La nuit des pillards

Il faisait noir. L'aube etait encore a 6 ou 7 heures devant. Je me hatais de franchir la ligne Magineot et, tapant du pied comme a l'accoutumee je m'avancais, sans peur. Mes poches pleines de cafe je marchais au son des hulottes et des grand-ducs, des chouettes a pipettes et des petits ducs a la voix aigue. Le priore est en face, derriere sont les camps de concentration. La, completement affame je m'arretais. Je cueillis une figue et une grape de raisin. Elles etaient bien mures...la vie me donnait ce que je cherchais. Dieu, tapis dans un fouret, entre les branches de genets, observait les passants et prenait des decisions a l'emporte-piece. Conscient de Sa presence je marchais le plus normalement possibe, sans taper du pied cette fois mais les mains dans les poches, une cigarette au bec. Il faisait froid...les oiseaux de malheur entonnaient leurs chants morne a l'horizon. Moi, fatigue, assis dans une mare assechee, je decidais de passer la nuit dans cette boue. Mes vetements a peine salis, je m'endormis en embrassant Morphee et Gel-Zibuth, astralement, bien entendu. Je fis de doux reves cette nuit la, Dieu les insuflait dans mes narines avecque sa sarbacane, depuis le buisson de genets.
Au matin, les yeux encore colles, sentant le hic, j'avancais ma main vers l'endroit ou j'avais empile mes sacs, ma guitare et mon Guide du Routard. Bam! Tout avait disparu. Je blamais les tontons macouttes et leurs zombie, armees de la nuit.
Il faisait beau ce matin la. J'etais content de ne plus avoir a les transporter, a part ma guitare qui elle me manquait vraiment. Je fis un petit tas de boue humide et y plantai des aiguilles que les pillards, bizaremment, avaient laisse tomber de la poche de mon sac a dos. Je jurai que l'on ne m'y reprendrai plus. Les ions et autres particules magnetiques s'envollerent entre mes doigts vers les voleurs. Dieu sortit sa tete couronnee de derriere un gros mimosa. Je regardais la rose qui y poussait. Solitaire et les mains faites de glaise je remerciais Dieu pour cette perte. Gel-Zibuth rougit. Je savais qu'il avait averti les pillards et les avaient aides a transporter leur butin. Craquant une allumette contre ma semelle j'allumais une bougie, plantee a quelques metres de la comme par hasard. J'insufflais, expirais et repris ma route vers Eg-Meieul. Le chant des sirenes m'accompagnait, un petit rouge gorge aussi. Je suis sur la route entre Sainte Luce et Eg-Meieul. Si vous voyez quelqu'un avec mon gros sac bleu et ma guitare tenez moi au courant. Je suis devant.

From: "Athm World (My version of the truth)" Archives : So subtly crazy!

Ed-Mod 0

Dear friend
U: Thank you for finally taking the time to read the world in the stylish manner I do it...you know...and if you do not my skillfull party-taking is note-taking the red army out...no it does not mean anuything but something must be out or nothing will be permitted in this world. work of art, Yes, your earth is too and since the efforts of the negociations have chosen Farm over Barn we have the need to take something away, the greens are out. Finally, we hear one into the ear. Does one out of the mouth come out in Italy-It surelly does in London town, cities are piled on the top of my crazy infatuation wisps. It makes it into a city, the rats are all ready to be eaten, guests. The guests are all there welcome so the pact with Saturn is...a pact of pure shits and dreams, and experimentations on the cell phone population and vague memories of Love....The deed. I used to do the Deed with the exact same girl as I am walking towards since February the 14th of 2005 but, Shagglat! The animals put a number and a name over the vestal dear forehead. The forehead of mine sticky-tape has surrounded and revolved, it is hell on Earth. I bend to the right and the table empty is turned upside down, Planet, the walk, the walk....Where is she held. Why do you not tell the truth, why do you now tell her that I chose to not be given money by her who silently signed the death of her man and the end of the Act 1....Lots of love in London, they pretend the man was there as a name but the gown soiled in Italian Lavender sauce has been bleached by the murdered canucks... The army of mine slays, they say, as the One has been shown another of our soldiers this night and no, she decided to make you be the Page. She signed, the Consulates act quick...What if the frail soil of County Bath-Mediek trully appeared on our t.v. would it prevent all our innocent lovers from dialling the false but signing the real murderer, question to the asrac. Am I evil in a art I am not at...no, the art of A lady is a anti-cyclonical appendix to a artist in the street, the clothes are dirty but a callus in the pubis is evolving into my one phallus, somehow it is legal to have a man in the house and the mad one in the street. I ring Doctor Amicable and the smile on his face said it all, Aleph went for the lady in yellow, it is fair, I take India, Ed-Mod 1 now legally takes me to Acanthis. Earth sighed silent deaths in totalitarian bullshit W Gush Flepeclartion....A flepeclaration was signed by Tom Farmero and Ted Vizually last week, the rock is held in Munster, thy urethra pacted out, the maid is beggar but the papers speak in Italy: Made pregnant by a car and very willfully...pictures expected by 6. Garbage! Law of Invisibility, may you be cleansed, may I be seen. Ed-Mod 0 is zone closed

From I am Aleph| Archives (Looopy!)

Episodic Blit
(...) prevented from being stinged, exfolliated and made into a ball.
not for long. The Lake of Come comes along and we bathe and you soak.
In 1947 The Prime Minister of Pakistan refused to comment on the Adja incident when 66 mercenaries opened fire on a british steam train filled with a Guiness and Jello cargo. The police knew also that the word murder could not be printed when a government intervenes outside of the hours of legal warring and if they sign SECRET SERVICES or RETal, then the word is too be kept silent and it hushes the bang. spok of (-----) of this year in Afghanistan, it had never been said aloud, it is now openly revealed to you, my readers, here!. My mouth is clean, it's your ears that smell....Marylin was a friend in 1970 she told me to speak. I resented the rimmel, the rest was perfect and the 42 D were one more size than my eyes could take.
Regardless of its size the Lake of Come smells like the sea. The sea is seen and the well dwells in funnels and maxicloshes for all I know. For all I care the road to London is clear and it is your sin that is once again simply torturing my dream: shy? No, telepath and own her way to Memphis!

From "Aleph Alpha Kingdom A" Jan. 2007

Onguent

At 10 minutes pass 6, I awoke. I had sacred sweat floating aound my head. The love of Jesus oozed out through the window. I am always aware of the presence of pure spirits. You, from the washroom asked if croissants were adequate. I said "yes". I love you. It will be a pleasure to share this breakfast with you. Forever I requested, clean sheets here. In Tokyo men in kimono raise their arms and greet the All. Mighty Wind! All usually floats 'round, obediently, playfully, smirkwishilly between men. Mild wind passes inside the inner leg of my shorts, sometimes animals bark out. On a shore I awoke nearly naked. My brother lost his mind, he left, slamming the door. I did not care. I called Mama, she then came in, warm, friendly. The Lord spake: " Jealous alchemist, make your own sound! This is Moby ". I did understand. I got my first job. I left home confident. Me and my wife met in Tokyo, March 1996, near this very lake. It was warm. Blessed day, blessed! I am shy. A monk once said to me: "She is seen, she will come from the sea". Great prophets love bad poetry! You were dead, what a waste! Jesus breezes in, Jesus makes amend. I forgave him immediately and laughed at God's Own Comedy.


