The Sunnyray

Through such stupidity Petrified in vile mediocrity, Under the idiocy of guilt, All adult immaturity rests. Doubt ... How to perform the latency and pending project In this policy, heaped up with impotence of powers. In the act of measuring and overshadowing? From the visceral feeling started a wave of discreet agony That went through the full extent of the intestines: The feeling of guilt, Decadent. So also man holds to the idiocy of guilt. Corrupt: shows the total villainy of Humus-humans. Mortality to flow in the corpse, Vaporized in the weakness of the coarse. Revealed the disgust, poor dead! He did not understand that he was guilty. A feeling, a fine? Reaction to public figure offense: Imoral, indiscreet, stupid. Without a mind, the people cry out A more agile and less narrow response. You idiot, you fool!

The remains of August, 31-2016 (7:51 PM) (By Zenom - The Prince of the Poets) Sewage from Mauritius of Nassau! The reluctant San Francisco is already dead. I-bonfire of Santa Maria, Tea of ground vine, jagube-mariri. Leaves, flowers and buds ... She, 16 years of solitude. Gold Black-silver, ivory. Of the precious stones, none is Paraíba, neon tourmaline: I-immortal, diamond body. I-Adamantine. In that state of Smirnoff the night was over. Jade Dragons Remained And a Rococo Jedi, drunk in the Baroque. I-Yagé: You, they and tomorrow, Anxious for countless spells today, And the Wheel of Fortune at full Vayus and lungs. Hari Om Tat Purusaya! Om Namo Narayanaya! Om Namah Shivaya!

Restos mortais de agosto, 31-2016 (19:51 h.) Dinâmicas do Vazio Aparente (Por Zenom - O Príncipe dos Poetas) Esgotos de Maurício de Nassau! Já é morto o São Francisco relutante. Eu-fogueira de Santa Maria, Chá de cipó moído, jagube-mariri. Folhas, flores e brotos ... Ela, 16 anos de solidão. Ouro Preto-prata, marfim. Das pedras preciosas, nenhuma é Paraíba, turmalina-neon. Eu-corpo imortal de diamante. Eu-Adamantino. Naquele estado de Smirnoff findou-se a noite. Restaram Dragões de Jade E um Jedi Rococó, alcoolizado no Barroco.  Eu-Yagé: Você, eles e o amanhã, Ansioso hoje de incontáveis feitiços, E a Roda da Fortuna a plenos Vayus e pulmões. Hari Om Tat Purusaya! Om Namo Narayanaya! Om Namah Shivaya!

I-soon-exist, definitely, I am brave, new mind and pleasure Confused in all pain. Orgasmic relief from all tensions, All beings crying love. Peace and spirit, quietness to inhabit and to Design of people, full heart, Released even though between clenches, Making trembling the flesh of the pulsion: A lotus of the mud appear beautiful.

The wise man ... Every moment, Increasingly rare. Flashes. Never in front of mirrors. Light that desapear and rekindles, As life rebuilds. He goes on to see they who are dying.

Live the animal in man and both in time. The wind of the event howls hope. In war, peace is desirable, Inevitable. A lot of people who find the end, Who deny the unconscious And the invisible powers. Those capable of such dementia. Absence of human heat torments them. Quixote in your land, Rising from nothing to sleep. Covered with time, to cover up the light, Cover yourself with nothing, him.

I-you. From this infallible love that kills, To those who are not attentive. There is always something, a subtle whisper That endures in Victory not attained by force. Principle and path of contemplation of the perfected Masters. Greater sensitivity and subtlety: Energy, cosmic-life, Spirit naked without effort. I-spirit-naked, People without borders.