Declaration of Rhythmus (synthetic epyllion)
Title: Descent Into Darkness; Lost Lords and the Rising
By: Dani Van (Vangoman)
(The Descent into darkness)
In these twilight times of torturous turmoil and terminal division of class, the following dance presumes a jaded romance, a façade wall as it were between the rise and fall of classes or more adequately described as the have’s (Consumption of accumulation) and the have not’s (attainable ruin). Wealth in recent American history has funded the self arrogance and assurance that comes into focus as a reflective masquerade, the divine catastrophic failure of the basic human kind, gorging on a defining biological greed, a natural demise for an unnatural divide.
Poverty is on spoken term to natural ruin, from a scrubbing of the dirt bottoms of their pits of agony, while swallowing the indignities in dark back alley blacktop and in their cardboard box hotel jails. This redefines the reflective masquerading notions focused in the eyes of the wealthy. Finically embarrassed human beings being rendered into societies fecal bend with loss of latrine privileges. Piss and vinegar in a vacuous filth as these bony and faceless humans must endure in shameful proportions. Additionally these poor men and women have had to also endure being impaled with the vaporizing proverbs of the republicans Desiderata. “God’s Basic 101 on how to fail as a human” the brightest reflection the poor can hope for from the wealthy is at best to squint into the sun glints of their upper crust gold and hope for a small slice of the cake. The filthy rich may occasionally toss into the muddy direction of their disdain and ignorance, small tidbits of hidden wisdom by none other than the expected hollow stone souls of this elitist party. Their wittiness thrown at these dirt crawlers as if their words were worm bait catching the bottom feeders. Quotes like “Obviously all is lost when there is nothing more to lose”, followed by intimidating chuckles from fools and a dollar bill dropped. For the poor souls, nothing and I mean nothing is left, all has been rendered. And strangely enough to find that for the wealthy, the poor that must serpentine surf in this dirt is still not low enough to meet their expectations of elitist’s grandeur. No… dare we say they must still swing brutal verbal assault on them with other club numbskulls at regal dinner parties. There’s an expunging of guilt by way of contumacy conundrums that internally results in the wealthy feeling even richer, more entitled to corner the market on inane and insane soulless prosperity. Yes the rich feel richer at least until death comes to the dance. Then and only then when they are forced underground does the heavy gravity of the situation change their righteous beliefs and actions. Going underground away from groveling sounds will adequately beat them down. But what of their Jesus return? What will they pretend to say of their carnage? What of their full body songs left on their lips of lies all life long, there comes an immediately change to their songs pitch. The rich are not aware until that moment black arrives that their insipid ignorance that followed them throughout life now follows them into death, which allows their winning to arrive with bravado in heaven much too soon. And for the poor broken ones, light rises in steam and make the clouds of heaven clean. What destination in life and now in death shall the rich set out on? Without any former training in regard to compassion, the entry keys to the cloud zone do not fit the locks? Shall we surmise their concerns of past or future sunrises or sunsets? I dare surmise that even if the broken ones were to give the selfish elitist liquid gold from the sainted chalice of our savior, that still with past records and accords of life past, that this may not suffice their sudden empty soul or pockets of destitution. On earth the end for the poor beggars is a lonely cold wet watery ditch with soft curled up mud and broken dreams. How sad is it that the first thing they’ve had to look forward to in their entire life is their death, and fortunately their rise. And how much sadder is it that the lucky ones in life have come to hate these future grown up cloud children of heaven, hate them to death, for not having their luck, luck they called hard work, luck they measured by the buck. Bahumbug I say, I know these inheritors of wealth, and I know how someone else made all of them rich. I know when the black hooded coat comes for them, and God says were you good to those not so fortunate, their passing into the darkness of that ebb and tide that flows and stumbles onto the castings of heartless men will find no friend. There shall be only breath drawn of cold darkness and night of clipped wings. They will sully a passing down of fortunes into the grinding ground of starving past aberrations. There in for a nightmare of epic proportions, where special evil sounds can bleed the gold from their grasp and make the weight heavy enough to carry them down into the lower bowels of earth. The devil zone for the hungry money orphans. Here in hell, there are endless heavy hot nuggets of gold as hot as Haiti awaiting them. They will carry it on their backs into eternity but it will not have the same earthly redemption satisfaction, it will just be a reminder of the weight they used to throw around in life. This is their reward for their abandonment to unfortunate fellow human beings. We hear of the rich who buys land and house just to remove the house for improving their view, while abandoned babies lie on the side streets in dumpsters in order to facilitate and expedite their winter into a quicker and numbing end. And for the view of the rich that they receive from removing the million dollar house, it will not include even a God blink for ones own humanity, unless there is a tax break to be gained. Why do they think it said you can’t take it with you? It’s because the more coinage you pass into this world with, the faster and deeper the sinking is in the next world. That’s the wonderful thing about the totality of our existence; the Ying and yang factor, or the easy come easy go theory, Get everything here and keep it to your self, get nothing there and keep it forever.
