bones cracking, being cracked; bodies being swung in the wind,
       dropped—tossed about, like stones in a slingshot.
The stink was like a phallic odor, a vile plague of poisonous air being
       breathed in and out in and out, repetitiously, endlessly…

 “I think I’m going mad,” she told her second self, that voice deep in the
       crust of her mind,  that influence her secretly—

Down, down, deeper into inroads of darkness she was led; each step
       ghastly spirits groaned, the old pushed away the new…they didn’t want anything to spoil this magical moment.

((She saw the many kinds of spirits that were about her. There were: deceiving
       spirits, lying spirits, religious spirits, they were the worst kind they –the Loudest, most stubborn, and there were homosexual spirits, lesbian spirits, they
       were the smelliest of them all, deaf and dumb spirits, especially imps and There was the spirit of death, he lingered about as if awaiting for her
       exhaustion.)(‘O Lord,’ she prayed in silence, ‘what did I do wrong,’ and her
Second self, that hidden voice, whispered back, ‘You gave a place to the devil
       in you.’)) 

‘Where was Ronda the Seer,’ thought Eva: nowhere, really, really,
       nowhere to be found; thus, she was learning: demons lie, like flies fly: Every-which-way, no matter what, it’s part of their nature. But she was
       right: there was much, much whimpering in the obscurity, in what they called: the  House of Sheol—

This was to Eva, nothing less than an alien life form, with little to no 
       garments worn, and those that had them, were of rat hides and Worms except for the elite: and she noticed they had a hierocracy.

She could feel her pulse bolt and skip a beat, stumble and stop!
Her diaphragm overheating, over working, overwhelmed…she heard
       words, but they had no meaning, an unearthly language, utterances…
Eyes, there were always strange looking eyes, staring: some trembling,  
       some garbled, all  feasted upon her—everywhere! …


As they walked through the halls and corridors of the House of Sheol   her  
       soul feeling as if it was  voiceless, if not hollow! She cried: “I want to Go back, I don’t want any more of this, it is better to be a live dog on earth,
       than a dead lion, down here—”

Hearing this, long black shadows shrieked, shouted: mimicking her,
       turning the abyss into a bouncing echo: here where  no wind prevails, A little Tornado had engulfed Sheol, had come all about her, in
Agaliarept coiled, creating a vortex of wind, a tumult: chased all the lesser
       shadows out of her sight in fear she might—‘Do the incredible!’

“Hurrah, Eva!” he said, “You haven’t seen your brother yet?”

 ‘Ahem,’ her voice hummed, and then she pondered: ‘Is it worth it?’

Eva now covered her face with her hands, wept, while Agaliarept the
       demon nearby continued to grind his teeth, lifting his head in a snake Like manner, bellowing: “Bitch, bitch, bitch….” The sounds of his voice  
       echoing to the edge of the moon, and beyond…

Still grinding his teeth, gnawing at his forearm, he howls:  “Give her his
       brother! He is like us! Let her see, and let her believe.”

And so, Tyr the mischievous demon (and the nightmare demon,
       which was of some alien form, trotted beside the two) brought him To Agaliarept…

The Nightmare Demon


Sorrows of Sheol

(Dialogue of the Devils)

Several of the dead in one of the chambers were playing dirty tricks on a
       newcomer…who were howling like a dog…this was the land of
       shriveled lilies, cradled with acid-dew air, —everywhere.
Lo! What words can one say? Sheol was nondescript.

 Ere, the thought was blind, but they wanted from her, to hear, a word of
       testament: a few syllables making up a word or two
Saying “Okay, I’ll stay,’ or just ‘Okay,’ might do, a word or two.
But she was no fool…she knew they cried for God, but He did not hear,
       for their souls were dead, to the Holy Spirit, who pleads the case of all beings to the Father…

Agaliarept…reinforced the fact by saying, “God does not see or hear a
       thing down here, his eyes are corroded when it comes to us, as is Jesus’ and the Holy Spirit’s.”
      “Us,” she murmured, she was not yet one of them.

The Hours

Eva became breathless in fear they would soon force her again to their
But they wanted her cooperation—a word, just one word or two, tying her
       forevermore to their domain, domicile, to their House of Sheol—just  one or two words of acceptance would do—unknowing, unaware, that the
       hours in earth’s crust, were days on its surface, and her body was in Need of Nourishment.
And they were using up her time: in the art of persuasion, as often they do
       to wear a person down to their wants and desires; just waiting for that Syllable, that one or two words ‘Okay, okay…’ and forevermore, she’d
       be fastened—

Eva felt as if she was under a shell of imbecility; this wanting to have seen
       her brother no matter what, was now silly—
Especially knowing he was here…God forbid, what kind of thinking was  
       this— inevitable, a sick co-dependency?

 Then a strange looking creature came out—seemingly out of nowhere—
       by the name of: Belgorod the Mantic ore, a creature that looked like a Lion, with a human head attached! “If you break a promise, no one can Save you, from down here,” he said. Why he said what he said, baffled the
       halls of Hell…?

With that, Agaliarept looked horrified at Belgorod; a violet darkness fell
       shrilly upon his face: he had let the cat out of the bag, he had told her
       in essence, told her: there was a way out.
“Eh,” said Eva; saying no more than that, and no more than that had to be
       Said (but thinking: in France everyone wants to be a Napoleon, in Rome, Christ, in Germany, a Hitler, in Hell, Lucifer himself).

She knew now, ‘He had unintentionally told her the secret.’