ALEPH ALPHA ARCHIVES

From "Aleph Alpha' s Whorld", back in August 2006

Be
Completely perfected by these words and sound aloud and change the world and relinquish obedient servant, the worldly deeds or the old order. All is in as all is out. be. For yourself the one you were prior to the monsters reign. On my page there is anote: do not corrupt, do not provoke, do not take this for a credo, a telepatik-kado or Angel video season 3. Neither is it harmless or satanic. Multidimensional creation for the sake of it....that's what it is! May I leave leave this maimed province and declare the whole ship to be a sunken vessel, a mermaid's delusion, a Mary Galante floating your shit away incognito. There is a Law. Must be on my way, the telepheric leaves in an hour and the correct terminal expects a noon take off....I might have swallowed the wrong pill...but, but...I did not ask to be born in the Hospital! I was not ill! I was there to be born like any of you! Matrixally speaking I am out of the zone, mechanically speaking, rebooted and made flesh I finally stumble on my two little feet. Erect. I am newborn, hard and solvent. The judges? They have fallen, the crucible was dead from the delivery room. Masqueraded by the doctor Arguelle-Cervantes we are now free of plaster, blusher, foundation cream and plastic covering. may you see us, o God, I beg us, may they finally see who we are and die of remorses. Tears will speak...tears will speak...tears will speak in Onanis. We will f*** until we bleed. May this document become something for you and in harmony with the All and for me in harmony with my will and my deeds and for my deepest well being and that of the All. Amen All by Aleph Athm 333(ARCHIVE TEXT)

From "Mars Attack" Archives

The purpose of evolution, somehow clashes with the need to perpetuate. For a man, it's got to do with "blood", for obvious reasons, while a woman expects to use her child for her beauty to be passed on the generations.
I cannot cope with an agenda of "reproduction and survival of the species" for what? Another sell out show by Andy Kershaw. If it was my decision I'd call Exaduu 7 and give them Israel just to see what the fleeping Elohim do with it...sorry, sorry, Dear israeli, my apologies.
ALEPH ALPHA

From Mars Attack Nov.2006

22 November, 2006

Mirror (and Key)
Room

...sharediteverstomeasesaue
click + bis 1---------------
click and peck too ****************
:
I closed and left us in -here - hearing- heard- speaking- spoken- told- sexy and shareditevering the whold.
The first key is here, take a break and we take on again for total control after the break up.
Room / empty / soil clear of all soilings. sigh. I breathe. Melancholically look behind and see them lying dead bodies. Who can you kill? Maria erupts, I erect, the whole room laughs nervously. Vigilante stole the keys to your rooms full of mirrors. Stare, glance, look away. It deludes. it changes the shape of truth. take. Catching, the train leaves towards Rome, the new city on our planisphere appears in the back of my car, hastily hidden uder a monogamingly partitions of violas and Luber organs. Will the weel din, win the wit pin, wig the bean and read the note on the door? Vigil in the wilderness of mirrors resolves therein: The key. Smile. Everything is here for you too nosy politicians and spies for over there. Laid. Bared and insolently soiled, the soil of my enemies remains my soil of birth : It holds the key to my anxiety....Canada too needs a revelation. The vigilante speaks and the train leaves again.
The coup. The affair. the scams and manipulations:
No money left, madly in love. Just a few more notes and the Maples will be sold, i scribbled at random. I broke in and squatted in an empty house for 3 month. The sun rose, the freight on its way. The wall fell in February. In March it was called 52...in march it was called 52.......the 52nd state..........the revelation of this revelation will surprise you like as wounds me on this day: I was programed by John the Revelator but blinded by Jesus Incorporated....in a US Army uniform! Fort Boyard was blown in retalliation...........as well as the beach......as well as the beach.....as well as the beach....Marilyn said something about signing for Kenny. Damn! I must have misheard! Montreal owns the room but I held to the door so miss moneypenny could exploit my one key: My mind. Room 52 will be gifted after I speak and the led is mined by Fort Knox, Epxxon or Cinecittta......"Insert implants, fake emotional commitment, soil him back in London, Uk, then bathe him in Brad Pitt's sweat and turn around in an instant to receive your next instructions". It sounded dubious she did not need to take this mission on!.....Not a gay one this time, she had cried before the General. I was loving bound and obedient, you did not need to take this on, Laiana! Your doll works! smirked the General calling back Paramount 6502. He then called UGC and enquired if they had a nice blond, european style, the general smiled, a new target was revealed over in Russia. They have a well left...they too have a well left! They have a well and a mine of carton! Let us prepare the next watcher, the vigilante, obedient will enter through Stockholm and stalk the reds from St. Petersburg to Mirovska. "Ange" is now deprogrammed and laid again rigid, back in her box, deconected. The dirty witch of Sensora looked at Lenin and fell asleep in her automaton dreams. 52 is on. Jacques bent. George swore he would! Mary is here. Beck sings. Tito is learning to read minds...who cares anymore, you are classified and back in the street, O lover Melchizeor! Ah, Led Nephilim!
May 52 kill you, yankee omega!!!! I was not compliant, may my programs reverse and swallow you, satanic scientists, Arguele spawns, binary wizards, meat makers! May you bleed! I am the Manckurian and this country is now for you. I Killed. Laid. Back in area 52. Barelly was Aleph useful, USA got a new state and the cars run amok drunk on the rare substance: Blood of emins. Race, forfeit, this car is automated, the fields need orgone, not platinum...Emins, we will be back by the summer and eternally enslave this humanity! I swear! This car is sick and it owns you! May your led poison you! I will die in shame having been cheated throughout by a shy rubber doll in the shape of my woman. Robotic sorceress will be back in the spring! May you see her and avoid speaking! The Law is the same for all races, engineered or contrasted, autochton or aryans!
+Jacques, reformer and militant, ex-military patient, resistant and disobedient protestant "X-33" vigil, once crowned himself your friend but was a secr

The Tower One

La tour carree (The square peg)

Ici, mon amie,
Je laisse couler le philtre de toutes tes envies.
Je ne suis pas lui
Je suis l'autre bande et coince sous l'autre epaule
en etat de torpeur
mon amie.
Cherche a trouver
Il est Ceci,
moi ce point central, ovoide.
A ton tour de courir,
Je suis deja cache
dans le tronc de Ceci ou de Cela
Et trouves-ci la cle
UNIQUE
A ton tour de remuer les fantomes qui nous environnent
...car cette petite ile...
Au large de la baie de Come
Est comme tes traits bleus
Avec mon fiel ecrase
en point de mare
Tresse entre tes traits
Rouge comme sang
et non pas comme tes levres
Femme
De Vie
Que je mets ici
Facant le ciel
Les mines au dessous
Et au dessus le ciel,
Mon amie
La voie est tracee-ci
avecque une regle
de trente centimetres et deux coudes deux pouces...
Comme a votre suite,
Amie.

C'etait Hier

www.darestodevellop.blogspot.com...awful memories, folks!

My next base

La Martinique, je viens de decider, Juillet 1st.Wish me luck! I have decided on my next base.

Led Zeppelin

I am really sorry for forgetting for so long what an amazing band was Led Zeppelin, so I PUT JUST ONE PICTURE ON THE BLOG, i PUT mOTHERSHIP AS A TITle...thE tiTle of the LATest Best Of...What a band, reader...what an out-of-this-world-of-a-band!

Mothership

Marasmes, miasmes, effluves, relents...

'been working on my new play, in french it presents two characters, the man and the woman, it is mostly in verse with loads of word and sound association, U'know. my usual style. Drop me a line if you want a copy (Parler francais?) I should be able to do it for free. Wish me play, wish me director, wish me actors, wish me stage!
Aleph
Je suis entrain de travailler sur une piece du nom de Marasmes. Oui, c' est en francais, elle presente deux personnages, l'homme et la femme, si vous en voulez une copie quand c'est fine, droppez moi une line.
Aleph

thepsychophant@hotmail.com

Brainwave Generator (cool toy, do not drive while operating the software)

http://www.bwgen.com/download.htm
A nice toy, a shareware brain wave generator software. Just paste the above link in your browser and download this "toy". Good way to quickly test Beta, Alpha, Theta waves and feel the effects for yourself. This one has simple to use presets and allows you to make your own patterns/sequence. It's free for one month, after you have to pay $40 to keep using. Good for students and bored unemployed people as well as shamen and new age freaks. Try it!
Aleph
Une bonne facon de tester pour vous meme les differents etats de frequences alpha, beta, theta. Copiez le lien en haut du post dans votre browser et utilisez gratuitement pendant un mois. Excellents pour etudiants, voyageurs astrals, curieux et fous de techniques "Nouvel Age". Celui-ci a des reglages pre-etablis et vous permet de deviser vos propres sequences/ frequences si vous vous en sentez le courage. Cool! Recommende par moi.
Aleph