The after death hangover that faces them is located between the barren fields of loathing and the corner of lost souls waiting. They will be sorted out by granite names in a smoky lot called shame. Death that surely will come, will not come to help them rise, neither their souls nor their eyes. Such are these accumulators fate who believe coin exempts them from the requirements of love, destiny, fairness, equality and most of all compassion. This is a simple compassion that is allotted them during their lifetime, but finding this easy solution extended to their money wadded grasp is too painful for them, their never willing to seed the soul by the easy terms of giving. They will try with feeble excuses, accusations, and a stern denial of their lack of faith that they are Christians. But they will be tried and convicted in heaven, and ordered to see if they have been able to climb even the smallest hills of giving. Have they truly considered the earth worm’s plight? Material things rein majestic and have become a sort of mythology or a better quip would be “the absolute need and requirement and lust for so much more extra, extra”.
(The Lost Lords)
And so the scene is set. Here on the American Continent or what’s now known as “The New Improved Roman Empire”. Where lust once again reins supreme and develops into super turbo Viagra pills, libido laser corrected penile growth insertion procedures. Vaginal tightening lubrication ointment with pheromone orgasmic eclipsers, and silicone enhanced super duper upper bumper systems including both lips and breast. Prosthetic pornography provided by handicap sex slave with Olympic place cards for parking their ass, all of this and more of course only in the most discrete headquarters of the rich and famous. And what would this decadence of the rich and famous be without the sex circus environment that includes those diabolical twin midget games including the naked baby powder and sawdust shuffle board matches. Maybe it’s true what they say about the world and how it has changed dramatically over the last century, but I fear the one thing that technology never changes is the people, especially those who use it for their own gain. Those well shoed business tyrants and their lonely housewives that have become the worlds single point receptacles for indulgence. If it’s also true that what comes around goes around, then it makes me wonder how old man Howard Hughes is doing in the devils infrareds sun, sweating out all those self inflicted stains of impurities he gained while alive.
The elitist time is closing all doors of resolution too uncertainty. The mired down thistles of a once proud human race is now pointed headlong into the thickened briars of fire and brimstone. And it’s not God that is returning for the show down, oh no, he’s busy making castles for those earthly downtrodden folks, and has asked a certain fallen red angel to set up the entertainment for tonight events for the elites, providing the super human rich cigar smoking yachtsmen and alike with a special invitation for a red hot date for the barbecue utilizing only hundred dollar bills for the fire, and their balls for white hot coals. I hear it’s going to be a devilishly good time for all, well maybe not all, maybe not the one per centers.
But first for a much more pleasant topic, the last love story ever told. The concerto of Theo Polis and his virtuous love goddess Tare Suphlame, God and the red hot devil’s dinner escapade may have their way after the concerto, but until the tree leaves catch fire and burn away these two lovers desire, the flame belongs to them, and the God and the Devil must wait in stasis.
Scene 1 - Tara
It’s said that she fell threw the floor of heaven and floated past all the stars landing soft on the clean cotton fields of earth. Her beauty has outlasted and outstretched everyone’s faith. Her virtues is surrounded and protected by attack flamingos with large sharp teeth and pink wings on fire. They provide this sainted wonder woman protection against evil thoughts entering her realm; she has secured incredible wealth and is blessed with an oversized and soft heart. When she goes for her evening walk the breeze in the trees swing by and sing lullabies to her. Never would a common moon even contemplate not filling the path with exceptional light that frolicked in front of her sweet feet, the full opaque and superior moon begins erasing any shadows crazy enough to startle her. And the jasmine, oh the jasmine bushes blush a bright purple as she brushes past them competing with her exquisite scent while soliciting her graceful gazelle like gate. She’s able to soften the scents of the sweet summer breeze. The garden creatures wait near the end of her stroll and serenade her as she ascends the steps to her crystal mansion. The steps bow down cautiously allowing her ease of access making sure that not so much as a soft delicate and manicured toe be scuffed.
