Ellyseus by Absu (PDF)




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THE ELLYSEUS

THE PIGEON.
By Absu

Poems and Philosophy:
True story of a Skull and Bones
Dad was a drunken Prophet
A Boy named Friday
The Dystopia's bright side
Friday's Afternoon
The Tower of the Well
Why I'll burn your cities
The Hand, my only friend, the hand
The Apocalypse will not be televised
Salvador Dali's Eye is the Eye of Providence
To a future Willow /// Sun and Moon
Pussycats haunt my computer though
Artificial Innocence
Eastern Oriental Hotel
The Spider with a woman Face
Abandoned Manor in a Virgin jungle
Peter Pan and the pirated memories
The Golden Goat /// Mexican Jesus
The Anamorphic Architect
The Me from the Future
Black shining house on the Hill
She's Polygone /// Magnetheism
Queen of Spain
Racists go to Heaven (Outlines)
Angels are falling like falling bees
The All-Seeing Minotaure
Religious Nightmare
Welcome to Digital Paradise
The Dream before the one night stand
Godd is Odd /// The Sunlight's Daughter
Blue Pearl in my concubine's Mouth
Into Downtown /// You my Mirror
The Godd without a Face
Post-Modernism is Dead
Death of the Poetess
The Ellyseus Prophecy
Downtown's Apocalypse
Eve of the Emperors' Fall
Postcards from 1984

The Artificial Providence

True Story of a Skull and Bones
A bedroom. A painting on the wall, with a landscape of Italy.
The light twinkles. My eyes blink. My heart beats.
The tv is a hole from which a waterfall falls to the floor.
I am a skeleton on the bed, with some translucent clothes
called skin around my thin muscles and my mostly
useless organs. The outside world's clueless. I like silence.
I watch imaginary faces cry stalactites from the ceiling.
I watch “worries” at the window, crossing the streets.
I watch tv watching me: "Do what I say !"
I approach slowly and look at my slight reflection,
and stupidly laugh at the sight of my face !
I look through the window. The sunset is drooling.
The day is dying. So as a skeleton, I go hang myself
on a clothes hanger in the cupboard.

Dad was a drunken Prophet
My name is Oscar Friday. When I was young, I didn't take drugs.
I studied hard. Born into a mosaic of questions, I studied
so hard, that my brain grew every day a tenth of a millimeter
or two. I discovered treaties and mysteries; the origins of
Light only kept few secrets from me anymore. I understood,
but I was aloof. I didn't go out at all, didn't see my friends for
many years, but I had slowly transformed into gold. One day,
I looked at myself into the mirror, I looked like a philosopher’s
stone. I became my own life-lesson. I was the project of my
own life-vision. I sewed my mouth in a way that I didn't have
to tell the secrets that I had learned. I started to wear a cape,
became a masked hero, called myself “The Shining Example”.

A Boy Named Friday
I feel like a ghost when I walk through a city.
Buildings are making love to the sky, but nobody
talks my language, nobody understands my understandings.
There is an island within me, whilst humans build their
own pillar within them. I have my own ocean of confusions,
but a little green island rules inside me: the gravity of my
preoccupations. There is fruit over there, there is
blue sky everywhere, light is the only inhabitant of my mind.
But on the other side of this vision... is confusion, reality rises
and my two eyes look at the outside world, with no knowledge
of this island growing inside of me, while the oceans await to dry,
before I die and become a ghost in a city of blinds.

The Dystopia's bright side
Nebulas started to take shape. Little objects,
scissors, cups, reading-glasses, swords and
weapons metamorphosed into planets, magma
coagulated into Sun orbs and quickly the whole
universe was illuminated, like if one day the
Illuminati had conquered the Eternal darkness.
Only a plan remained. Everybody who died on
Earth walked now through a world called the Book
of Law. Here everyone alive has a letter or number,
stamped onto their brow. The Lawpolice were
adorning multiplication signs, divisive signs,
every mathematical factor, while administrative
leaders had geometrical shapes onto their forehead.
They've put me into a re-education school of thoughts.
I was put under the supervision of a guardian angel.
He had a square on his forehead. His name was Habbak.
I had to obey to the law, and become the student to
this New World's tragic mechanics. Perhaps Heaven never
really existed, but a heavenly clockwork, where Freethinkers
had all built an inner-temple within them – that maybe yes.
Thoughts shape your mind and the light that enters
your eyes, were shaping itself as new tools to build
new temples and building new Trusts was the biggest tool.
That day I became convinced this place, this world, was
racist. Ideologically built on Light over Darkness.
As I walk through this Dystopia, a giant eye of Providence
was in the sky. This was the Illuminati's planet called the
New Love Order.

Friday's Afternoon
I was erring the streets and this side of the
Metropolis was in the darkness of its past.
Our city was greed-ish, racist and vile.
Everyday queens of bile - were dying.
I became so slim, as thin as a credit card.
I opened my mouth and all the homelessness
invaded my jaws, and penetrated my cavities.
The outside world was too real. Too tidy.
Everyone started to tell their brothers and
sisters, that one man was inviting the poor
and the loveless to build a house into his heart.
And I was called a Saint or an unsane brain.
Exodus started and the universe heard the
sound of trumpets vibrate till its galactic dusts.
And all men and women erected a house
in my beating heart. They built temples
to thank me, I had became the poor's Heaven.
I was an utopia and national
treasure to newspapers,
therefore one night, a witch
metamorphosed me into a
cockroach. Cctv were watching
me erring the streets, the walls,
the dirty buggers' mind. Hell...
7 days later, I saw a butterfly
and came to say hello, but
a foot splashed it into juice,
and the foot tried to splash
me in my turn, splash splash.
I was dead. A homeless man,
half heartless, half insane,
took me for a piece of chocolate
and put me in his mouth and
too slowly digested me into
his belly.

The Tower or the Well
Our world dies. Artificial-paradises rise.
In me there is an incubus. Up corner'd.
“Who rises. Who Falls.” Un-horned.
This incubus is a cube changing
colors, this is what makes me
dream at night, I perceive rays...
Droids. Computers. Cyber realities.
Multi-colors that float into this shape,
liquid images forms. I see visions,
fantasies, naked ladies, predictions.
Rise of the pyramids. Metabols and
Sun rays whole over my brain.
I'm a dreaming coffin. I'm hurt down
here. Next to a million sleeping souls.
A shade with the mask of Salvador
Dali, his welcoming arms in 'cross, he
Raves at me, "The Tower or the Well?".
He asks me to choose between left
or right. A red forest and blue forest
at each side. Multi-colored animals.
Eating flowers. Chinese soldiers
licking icecreams. Waterfalls falling.
Naked blondes tanning under the
City of New York flow-ting above
the clouds.
I hear the wife of the Holly father,
moaning in the distance, She says,
“Play swords with me, boy”. Her
green cats, green puss at hand ;
the Sun, throughout its parables,
looks at me, asks me if I have the
seed in me. I yee, "I have one".
Planets start bubbling all over
my body, I am a loon universe
and the meaning of life is either
“the well or the tower”.
Love thyself, Sons.






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