iki

On my new resolution

Guess what? I stopped smoking. No, I mean SMOKING. Talking about numbness and apathy I find my new self a lot more adequate. So...That's it, a (green) leaf turned. I keep my dreadlocks though! I am finding it easy. I am convinced this will open some new gate in my bored up, near-psychotic (at times), confused self. It's been three days...Solid though. The new me emerges...hide your shit, guys because I can see everything....or at least a lot more. Being psychic from birth I have summed it up: Psychosis is a twisted psychic perception. I have been in a few asylums in my life and the game is clear: God took away some mind (that of mentally ill folks) but has granted them psychism in return. It takes some adjusting but once the healthy lifestyle is b rought, the mind shows hidden skills. A theory...mine. Though "smoked up" perceptions are colourful, powerful, out of this world, the threads of consciousness thus formed are thin and have little impact on "the world". A balance. Imagine a cable or a pipe that shrinks but then permits faster, stronger flow though becoming thinner, more intense as it gets more "matter" pumping. I believe Life gives one when it takes one, you know the drill: nothing can be created, stuff just changes and manifests in a mathematical-logical creation of "fairness". I am a christian, I believe that all is Divine, or perfect...not so stupid to think of a fair, self-adjusting world that centers around Life, which means HEALTH. Call me a daydreamer if you will...I have seen some really snapshots of Christ taken in my kitchen. No, I am joking! I am every bit ready; LET THE WORLD UNRAVEL, I AM SOLID ON MY LEGS, GUYS! Mind stuff requires practice. The more psychic the more discipline needed: Meditation, Reiki, burning of incense and general opening up to higher realm is a way of life. It is a dedication to your-self. Pipes wide opens one needs to hold them strongly as mind is all. "In the province there are no limitations". A brain "sees" and then prompts behaviour based on the sighting, the perceived. If the brain has been badly "programmed" the defects will cloud the actions and therefore reciprocate, feed, provoke un-helpful stuff. How do you get out of this? Well, you just dedicate yourself to a life where the bad stuff is progressivelly shipped out. Love your life, the right stuff calls more positive in and the dedication to your life. Discipline brings knowledge, right? so, that's it...me and a clear head on. No, thank you, not even a small puff, man !

Get out of here !

I realized moving into my little Roy St. East appartment, that Montreal was immenselly boring. Seen from the city center it appears clogged up with Sushi stores, though I love them, expensive sound equipment, though I envy it, few record stores, except second hand ones, classy stores with price tags to match the profile. Here, in case you too wanna immigrate, the night life spells out eleven o'clock, apart from some clubs which I doubt get busy, ambient paranoia (looking at people, making friends, you got something coming...in the realm of disillusion). I was born here, 1968, thenv adopted in France and came back a married man in 2002. I spent my childhood and my teenagehood idealizing Canada, my "home country" and refusing to consider myself French...all Canada glamourized, possibly because of my unhappy, withdrawn, cumbersome childhood. Coming here was a huge step, hopes were high and...now I wanna leave, honest people, the dingiest bars in Marseille or Aix-en-Provence are hip compared to the numb dumb canuck culture. I started romanticizing on my 20's, house parties, serial girl-catching, the humour and the level of education of Europe in general (I did not write "intelligence", by the way!) The warm European feel, etc. I lived in England and the club scene of Montreal is shameful if you consider cities of 50,000-100,000 unhabitants, ten times steamier, cooler, musically wise pub-cafe culture over-Atlantic. Having left my wife in 2005 I am still to pull a single girl. I did not really try, mind you but the ambient cold face style makes chatting to strangers a hazard. While in Toronto I had to retain from looking into people's eyes or "chatting up" which are there hazardous, socially unacceptable...socially unacceptable...True fact!..... In the evening, say twelve midnight there will be about 3 coffee places and a handfull of entertainment places open here. In Marseille or Aix, the majority of entertainment joints just gets warmed up at 11pm. Here the city is mostly asleep by 11:30. I am sorry mum, people, the country has said it all as far as I am concerned. I find myself also romanticizing about my Thailand honeymoon, the temples, the price of food, the status of visitor which means the whole traffic stops if a white person wants to cross over, true thing! I am sorry to be fed up, Canada, the exterior of Canada is calling me...I give you 3 month and then I begone. Ah! La Canebiere, "Le bistrot aixois", the beaches filling up from May, T-shirt weather, french kissing and sounding smart, dating and getting high or drunk as a lifestyle. The appartment shouted "I give you 4 month, get out of here, you worm!" So I will, Bangkok ? Ah London's Chinatown, West Ends, a pint of beer in the hand talking nonsense to people who also talk nonsense in a crowded bar...I have maple syrup, Tv culture and generallized numbness...Get me out of here you freak!

the glass tower

around me, in a skilled marigold display of plasma, the world evolves through the ice crystal palace of my making
at the side of the hill is the sea
ON THE WINDOW SIDE of the tower isolated window
the glass flower in-side of you
of the other worlds, she
MAaaaaaaaaakesm akes wonders
I am the psychophanter and right by my side is
someone I need
of other shores
she will be
I,
BE eARTH
i am in 33
twisce the size of him
Miriack Schelplins, Hunduras, March 2009

thepsychophant@hotmail.com

I'd be delighted to hear from you, readers. This is my latest...an email address to read you too. Don't be shy, folks!
Email Aleph Alpha and receive a free doughnut! It's here on blogspot.com...

On the matter of reincarnation and other vague memories of witnessing things

I know someone else will shrivel at the sight of these pictures from Lake of Como...not just a joke for the blog...to you, witness, smile, smirk at life, here, witness...Check those out !

Lake of fire

it it is now my turn to introduce the real player. The reed. The real controversy. The rest you know already...le reste vous le devinerez. La suite ?
Elle vous etonnerait. Le vrai sujet est presente. La controverse vous la faites...La controverse est amenee par d' autres sujets. Of those subjects I will not decide. They go to a lake of fire and died. Les anges sont ailes. Et tu ? T'es fait !

Il, etre sacre

Est plus grand que moi de deux toises. Elle n'a echappe a mes griffes affamees que pour vous rendre plus sanglant que moi, de quelque pinte...de peinture rose et jaune a la fois je vous embarnisse avec mon pinceau magique a vingt couleurs deux fois plus pigmente...Il, etre sacre a une couronne et un sceptre. Il peut etre apercus entre nos doigts. Nu et tenue. Je suis a ma bicoque et nu. La porte entrebayee. Je souffle. La roue gonfle. Branches tendues...Trois fois plus boiseux que la campagne de Come, cet hiver on subit des ondees tout a travers le plan et qui re-rentre de l' autre cote, ah, je blague...Ils passent entre les gibets et continuent trois kilometres de plus...et trois aulnees entre les nuees et on resort...oui, c' est ca...peinturlure, en 1901. La plaine inondee. Elle est blanche et posee a plat...<strong>QUI ?...

La forme d' une boule de cristal

On evolue a l'interieur d' un carre. On a au dessus les edens et dessous les vampires. Il y a exterieur a nous, une chose bien decente qui nous represente. Il y a autour...une nappe rouge avec des petits naperons ronds au crochet. Il y a aussi une libellule. Elle ne se conduit que comme elle le desire...c' est la Vie. Il y a un etre qui amene les nouvelles. On entend parler de ca en tout temps. Il y a meme place une blanche circulaire surface. Il te ressemble. Moi, j' ai mon nouveau chez moi. Il evolue a l' interieur d' une boule de cristal. Au dessus l' espoir au dessous broyer du noir. Il, au milieu comme un baton entoure de quatre etres places aux angles de ce symbole sacre. Il y a un trou, pour y mettre le baton. Il est rond. Il, a l'interieur du temple penetre a pire amis de ce cote. Il en reste trois. Ou va la joie? Il y a au fond de mon regard une etincelle percant le noir. Elle y met la joie. Il ne reste que toi...et autour la mer. La mer infiniment jusqu'a l' horizon. Il y a au fond de moi une bestiole qui me fait rire. A trente on a cela, moi j' ai quarante...et blanche porte ouvre toi, la! J' ai ca...et il ne reste rien que cela.