This queen of aka gods deserves all these wonders and more, for not only is she the richest person on the planet, but is rarer in kindness than the control of time it self is. How rare her kindness toward all animals and humans alike is. No pretense nor ego can live below her skin, and no mans eyes can help but hold her up high into the light of heavenly skies.
Tare, named for the total weight of her soul, and after her beautiful face, body, and grace was combined to it, love was invented or so the story goes. She is the immaculate conception of human example for the gods and their hope, grace and their wishful blessings. Yet as with women so beautiful, most men are unlikely to approach her, and those who would could not entice such a saintly woman. A true queen not appointed by royalty but by the rulers of the Gods. Her domain and status was given to her by the people of planets, angels, and the world’s population merely because it is who she is, and what she deserves. It’s also the reason this parcel of sky and space cracked open and gave birth to her. A priceless shimmering jewel necklace hung around humanities neck, shimmering as if they were diamond stars lining the fresh cloud in orbit around earth
Still she is among the simplest of women in the land, and friends to peasants who require voids filled with treasure or love. Who could rise up to such a status to meet her exquisite exterior or interior beauty? Who could be the canvas for this master painting created by angels? Who could love her without reservations or jealousy, or withstand the long tortures nights lying beside such virtue, without losing their mind or hands. Who could be expected to make such a giant leap into this world of wonder and of kindness, and into her life, a life larger the galaxies themselves, who?
Scene 2 - Theo
Theo, Theo. He heard his mother calling him to get out of the muddy street. His feet were orphans of leather, his hands extraordinarily strong and rough with annual calluses. Never had he owned pair of shoes and his pants was the remnants taken off his dead father’s legs. His father who had been run over by an older very wealthy woman in some stretched out limousine.
He died to death right here where his son was now standing. His mother collected thin branches from the weeping willow tree which seemed appropriate, after removing his father’s dead pants. She braided a belt and stitched the cuffs of the pants with nylon shipping string someone had discarded. She let out her sons pant cuffs as his head closed the gap to the sky. Poverty would come as an elevation of rise for them. The acorn tree at the end of the street was their little secret on how they remained alive so long. His mother would boil the acorns with the siphoned muddy water from the street. She would tell him stories of glory to take his mind off the taste. A woman or a saint, to this day the common people vote her a saint. She spent endless hours pealing the soaked skins of the free fallen acorns and used them to attach the tattered cloth of her son and neighboring clients clothing. Barbecue, stewed, boiled, fried, dried, and even crushed the corns for a variety of taste and purposes. Her hands looked to be three hundred years old, her body two hundred, and her face one hundred, her real age forty two. She loved her son so very much; nothing for him was too much.
Her son was twenty one and devastatingly handsome with those enormous hands for a man of this land, jet black slicked back hair with emerald cat green eyes, almond in shape and they never lied. His jaw was short bristled black to match that human top hat. His chin was chiseled and strong like a single jack thrown effortlessly toward you. And although he was very strong from his mom’s entire magic acorn arsenal, the daily hunger he had endured for twenty one years left him quite lean. Yet he was the type of man who was tried and true, helpful almost to a fault, loving just as his mother had taught him to be. All this added to his male attraction which caused almost every woman in the town to take pause as he passed them by. The ladies all envisioned a sensual escapade in a devious sort of way. But because of his values, “another valid attribute that caused some swooning” He had never ventured into the land of naked romance. The women in town told me this absolutely drove them even more bonkers.
Theo believed he would in time find his beloved, a woman who could realize the love he felt for her was permanent. A love yes; but more of a partnership in life’s passing. Twin hearts fire proofing each other against the long difficult fire storms that would inevitable approach them throughout life. But as the years passed into that eventual void of time, and as his body grew closer to the clouds, his cerebral cortex began conditioning itself to become a single lost soul, he was not so sure anymore that love could be or would be corralled in his stall. Sex seems to be what most women he met in this town wanted. He tried dating the girls here but each of them wanted to be his first, gladly. His friends would tease him about being a woman stuck in a man’s body. Just give it up they would say, you’ll love it. So what if you don’t love them, it doesn’t matter. Rip there cloths off hold them down by the wrist and stab them with that dam monster of yours. He always supposed that their reference to his stallion were deduced because of his enormous hands and feet, and because he didn’t like to lie he never denied it. They would high five each other and laugh pointing their humor at him. He had that well know fake smile he had projected onto those empty walls of his life. They were friends, but not very good ones.