  Belgorod the Mantic ore

Belgorod’s yellow teeth showed his hideous and silly smirk—
“I mean, I’m sorry Agaliarept, I guess I slipped…” even demon’s can do
       that, but not without a severe penalty, yes even they are disciplined,
       the very thing they tell each and every person on earth: ‘What for?’
Eva made no answer to this, and her silence, was the response that they
       didn’t want…because they knew she was thinking, and she could see Agaliarept’s scalp tighten, his veins in his temples protrude.

Still a small horde of demonic beings, stood in minute groups—about,
       those of the higher echelon, pale with dark blistered flesh, and Scorched hides: who stood beside one another’s shoulders of hot stone.

What was to come next…?

Agaliarept, he held out: enforcing a safe distance between Eva, him and
       them—his fellow comrades; held out against anything that might Threaten to dull his future pleasures.
He had evoked the picture that a few hours ago had imprinted on his
       mind, and stared at it. He cared only about himself, scarcely, Conscious of where he was: just the end of his dream and desire being Eva.

The Twenty-fifth Hour…

Agaliarept’s Last Monologue

“God has no pity,” said Agaliarept, Henchman of Hell: “it is better you join
       us now than later: should you arrive later, we will be harsher on You!”
“Blasphemy,” she cried.
“No, this is the truth,” said Agaliarept.  “Every day, 160,000-people die on
       earth, and out of them, we get 155,000.  There has been in my lifetime, Which is over 10,000-years, 105-billion births on earth; out of that earth
       has had 460-wars. From these wars we lost over one billion lives, which would have produced, another ten-billion souls to deal with, you  
       see we have done God a Favor—taken in most all of them—minus that Little percentage—and He, He has had no Pity on us.”

Eva was no longer listening…


The Brother

  Tyr, the Demon in Sheol  

The once sweet, now disdainful voice of her brother could be heard.
Then a husky spirit came dragging her brother by the hair, all around her   
       like a flying vampire— “We have kept our word,” said Noyllopa. As if Matters were settled.

Noyllopa, the Demon in Sheol  

“Did you know Eva,” said Tyr, when you lay in the courtyard with me, your
       brother was among the many that lifting your legs, one who put fire Inside of you, after me? He was a snake on top of you,
       he likes hissing like a serpent!”

‘Oh,’ she thought, ‘if it is not desire they fed on, it is hate they wish to   
       breed… and always a fraud…!’ “—by gosh,” she said out loud, “my brother must be insane living here!”  She had had enough.

And as she looked above some high stones, she beheld her brother on
       hands and knees, on a dog leash, barking and hissing.
“Stay here with me,” he cried, “they will treat me better.”
She felt betrayed by life and death, by both, but this was too much, it was
       like rain breaking a blizzard
She had chills shuttering throughout her shoulder-bones, and was about
       to make an appeal…
A husky demonic being, the same spirit they called Otis the Boat Rower,

  Otis the husky boat rower demon

       dragged her brother by the hair, whipping him with his leash, Commanding him to yap like a wolf, dragging him all around her, like a fly   
       attached to his boots. 
 Eva knew there were many watching: awaiting to light the wick of         


The Storm

“A voice blew through the shell of the earth
like an earthquake…”

 She drew herself to full height—her enlarging silence had frightened
       Agaliarept (he, Agaliarept—unpredictable as he was now with compulsory Silence, he appeared to have a special inhuman curiosity for Eva, not typical of 
       demon in general, most could careless, they were heartless, lack of feeling Towards their victims, but he was not eager to harass her and lose her, he was
       worried about that—where as normally he’d treat his guests with a whip…)  

Her sobs broke, holding pride against these disdained Creatures, and her  
       brother among them betraying her Right in front of
Them, hurt. She made her body look hard as if a weapon
       in its sheath, a doubled-edged sword ready to be drawn—  
“Who stays down here, stays dead!” she exclaimed.
       Her brother tried to pinch her breast, with slippery fingers and wet.

Eva had remained standing, shy as she had been, or had appeared to
       have been at first, was now no laggard with her pick and spade— (figuratively speaking), ashamed of her behavior, hoping to free herself, in a
       flip, intimate manner, Eva anguished to the bone, prayed loud yelling   Clearly: “Someone please tell the Most High, I don’t want to be here in the 
        House ...!”     Her face looked sad as a flute.

“Whoo-whoo…” cried the devils, and the echo went: “Whoo-whoo…”  
        and the devils repeated  these words, so the echo would not fade…

“Oh!” came from the voice of one of the devils: “You can’t have her; she
       came down here on her own!”  ((Knowing good and well, how much she Gave of herself, determines how much influence they have over her.)(On the 
       other hand, the demon could not take over without permission, but one had The power of the five moons, he could take over Eva’s spirit, not soul, not yet, 
       for she had deliberately walked away from God. Thus, Agaliarept, Henchman of Hell felt he needed more time; it was called in the demonic world  
       ‘Possession by Oppression’, a figurative way of saying: we are going to boil you alive, slowly, by turning up the heat, degree by degree,  like a frog, until you are completely cooked and ready to eat; she was three quarters of the way yielded to Sheol; her first mistake being to have even talked to the Evil Spirit, Ronda.))

Quicker than a clap of an eye,

A voice blew through the shell of the earth, like an earthquake, pounding  
       Sheol, shocking its foundations… “She’s mine!!!” all stood in silence, Like Gomorra Stone…

And they mocked her no more, escorted her to a pour, likened to a door,
       told her to: “Go, go, and go through the pour (pointing and Yelling)…leave us alone! Walk through the opened pour, and see us no
A hundred, no a thousand, no ten-thousand, if not more, strained voices
       yelled in Dire fear. And there she stood once more in the castle Courtyard…and she heard from under the ground, the mimicking sound,
       an echo:

“Boom-Boom-Boom, whoo-whoo…!”
Like children playing the fool—in some lost and ugly merriment!

End of the Poem