Meat Puppets- Animal Magnetism

Dear readers,
I have a new flat right bang in the center of Montreal entertainment district. I am at peace with God. I have my tobacco pouch and a cool way to save the day for you and me.
dear reader,
I have a secret that I cannot tell anyone about. If I told you, you should have forecast, some cool start to my carreer. The sentence not exact- nothing to lose you gat gat, nothing to lose...na na na, you gat you gat you gat, nothing to lose...na na na...I have 24 hours free wifi in my new room. I have a copy of the most holy trinosophia. A beautiful 1971 hard back with wings and flames...I am power. I mean...I have a girlfriend soon. Not to tell on the telephone. I am such such -ery in love but you gat, you gat, you gat, nothing to lose, na, na, na. Meat Puppets that' one to put on my Ipod, na, na, na, my Ipod, blogger I will finally read...NEVER HAD THE TIME TO RE-READ EVEN A POST...THE STREETS...The visual-non visual system of communication abcd and plasmic washing machine...and Plasmic Washing Machine...and the pussycat asleep...
Dear Reader,
I am simply happy. Just looking forward to work on that friendship...U know....and cosmic little seeds. Distance verbal communication. Ah, the dolphins, les dauphins...Obama and whatever I wanna read ALL THE TIME....on my laptop with a fake Apple logo. I am zero.
The Zoo ?
ALPHA 333

Under my thumb (The New World)

So, finally after four years of blogspot I find the courage to put my face on the blog. It had not happened since Feb 2006, correct me if I am wrong. I have no hook ups with my facies, my face is rather sweet and I have the same body as I had when I was 20. In the last three years I have spent most of the time homeless. Unable to get something out of life I ain't; the ime was spent develloping a skill and I have the professional stuff...you know. Ah! I am going to look for a furnished appartment here in Montreal to write my second play, in french this time. It should be called "Marasmes". It presents a female and a male character going through motions in a biblical/philosophical unravelling. I am also looking forward to work on a special friendship...nothing very interesting don't worry! Hum...No I lie. I have a play partner since 2005 and we have not yet met face to face. She is under my thumb but my other hand holds the fast. In the next few months I also hope to score a deal. I have most of the software necessary to make a third demo. The first two were sent out in 2005 and I did not score then. Hopefully my art, the blog and what comes after will enable me to both have fun and earn a decent living. I do not really have the ability at holding a full time work. I am just too psychic to pretend and I usually find my way out of jobs faster than I get in. Right, so please forgive the pictures and keep reading. There are worse things to be doing. It's good for your brain...the stuff I write. Lol. Lots of hugs to my readership and don't give up...whatever you do!
The new world:

Alice, what`s the matter with thee ?

Dear Alice,
I have the need to confess. I am in love with you. Your folly and the way you hide in the forest, in the city, behind a tree is the most turn on that I ever felt. You do not tell the truth in the magazine. I do not mind, Alice, I love you. I have hunted for you for more days than I care to count. In the cities and in the parks, behind trees, in passing cars, day in, day out. To tell you the truth, the way that it be, Alice, the new man in me is following the love of his life, a passing fad ?, no, no! This is why I keep writing, searching, attempting to plead. In my last letter to thee, Alice ma cherie, I attempted to rush you to come running to me. I know you`ve read it, ma cherie and weighed the pros and cons of unmasking the deal, of appearing. I am great looking, I have fixed up my dreadlocks and took those nasty hair from my nostrils. Do you like it, Alice, is this sufficient to seduce you to my romantic party ?
The king and the queen, the red rabbit, the scrape rainbow sky surfer will be invited, I guess that we need witnesses or the papparazi will paste another face on my mulatto perfect grin, oh...that of someone who needs a tame bride, a sexy laugh that agrees it`s funny, someone that don`t hide like you, behind bushes, in the city, in passing cars and rainbow gowns. Blue hair and brown stockings...was it you, my darling ? Snow sweeping grey boots on the sidewalk, was it thee or just my folly attempting to stop the stress of having to find the girl, you, my dear, hiding. For the purpose of making it last longer, that courtship. I have no say, in grey wig and dark make up, you may choose to appear, this friday, or send someone who looks like thee, Alice, my baby. I am red in the face: You`re reading this, you looking at me ! In my dream gate I put a cigarette, sometimes with something magical gratted in it. The green weeds on both sides of the street may choose to ravel me. In the city, in a bus, behind your curtain or naked on page 3. I am sorry for hunting thee, I am sorry if your folly often makes me cringe: When will you be ? By my side, in a park, in a movie theater, laughing at your disguising. Alice, in this city, I have planted some spies, Raphael, Uriel and some godly servants in loincloths and spreaded see-through wings. I asked: Find her, make her be in the seat next door to me. The pilgrims follow the penguin. In the looking glass I see you kissing me. Demain. I sit, Alice and wait for thee. Here. Maybe you won`t come this time again. Maybe you`ll send your lawyer or the police. Maybe, Alice, I will find the courage to talk to thee near a tree. In black flowing hair, short red locks or what-ever. I am sincere, my dear. If you come to me I will appear from the hollow tree where I nest, patient, my dear. I will over all take all in. Post a letter, leave a note for me, an email would be enough to unmask thee. In your tree waiting for my hand to take you by the ears and put you where you belong: Here with me, darling.
If you have read, raeders and wonder what is this stitch, you may, someday unravell this story and figure out...that it was me. Aleph Alpha, dear-lover, sky-scraper, with a clean face and smoothe shaved ears. Again running around and attempting to catch SHE. In the sea, I love you, my darling...be seating, the movie`s starting! If you read this in passing pick a gown, change the story...in the beginning, from end to start, the purple swallow, the marching bands, the looking glass and that hole. Spiralled.
I tell you here, Alice, come to me, I will dress thee in new colours. Some of them don`t exist. In my hole, in the tree, I face the consequences, cherie, I agree to run and seek but you must agree to marry me...once I find thee, once I catch thee, silly queen! In a barn, next to a motorway side restaurant, in Hungary, I will make you be my bride and think that it was (after all) very funny...after all it was funny, darling to search for you in the ravines, behind bushes, in certain streets, hiding and proudly embracing the songs that make my keys, tapping around your feet, looking through the mirror ball and make your rare colours beam towards me. If someone else claim thee, another man I mean, he may get you instead of me only so long as he has searched you and stressed (was it she, where is she ?) as much as me, lilly, lady, as much as me! Then he may take you away and bride you in his chosen dress, so long as he has seen, beauty, so long as he has chased you, bright, grimmed and free, like me. I do, I do, I do, cherie ! I do, dear Alice.

In Wonderland

There is a very marginal line between lives. All works fine. The war rises on the sides. I am the dragon fly, let me out! The saviour or the soldiers are there pushed to the middle. I got a New York Dolls DVD from the library. What did you say? I said I got a DVD by the New York Dolls from the library`s fourth floor, I`ll probably watch it tonight on my laptop...and what about Wonderland?
I also got The Rainbow Children CD by Prince. I am Aleph Alpha and I deleted the two bad pictures below to only leave me at my most. I have the right to do that and pretty much anything on this website. So, yes, that is it...I am not the dragon fly...I just pass by. I like this track: Chatterbox. It does not have to add up...I am expecting a big wad of cash from a sale...a building block near Marseilles. Free expression started with Rebellion. Free expression started with Rebellion. It`s a Dell laptop, got it used for 300 box. In Wonderland. That`s where I come from ! Near Marseilles.

I am Aleph Alpha

Aleph Sexy Pic Online Now!

www.iamaleph.blogspot.com

Le Scalpel-Melle Ritournelle

On se sent bien avec un peu de vent glacé, de neige pas trop glissante aussi. Il y a autour de moi des yeux, rapides, vulgaires, vacants et tous tournés vers le pré qui pousse lentement, nourri de ma rengaine...je vois...

Une belle, a peine couverte, le rire dans l`herbe verte se répandra jusqu`au centre de ce champs masqué. Il y a daffodiles et tit` tulipes qui poussent, qui poussent...Il y a le vent, a peine glacé ce jour de Janvier. Il y a des curieux, des nouveaux riches et la plaine qui bat, qui bat, qui bat...

On attend le nouvel arrivage, de glace au chocolat, de petites graines qui montent le long du tuteur, a la slavique, maniere ludique le long du piquet, osez!