Scene 3 - The Meeting
The sun snacked on the mountains this morning while creating a shadow of grey shade on his life. The splaying visions of this light broke threw his mind separating him his thoughts from upbeat to a ravine down below. He saw shimmering summer leaves blowing away to nowhere, and thought to himself, this is where I’ve ended up? Just me and the shadows of everlasting hunger for food, for love, for companionship. He began focusing on the dead grass in the bottom of a nearby ravine interpreting it as his sudden future. He thought how much he had always wanted to remain positive on life so if ever met that special woman she might be blinded by his sunny disposition, but the dead grass the leaves, the searching was becoming overwhelming, for the first time in his life he thought for a second this might be a place to end it all. His mothers passing had left him alone and desolate and for the first time since his father had left him he considered plucking the sun out of the sky, lying down smooth against the golden velvet grass, and just letting go, let death come to him. Without thinking his values forced him to turn away rapidly and as he turned around to walk away, he took one step into his future and he was struck by something hard and fast. He immediately had a rapid affair with darkness, the ground suddenly and violently shook under his vertical poised big feet and his toes were facing the skies high, he should have hurt been in unmentionable pain but it was if he wasn’t really there, none of this was really happening. He could feel the warmth of something moving on his head and assumed it was his life’s leaving him. Then he saw her. The white angel from heaven descending to collect his soul, but no, wait… It was a figure of something familiar, a woman dressed in a white long snow coat rubbing her hand against his half dead forehead. The gloves she wore had red stripes on them, no; no wait a minute, it was blood, his blood, a wound on his head, was she an angel, and was he dead, she was the loveliest creature his eyes and heart has ever been set on? As things began clearing up she kept becoming more and more beautiful, perhaps indeed she was an angel coming to save him from this lifetime of torment. If he had only realized at this moment he had just spoken the truest words of his life, things may have turned out much differently.
Her eyes were salt water tropical blue with kitty cat milk skin, he chuckled in his head, because it would of hurt to much otherwise, inside his thoughts he kept thinking how perfect his green almond cat eyes went with that lushes milky kitty cat skin. But the look in her eyes was with deep concern, for him it was like sinking into the salt water oceans, yes indeed the pain had been replaced from drowning deep into her eyes. Maybe that’s how an angel from heaven takes you, he thought. She pursed her perfectly formed parted lips together with a shushing well manicured finger, telling him to be quite and stay very still. Against her advice he spoke loud enough to startle himself and her, ARE YOU AN ANGEL HERE TO TAKE ME AWAY FROM THIS LIFETIME OF PAIN? She smiled as his world began fading away. As if a fog horn had sounded from a distant light tower, she heralded her voice lowly at him, yes my sweet; I am.
The next time I opened my eyes I had been transported to Shangri-La. The air was scented with sweet incense; and somehow cold air was being pumped into the room. At first I was sure my head was swirling around but then noticed it was a beautiful fan with gold inlays spinning the ceiling. It was summer and yet my body was cooled by silky smooth white cloths under me and over the top of me. All the furniture in the room was white with gold leaf trim. I had seen pictures of heaven in a painting in town like this once but thought it was trickery. A sophisticated woman was sitting on the edge of the bed tending to my wounds. Yep, I definitely died. I gathered my senses the best I could and ask an older lady with complete sophistication if the angel that brought me here was still here in heaven with us, or did she have to go to save another poor soul. The woman on the bedside smiled and chuckled checking my forehead cuts and possible fever. No she said; your angel is seeing the doctor out. Right now you need to lay your head back and get a little sleep. You’ve had a nasty accident and have a concussion. Yes mum that may be true, he responded; but I also have an angel with deep salt water eyes. I think she’s nested in my heart. I heard the lady on the edge bed snicker as I made my second decent into the darkness.