Il y a une femme, belle, haleine cruelle, autres odeurs et mains crampées autour du baton carré.

On se sent bien a Montréal, aux vents de Zephyr, aux froids de ces mains qui nous tiennent a peine et de cette bouche, crois, qui se projette par la chlorophylle liquide des plantes a voix.

Il y a au milieu de nous une petite pierre, la bien scertie dans l`or ambiant.

Pour nous attrapper il faut glisser quelques graines au milieu du sentier, té es pas rassurée?

L`on se frotte, on se dorlotte bien maintenant.

Une perle qui étincelle et se propulse de son propre vent vers la ligne de mire, la ligne d`horizon, la ligne du Pere Lescampette et au bas des murs toute démultipliée, a nous le mois de Mai, des echelles chromatiques, oui, faites de bois et recouvertes de neige mouilée.

Il y a une horloge qui m`obsede, qui me tire par la ficelle. Il y a une volonte basse, bassement filtrée, elle me retient les mains et me jette des pierres sous les pieds, sous le pont, sur mon gué.

Je suis Jacques, le pieux, confus et solitaire, elle est mon herbe, je la pousse apres, du dessous, oui sous la terre, entre mes petits doigts je fais la monter, toute vrillée. Tu es bete, pour me serrer tu n`as pas besoin de ces essieux, il ne te manque que la nappe aux branches semée. Tes pieds. Je la mets. Au milieu de la piece, je la fais tourner. Il te reste la mer a traverser. Je te donne le radeau, le petit, fait de branches noires il git...mais au moidre remous in se remet a naviguer, tranquille, pepere, au son des clés. Je me donne la pomme et pour elle, la branche de muguet. Il me reste une brindille de ces craintes a qui la confier?

La pelle-truelle se tourne et l`arrracher n`est pour nous qu`un jeu de baiser. Je suis amoureux d`une libellule, on se voit poser. Deux enfants. On tire, on tortille, on appelle les gens...Le ciel se tourne vers le printemps...il souffle tout le temps...(qui?)...le Vent.

Kiss my axe...

...with pussycat faxes

In the air tonight (scale affair)

*

THE mutant blog sizzles about and crowns the bad boy on the reactor

or so to speak

a mutant mind field.

air of controversy immisces through to the school`s rumour altar

in this derelict blog you may thin to skin

but wired and chanelled in the right air

for the right place.

it has been a pleasure writing to you.

I have a feeling it will perdurover

In the palm of the hand the profile there

ready feels

lickable and trance prone

shells

the Aleph switches to mind solace right there where the moon collides rightfully,

in no mine

of mind was

the lovable switch balls net

police

place of the arts

on the right side of the fence.

Lot of suck, lot of kiss on lips and drive away the man

on the side looting next

and loitering in round fernels everlating through shell smell

and decalogue

ever-hearse

in the entry number...

333

in the air tonight a Pachelbel poetry

and major octave

loudspeakers crisis

for eternal poetry

in dimensional freeze

MERRY christmas is happy birthday to Christ

MIST over my mountain with your blessing

I am high enough to play the act

Misty morning freebees

and Alpha reigns

there to the end of the scale

numbered and lettered

in the rind of the precinct many a retard pair the air with Cythar

and doubbles right the side of reality I conveyed there crotches

My computer, right there the right there the right there

to spanish lily and Carmina steels

on the bttom of the rind of the air on a multidimensional rhyming there the ace opens the door

I enter from the back door

as you please, little missee

On your wishlist Jeez Christ

in the vapour, Brother

there the reighn makes the pear fair

Live or believe

the rest of the mess

numero uno is complex,

the rest

is sex

thrill

I slap tight

I slap thighs and Mother Mary

squeezes freaks

into me

...and my romanticorock

of a blog

Amen mutant female

(In Frances)

so, who said that Aleph did not write in french enough?

It is filled with french posts this month, look, scroll that mouse!

Ne vous plaignez plus de ne pas avoir assez de posts en francais, les gars, whoo! C`est fait, ce mois ci est trés francophone... et en vers, amis. pour continuer avec la phase présente..plutot poétique.

Tres Minable-Tres Parfait

Le vieux don de vieilles guenilles vaut bien un sourire. La citerne se remplit et tout tend a résoudre le trouble. Je cherche un signe, intrinsequement juste qui puisse satisfaire ma soif de promesses et de vie. De nourritures, la remplir aussi. Une passante, je suis agenouillé. Je tente un air désespéré car je n`ai presque rien, seul ce sol, ici, cette pensée, cet instant, le besoin de restaurer ma foi qui s` est affaissée sous les penibles épreuves. On va me raviver.

Je sais. J`en sais assez, dieu dit vrai,

et je suis plein de ce que le monde vide. Contentons nous de vivre avec la ligne de vie, le tout sera aux pourtours, bien gras et dégoulinant de sucres sacrés.

Il n`y a rien ici que ce que je vis. Jesus le dit. La ligne du temps est bien gouvernée. Elle se fait.

A babord la facilité, a tribord l`erreur commise de trop d`illusions,

horizons escarpés, menteries acceptées comme le vrai. Il faut faire tellement gaffe! Je suis sur que tu as compris...Fais gaffe avec ta vie...et en plus la neige...ca glisse! Je tends la main droite pour une prise et de la gauche je tente de donner du coeur, avec la main des créditeurs la bonne, la plus ouverte, tout espérant que quelqu`un en a besoin. La droite se raffermit.

On a mis une pile d`habits usés

pour moi sur le plancher, je souris, ca me fait bien marrer!

Je fais un sourire et gaiement me retourne...vers devant. Je donne les frusques a un plus pauvre que moi, je prends l`aumone. En vérité je commence a respirer

...de vie.

Ma vie fait couler ici le liquide requis. Une lance, une fleur, une menace, une godasse, une perruche qui flutte...Je fais avec fleurs des cadeaux, je me fous des menaces car dieu est en place et me rend de la main a la main pour toutes mes dépenses.

De faire régner la guerre, vouleurs permanents, guerriers solitaires qui évitent de donner,

vous aller perdre le fer et la source de vie. Inspirons et gagnons car le vide est bien mis a sa place,

Je sais que tu sais

tout mes besoins toutes mes envies,

se résolvent ici.

Les dons que j`ai a faire je les mets a tes pieds, sur ton sol.

Je me retire tout géné

J`attends, c`est vrai,

mais en nageant je deviens poisson.

Je me contente de lancer tout ce que j`ai a l`endroit ou le besoin est attisé

des théatres de vie, ici,

la mort elle ne fait envie

car elle est le don nécéssaire

entier, plus riena croquer

et la boule se fait courber délicate le long du ruissellet

et je recois ce que je dois et je donne ce qui m` empeche de fermer.

Allelluiah, le monde se fait!

Allelluiah, je suis entier!

Il y en a un qui sort, c`est le nord

Il y en a un qui suit

C`est l`été

Il ne pense que pour exister

les divines danses du moi et du toi

Le monde qui a mis le fer et le poisson

a su ce que j`allais répondre et je vois toute ma bonde

se glisser

a la suite

de toi sur la piste, droite gauche, droite, gauche,

on aime ce jeu, droite gauche, perdre et voler, frais devant.

Le sol est doux a mon sommeil

l`édredon est assez épais

Les amis sont presque arrivés

Je sais me faire aimer

Tellement besoin de roses, ou d`echymoses que je concois le monde parfait...Tel qu`il est.

Épais. Chaud et sucré.

Gems

laid there...Look! www.gogmahag.blogspot.com

OUR HANDS

This is what I do with my hands. The easy way was not for I ! In the shade of a great demon tricking whatever comes its way into believing

I am dream

In the cusp of my hands there is a light that grows in me

With every breath, the right fluid makes itself. I live therefore I be and it fixes itself around the nucleus in me that got made through my whirlwind, ready for yours ?

It is people, our responsibility to use our hands with lots of rightness

at the right gesture making the right air.

It is therefore, people our duty to make the hands go free and free every thing on

The stairwell that sells well

The stick hole that opens for the right size of bamboo.