Scene 4 : The Finale - The Rising
he sun rose, the morning rose, and I rose to see my angel. She faced the window silhouetting her frame against the new day. She was wearing a white chiffon top with sheer flowing sleeves, matching white lace and leather high heels, and a slim fitted skirt that matched the color of those oceanic eyes. Some sort of half lace gloves covered the back of her hands. I wiped the corner of my eyes and began exhaling pain that had gathered in my lungs overnight. She turned and I half expected to see her anti gravity halo hovering over her head. She took what appeared to be slow and decisive strides toward the bed. Her head appeared to force the ceiling up higher, as those eyes began to close the gap between us. My heart began pounding uncontrollable; her movement appeared almost rhythmic with a classical grace. As she spoke It was like a pouring out a symphony of words, the flow was gentle but filled with a colorful desperation and I felt them as they entered into me. She sat next to me on the bed just drowning me with her eyes, it was like her ocean swallowed me, I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t find my voice, her features were absolutely stunning, but as she touched the side of my face and asked me if I was alright I found my voice just as I was about to melt into a puddle, I love you; I blurted out. What a foolish thing to say I thought to myself. She immediately began laughing; I guess your okay, maybe you’re still a little bit delusional, but okay. It appears I didn’t kill you and that’s a good thing. And then she laughed again, this time I think I might have heard angels picking the harp in the background. I noticed a simple discomfort however and assumed it was my thin dirty body soiling her clean satin sheets. I imagine you need me to leave here now that as you say I’m alive. I’m sorry about your sheets, I have no money for cleaning them but I can wait out back and wash them if you like. But as I tried to rise above the pain into a sitting position failure began overtaking me and her gentle hand found my chest and pushed me back down. Tell me a little about yourself kind sir. Tell me of your life, your parents, what do you do?
The two spent the rest of the day talking of their dreams and ambitions. It turns out the two were almost identical in thoughts of the world, of giving, of the heart. Both wished desperately to help the poor and anguished souls suspended by grief and poverty, but she explained she had the means but because of her status it was hard for her to get out among the everyday people that truly needed her help. He said it was the opposite for him; he was always among those poor souls in need but did not have the means to help them. They were so different yet so much alike. But the heart, oh the cleaver heart, in discussion it became clear he idolized her for her innocents and compassion. She was tired of sitting on the edge of the bed and on the edge of her life; she could easily tell he was kind and giving, two aspirations she deeply desired. She bravely and slowly lowered herself into a defensive posture next to him. He slowly rose his arm up around her shoulders to imply his ability to protect her. She sank deep into and against this gentle soul. The touch of their skin was exposed. Warmth like sun likened that of the golden grass in the ravine, transfixing him on her golden hair. But here the air was clear and so was their heads. After the sunshine of the day subsided into the always following night they began to slip in the comfort of each others thoughts, seeking surrender to their stranger status they both confessed the mutual feelings each of them had. Moonlight seems to generate the heat needed to interpret each others eyes. From their words to their eyes to their heart, and then came the pounding blood pressures as their first kiss seemed to envelop the heat from the setting sun. The whole big world had just caught fire and they were fuel for the flames. How can one expect or know how long it takes for love to rise up in each of us. Is it a year, a month, or sometime just a few moments that takes love to blaze, it’s always different and exciting. Each day during his recovery they spent the entire day with each other reinforcing this Immaculate Conception called love. What were the odds that the richest and poorest persons on the planet would meet in a room together, and fall head over heels for each other? They were now of one head, of one heart, of one soul growing in the Garden of Eden.
After the love was ordained by each of them, they had their honeymoon and he found himself tied as the riches person on earth. Love and kindness can not be underrated. As they began their quest to help others around the globe, other wealthy souls caved in and began joining them in their quest. The elites found that they could help others without diminishing their life style, well they had to give up the extra, extra but who cares it went unnoticed anyway. Soon it almost became a contest of who could help the most people. The end result was astonishing, it turns out it wasn’t technology that would change people. Nope, it turns out it was people that would change people. As the elite’s hearts went out to the poor, it always came back bigger and softer. Before this incredible story was run in all the different newspapers around the world, and on line, it was only a fairytale that something like this could really happen. But once Bill Gates and his wife got involved, a certain stock tycoon joined in. Then a few corporations decided they just were accumulating more wealth than they could even invest or legally control, they decided to join in. All around the world this has become more desirable for the rich than hunting down the best truffles in Europe. Needless to say there are still those who can’t bring themselves to reach into their pockets or across their past beliefs to help others, but someday soon maybe they will. As things become the right thing to do in our society, the more the people that can make the changes happen, end up doing it. Maybe they too will want to join in on the newest movement of the heart. (THE RISING OF THE HUMAN RACE) It took 2000 and 12 years to discover the true use of the heart. I think this will burn hotter than Hell, and the infrared fellow and God may have to postpone the barbeque party indefinitely, also know as infinity. Even though the tree leaves have caught fire, God has agreed to let humans grow this newly acquired desire.
The heart, what can be said of it. What a surprise it holds. Can this story of humans rising take hold? Who knows!