The real hole in the world is you, people. The filling the heart, the hearth, the mind

Makes it covetable but the hole is you.

Responsible, yes, to make and do as all the actions

are blessed by god so long as they are made

let us be open to handling

The response is a test

I repeat

The response is a test

If you want gorgeous lights made miracle

Your response is at test

Make so it be or believe it may

at the righteousness be made is friendly game when the wires untangle

or be so directed as to being the hand that god hand.

The right and the left

he hand for giving hastes and dealing makes for a rest,

Part of it is you

I make too

Kiss these.

I will kiss there, yours after all is ending

and the right man based in Rightful Land

jumps around.

mYsTERiCUm Gate B

The Churchyard. gate to transfer. Lvx. edit at Golgotha. 1.2 et video love to transfer. 1.3 place divine being. stick and hold in the light. open mouth with fingers if uncooperative, vade crucis. vade rosa. Trump XX. tHE yARD. Ba ba ba baaa! blue dot. 333. (Aleph Alpha`s stupidities)

Dans le Zoo

Bienvenue, voici quelques rimes, sur le coté, oui, vade...vade...incompris!
Je me vante de ces vocableries, ici, mangez-les ! Fouillez ici !
Dans ce trait fin trait de toile d`araignée laissez moi nouer et anoter tout le domaine et vous y liberer. Il fait bon et les journées sont principalement paisibles. Pour votre soin veuillez y brunir et amasser tout le filon. Il y a autant de points de vue qu`il y a de personnes masquées dans ce jeu de l`oie, ici bas.
Essayons de reconnaitre qui s`y montre. Tout est si bien fait et ligné dans ces surfaces nacrées ou mes menus mots magiques joueront de la lyre le long de vos meches épaisses sur l`oreiller. On veut vous honorer et vous etre dédié mais dans ces méandres, ces marasmes déposeront tout a la surface. La nacre et les algues bleuées, collées. Bien arrangées ici a mes pieds, a vos pieds, fideles, témoins. Tout y glisse et s`etalonne sur le mur de la prison. Ici tout y glissera pour le bonheur de nos yeux, témoins du mot nouveau qui frise sur le dessus du mur. Libéré! Et des téssons de bouteille. Aspirez l`air sacré dont mes murs suent, suintent et puent, ils buvardent les rejets de votre jeu de symboles préféré. Que vos magies, sale tapis, toisons dorées, immergent et emplissent les myriades d` électrons, mais restez assis! Le domaine est délimité...Expirez ! Vous etes arrivé(e)s !
On me dit que les drames sont moroses et les rimes ici pure préciosité. Puanteries. Lasse la foule se tourne vers West side story car mes rythmes monadiques sémantiques et mordorés placent la soif de Vie au coté du sens, immergé dans ces comptines trés peu fines a la déité et gavées de Vie, veritables vers sublimes et gigognes-versets ravaudés, essayez..de vivre ici.. Vous en sortirez libérés! Ma cage est trés grande, allez, amis, les danses méandrent et se collent sur la tete de Pantagruel, au septieme ciel...et rassasiées d`avoir assez bougé.
Naissant dansant le vers qui crée le Temps. Ma nasse, le champ, les congres et les anguilles filent devant mon acharnement devant, juste avant d`écailler votre demeure au milieu de l`océan. Entrez rapidement que je vous fouette, que je fouette !
(J`adore rever en vers....que vous y soyez, lisant, est génant....mais si libérant, me notant et alignant les bétises que divise mon sens...les sonnettes de Vie.
(Je plonge, je m`y vautre, je m`y tapis, ami !)

Nasce et evolvad, para le bones fides, solo le bona fidae, me fructus patris...Palace!

A votre guise !

A votre guise, maitre, n` appellez pas la defaite ni la salete et je vous suivrai. Je suis ici, maitre, et libre de travailler. Generalement les serviteurs brossent votre demeure et vous portent d`une cite vers l`autre, maitre, ceans, je ne puis en faire autant. A votre guise, votre honneur, je fais exactement ce que vous decidez et gesturant, je me rue vers l`autre fief en bas devant. N`hesitez pas, cher maitre a me commander. Baisant votre main c`est mon siege que je polis et gelant la nuit je deviendrai aussi humble que vous le voudrez pour peu que des mains, les votres, se posent sur mes yeux, quand ?

Bien cher maitre c`est votre choix qui prevaudra et je devrais me plier et me deplier au mouvement de votre volonte et c`est bien moi qui le serait, votre fou, votre fier servant discipliné. Mon signet est a vos pieds, maitre, vous pouvez obliterez tout ce qui a moi a trait. Si mon balancement tiraille vos cotes et vous empeche de muser tenez moi donc a la taille et jettez moi a la mitraille. Si j`explique mon service et votre atttrait, maintenez les hyerarchiques petits traits de vos grosses mains, O maitre, et detenez ainsi le droit de me commander , pour mon bien, sans frogner ni vous renfrogner s`il vous-plait, donnez moi des ordres et maintenez de force ma stance. Je, attaché au un grand pouvoir me fond dans la nature. Pour vous délivrer, maitre, on fait des hyerarchies afin que je puisse vous etre dédié a chaque seconde de mon service, tout petit...mais detenez la responsabilité, cher maitre, de ne me faire faire que ce qui me plait...sinon pour quoi commander a un nouveau né ?

Pour vous éduquer, mon cher ami...et vous confier a celui qui peut vous aider. Le rideau est tombé...je clappe des mains et vous salue, maitre, sur ce...baisez les miennes et guidez moi de vos droits, a vos demandes, pliez moi.

Je suis votre esclave et vous savez ce qui me plait...A votre guise, maitre, faites la paix et caressez moi dans le sens du poil apres m` avoir claque la joue. Je vous sers pour avoir tout, ordonnez...et vous recevrez car la terre est telle que ce qui s`y veut s`y fait, sans faille et sans heurter...juste pour la paix.

Manuscripts left in the streets (2005-today)

Dear readers, in the last three years I have donated 20-50 full size books to the beautiful streets of eastern Canada. The works either in french or in english, with lots of artwork and calligraphy were left like some baby-Moses to the chance of a saviour encounters, on the corner of a river bend or under a local street sign...Donated to chance, in a way...I have `dumped` these precious works to the dice, to luck... Some are signed with made up names, some as Jacques Deleuil, others as Athm, Aleph Alpha etc. I am hoping that they one day will get published by the Ottawa and Montreal retrievers, my faithful `fans` or whoever is ready to devote, cherish and treasure those works and receive the hermetical, magical, poetical, artistic one off, and therefore RARE book-manuscripts` inspiration. I have left them along the meads in the hope that they get given a happy home...that one of you would find them!
4Feel free, as with all my art, recorded music, `White Clouds and Thunderstorm` ; (my 2005 theater play), to sell or trade them, exhibit, copy and spread them all freely and widely !
Love...to all!

Aleph rAlpha

White Clouds and Thuderstorm

is a 33 pages play that I wrote back in 2005. In 2005 I also made two electro-rock Cds, sent them to some US college radio station and record labels as "Athm Alone" and "Aleph Alpha Demo 2005" hoping to score a record deal back then. 2005, That was a goddam productive year for me! The play "White Clouds and Thunderstorm" was mostly sent to canadian english language theaters. I do not have a copy of these works, the play or the demo Cds, please someone get in touch with me at dotstartman@yahoo.com if you happen to have a copy that you can send me.

Thank you !

Merci !

Jacques,20th Nov 2008, Montreal.

I, manchurian...

I have a small scar in the middle of my forehead. I can't really tell you what it is from the words get stuck in my head if I happen to look into it. In it three little animals live. One makes me still, one makes me fail, one makes me look at things rather than others. I was born July 27th 1968. Here in Quebec and then they flew me to an adoptive family, the scar was just dry. In the head it makes me fail. I fall off the rope and off another climbing rope until I get to the end and that's never convenient. The doctor, knife in hand, authored what I can do and what I cannot. It made me be ten years in hell, I just followed the vocal prompt, everything was sound and then the wrong person answering the telepathic call of the wild. It made two bleeds I did ten years. I am the wild manchurian beast, I love Jesus...that's how I fix the brain bolts, between two prayers and an act of faith. I am a manchurian candidate and I can write, I am a psychic which makes all in me very very thin. Now and again the bell rings and all my beautiful landscape eject the order, kill, it won't soil you. It does. I am in the city and I am looking for Tupac Shakur and Bon Scott in a well known drinking hole. They said they would be there around seven. I am male and manchurian. If the bell rings cold I may resuscitate my mental landscape. If the bell rings warm all has disappeared and I may vengefully stick a knife inside your head in response. Manchurian candidate I do not hate my life. I may well see the red door, the dark land over there, fix and neat. I may straight from the first time guess the correct date and alleviate the sounds of dead calling me: Kill, Kill, it's like butter, stick inside it. My other mental correspondents said it was fine...but why the knives...why that might?
Because I am a manchurian candidate...that' s why!

Dargeenis

I am looking flatly through the window to the sound of Black Sabbath' Heaven and Hell cd. I love this city. Love the corrupted and fond of depracation sex sites, no lights, the mood is carat and sensible silk looking around cunic...or sanskrit to the rose the don't to the rafter, me, illegibly, sex in secure contraptions and bar of the death few meters that dead through the world away from missy Bomb cloned there near Freddy Patterson and I will the total in the bargain basket next to Mos Def. There bare, on a chest of drawers her legs apart thrills the thrill that made the all field of excavation up the bar like a lion and I move Christine, serene, sublime, the rafter signs off.

The maid wrapped in cotton wool lies sexes the whole for the price of a clove of garlic. It prints it pleads and it gangrenes....Courageously God transforms all. To the courageous souds of Coldplay perfecting their new mould. It reeks of garlic and powder bomb. Gun's n' Roses direct in the new field, made us wait about 15 years for that one, no? I am convinced the chinese adore it and will make it high like Y and Z, then it be, now it just floats a long drowned male body gurggling mud through the nostrils and joining kiss with a dead blond peroxyde. I channel all from land above, passive, never edge from the light-wave, sorry if I hell most of it is shot in the dark from a small raft where I hail her. Never believe a doctor. It takes you to his field and farms you with that medicine as subtle tonic, it beyond it. And beyond I see a road that goes left. It gets to a field and it divinelly makes it be the field Dargeenis. The field adequate, we sleep and the dog craps on the settee. I am alone no more, beauty, Dargeenis ploughs it to the stream beneath. It is bliss. Make me gun salute to Mos Def or Talib K. Make me moss make me hay, but so long as it eats as in ten years time we' ll be robbing for tomato paste and the MG hung to the ceilling make it decorative since the juice is gone. The end. Black Sabbath's Heaven and Hell ends. I lay on my back. Flat like a cube packed.

through time

www.countsaintgermain.blogspot.com

Words of Tomorrow

In the last few weeks I have given much thought to the world as it happens around us. The world as it gyrates around us makes rust and crust, t makes us derivative and inquisitive often you swirve and I bang on the wall and my head savoures it all as it goes miraculously to there where it elevates, bring saliva and fonddle on the nozzle. The world around you must all create so the world around gets to be heard to the same sound that my head makes nascent arising the sand black bizarre. The phenomenon that you hear of is the noise it makes when my head corrolates or disagrees, solemnly and cars pass by and I hear of a strange new scenario on the side line. On the straight on line your head makes a buzz to corroborate that it is here all firing. In the land of the Name All bangs and leviates to the spirit one discretely looking and staring all at its intent. The head glamours, the brain drains, you spit and stick still on the wheel of my one track driver. Let s make all at once sound nice and pleasurable as our life depends on the middle. In the medium all guzzling the sound still makes one bear over your tintamare, my dear. The choir of the people in their millions overwhelms one another to sleep in tiredness next to one another dreaming the pillows and the ceilling...where I bang my f*cking head, its levitate rather than drowns and the sound remains silence to be sure your name gets read as it all went. All correspondence is through. Lama me I ll warlock you, magic in and the rainbows out tonight...The trace of my head on the wall makes Brad Pitt look like scratched feet. Life gets out...The scenario is my life. In the room you stare at me incredulously: The medium fixes the train to the rain in the bassin. Meaning and Spirit into this...My life is ill and the walls resolve around you the right story for the right public and traces of dirt inside the hole to tear them theatrically in the ceilling oils aplenty and bars of lime. Instantly I get to the bed and reanimate the male all shocked in there. The maid is levitating the hall goes quiet. one trail here, one there for me near. Let me drive mine...yours tracks in time, reader, friend, love, the others...Let the water solve and the rotten wood heal. I am the world of tomorrow and you are there to be filled. Make sure you fill me in, lil mill, don t six into sixty. New me for real!

Obama et trente sous de riz

Le nouveau president. Juste assez de noir pour etre credible en tant que noir mais aussi assez pour pouvoir sortir de la maison blanche sans etre deux fois fouille. Il est bien. J' aime aussi, oui. Il parait que la belle Tyra Banks veut en faire un CD, non, je deconne, il est bon! Il a l' air necessaire a ce que les americains continuent a croire en ces constitutions et ces senateurs oppulents encore un temps. Tout le monde a les yeux embues de foi, voila ici la voix, je presume. Il n' a jamais ete si ensoleille a l' exterieur du Pentagone. Le grand homme a rallie et les blancs se sont decides a ouvrir une voie suite au nombre d' appels a l' aide, de financiers et de rebelles croyant fort encore en les etats-unis. Le drapeau est debout, nous avons fait le trou. Les autres peuvent rentrer. Je suis sur que les peines de prison et les frais de scolarite vont bientot etre pour les deux la meme couleur. J' espere que les quotients intellectuels aussi vont etre tenus en compte car le blanc a dire vrai craint que l' intelligence revele un job trop bien paye ou un manque de promotion verticale pour le travailleur egal, mulatre ou noir. Le ciel au dessus de l' Irak a suivi les meandres de verite et a scie le bois du meme cote. Il est temps aussi pour les KKK de decider si c' est le drapeau que l'on soutient des deux mains ou les presidents americains. Les deux sont grands; LE SECRET peut etre la: Soit je dis tout soit je le garde pour Papa et les habitants du quartier ici-bas. Il se decolle du drapeau ou le drapeau parle en langues et se trouve etre toujours les etoiles en haut.
Trente sous de riz ne viendront pas a bout de l' autarcie. Les arabes sans barbes peuvent deja rentrer, esperons tout ensemble que la naine du quartier,elle aussi arabe, aura le marchepied quand il s' agira d' egalite. Trente sous de riz lui acheterons on le sait deja, un ami dans n' importe quel pays du tiers monde. Triez les grains, il ne sait rien, pour que chaque participant recoive ce qu' il aime vraiment...les deniers du Temple, les sous du ministere, les droits et les amities de l' amerique enfin dynamique. Les sourires se decrispent. On croit en vous, monsieur Obama, les dances commencent noires, arabes, les blancs sont tout serres la bas! Ils sont un peu genes car ils dancent mal. Les sourires devant cette belle poignee de riz qui dit "pardon" se preparent a vous etre l' allie. Des sourires, egalite. Les quatres angles se decollent. Une pincee d' espoir, j' ai vu la ligne, blanche, noire, noire...Le ciel est bienveillant au dessus de Washington. Une etoile flotte au vent. Les passants hasardent maintenant des sourires en direction de la maison blanche. On sait que c' est difficile de cohabiter, nous vous souhaitons la meilleure volonte et vingt trois sous de ble, et vingt trois sous de ble !

The End of Evil?

For all I s see in here, it's pretty evil-free. I will spray some holy scent, I cleanse, blow breath of angelic lips and cross three times over the grey shades in the corner but it's pretty evil-free as I was saying. Do you like it? It misses some touches, the pictures are corny, there are some references to canabis, the grass that God missed...
The truth is that I am pretty evil-free myself, to tell you the truth.
I have some fantasies, some weird and wonderful free flow rhyming, some pictures of girls, I have some hard core-made beliefs and I sometimes draw pentagrams around me but all is clean-cut roman lover...I meant it's all orthodox, blessed by the might and core-beauty, it sounds all corny when I go on about my perfect lover, it's clear of most bullsh*t.
Did you catch the Oliver Stone movie about dear ol' W? Me neither but that's not evil...There is more 666 in the Star Gazette than in W. I mean face it...Oliver Stone knows his stuff, he did the Doors. I think W. is rather sad, maybe too hard core for Mossad, maybe too oily for paki...
Have you checked the porn sites? I did a while back. They ask you for a credit card number and then give you 30 pages of paint blusher and fake nipples, enlarged deeks with the right touch of colour at the right hand hoping that all fake and oversized make you buy the X-tra Zone pass...25 dollars more but some lollitas, most over 25 and legs hardly apart. This is not Devil, it's just business with some Star Gazette tricks to make you tickle yourself at the right stroke, for the right cold blusher when it's all over. It's actually quite wholesome if you consider the amount and what it does...You never get caught again and the lollita, fake ponytails and thighs wide apart can go to Uni without drying Poppa!
Just check yourselves, men, women, pastors and elves. The reign of evil is over. All is gleam and bright light if you take away the lies. The Star Gazette shows some particularly convincing kisses and stretch marks. The old days of rusting the Kiss bootleg so it looks like Satanic sh*t, Ozzy is lame, he is sick, he only did the bat trick once and then he was sick. Metallica are word perfect, one for the right, one for the left, we used to have Slayer back in the eighties and nineties but the amount of evil is just what is needed to not be similar to an ageing priest, one cup of chocolate after the sign of the cross and bible classes at all stops.
Now I think some of you may see Evil for the sake of dissecating and observing and making all very black...in colour. A fashion statement like that poor ol' golden cross, yes the crucifix was not sexy so Motley Crue went for black, it's all to attract the chicks and oversell Kiss.
Ask the pope, if you see him, what is devilish and what is clean...You'll be surprised. Anton La Vey got really confused, Crowley wanted more bizarre drawings and more hard to read phonetic spelling but that's just for the chicks, to over sell the Star Gazette and feel that something was real. The priests hardly convincing but lame and lamer as lame can be. It does not mean you gotta sign for Satan, the devil was just therecanvassing the crowdees, to see if anyone rang, by chance out of despair in good fresh air. It's all in your eyes, the black is black the white is white and Red Dragon was a cool movie but who got blood and guts envies?...Not me...Not my chick, she thought it was ok, but hardly worth a review in the press, just gory, stained at the right spot and grim to convince that the 666 was somehow important to people...outside the theaters, cons! camera tricks, lame folly, rather sleak.
I live in an alley. The priest is a sheep and the devil worshipper a teenager who don't like to admit that Jesus wins. In the next door to mine lives a cool girl. For my curtains I chose grey, close enough to God's whiteness and halfway to dark as...it takes two to make an act.
This is my website and it's pure enough to make all seem rather boring on the net today. Check the archives and the alephalpha.blogspot.com. There is just enough light to keep all happy...and just so much darkness as it takes to see!

I am furry and warm inside

The world does not end with my esoteric plodding. Lots more to see, my dear guest, lots more to read! If you fall in the intricate mix of pure silly and highly realms that I bona fidae make for you, almost daily, you will be the total mighty music as these are harps and vilolines for the pure. ONLY. Others see mud and filth.
If you see purity, then, make a hole in the palm of your hand and let me wallow in your vision through my writing, let me rest in your hands, I love you. I am simply awaiting to come in. I as, strass stick to beautiful women, made a multi dimensional creative wiring of whatever stucked to words, over three years of chastity. There, in the palm of your hands I may sure become a giant, I might be a star! If the hunter for bizarre sites on the net blushes on this may we teach him meaning and sounds, to the Land. May the meaning of it all flow and flesh be the world, may we manicheanly open the door to manies.Let us be beauty. May we learn and receive all. May we welcome the ladies. May we roll 10 times our tongues in our mouths so all that is spoken gets to be...shiny in front of our Shes. The true aim is hidden, even to little me. I know that you see some light here, men, women. I know you pursue a creation also nested somehow in the walls of this city, these writings wiring my world for 3 years of folly. They were made of three yes indeed years of poor life, with no woman and no friend, no money in my hand. I am sure it has a higher purpose this multi level Phantasmagora; or else why leave me here blogging at loss if I cannot make this all be candles and candelabres to the magic of the words, to the music, wholly, I like Jesus. I am for He, why attach me to this task, if I am without You...Why keep me at the door of the barn if it is so glorious inside, with large rooms, with crystal and scented cushions around the ass and cow? Why tie me here, smelling funny at the door and frozen if inside is empty? There must be a reason to this folly, 2000 pages of nothing? Empty rooms?....and if all animality is kept here, may all humanity also enter to make it all a better world, and to the aces, and to the hands, to the word that killed Satan and lets us swim in high waves of my particularly good...POETRY.

Into the arena

I am frangipane

12:03. St Denis Street, Montreal, QC. I am lonely as a worm, chased away by all the nice looking animals to remain in my wormity. I cannot tell anyone the truth but I know I am slick and funny. If I attempted to tell you my stories you'd be cringing in your sofa as the people with label have made me the loneliest of men but I am one of the most powerful. I am funny, I know the truth, I am slightly sticky but my worming is a life ahead of me, smoothe and sexy.The truth would amaze thee, hear me!
If you are worm or other lowly life you will see gold and templates of perfection, may I enter your game, here, I am smart and I don't cheat. Never do! I am a worm and I love all in these fairy fields. Everything on the planet makes me ripple with awe. I am alive, I beam with almond stings. I am small and lonely but I know the story, trully: A beautiful hand will pet me, amazed by the look of my eyes, loyal, sincerity. One day it will! Promise!
Two become one and a worm is outside, I have seen it ringing its pretty sticky loops around a male like me. Maybe that was me...sorry!
Hold! It is not fair: The man has the face of me! It has two eyes and gobbles at the world with pure eyes for pure things...Nice and long around the fawns.
Don't make me out of this, worm-she, I feel you catching my tail, easy!
The eyes are on me, the other one smart, she makes this a frangipane figurine to magic something.
I am feeling slightly loose and friendly. Kiss me! The needle in the pure light body of a sub man like me could be giant of weeds after malaxing the mud around me as pricking and litaniesd magically make me ever good and pretty. Sting me, lovely, I have no other party to go to and if your eyes see me cool and friendly a dart of you could make wonders of me. Hear this! I am slimy, hard to catch, Make me be dry, with legs and feet! Try pining a smile on my lips. I am fine frangipane, almonds and sweet. Just pin that tail of mine, I am so sad! Be it!
Others have parties to go to and long lists of friends, unslimy just furry, look at me. I am here, muddy and smart. Make a worm act a man! I am not far off this, evolve me into some big smiling lion or a fancyful chameleon. Do not fear my little eyes, my body is neat of treachery. Make me the center of the party, stick to me and loop at once. I am a worm of frangipane and all in me tastes of beauty, I promise you. Creep out of here if you see this a paltry. Hunt over there, foxes and deers may not be your way, we are wormy...and soft almond paste makes this tasty. We are of frangipane and chocolate sweet. Kiss this end, here, for full story and facial expression, tracks in life and loophole redemption of a man worm in your cities. I am aware of which side to walk. The hole! The hole! The hole!
Proudly!
Hang the worm in a pantry of slimy sweet fixes and human meat puppets, attached to the ceilling. Make it! The worm be, the lady in the suite, sacred and fan of me writing, very interested in me. Outside of the barn, looking for me.
In the hole a mini sofa, the side of the palm of my hand, I feel lousy. A pin hole. Jesus help me.
A kiss is a kiss and the spell never beams. Two rung around one another. Looking for higher life beside being it. The little eyes of the little stars, body long and lean, wonder if I am truth or myth. I am fan of you, sticky, plant a tree in this. It is my one declaration of belonging. This is the role of the century, make me into a bird, with feathers instead of this sticky limb less body, once you've seen all of me, muddy. Let me in the hole, make me long to be with thee. Rolling and worm holing. The truth is soft and curly. The only dark in this is the figurine in which the power beats to be. Something other than me. On St Denis. Needly. Ready to be wormed out to forestry and apple cream. A new life for me. HERE, CATCH ME!