"What are you doing to me?" Its somehow weird to be under the sedation and threat of punishment for the ride of Charon into Tartarus hell rolled the economics of your pocket unwillingly, the more you payed him for the rider the faster he moved hooking down into the muddy floor with his high pole through the river, the currency whom's smokes destroyed the pleasant gardens near the river of fire, constantly. It seem as as the sun devouring the heavens no-stop, let me make this one up for you nor cast my view into futurity this bright burning whom ships the angry deep into chaos assaults anyone brooding as judges won't exist passing the plain, the chairman of the sessions was far passed too long, but there are reports who have uttered the Damn dubious realms forecasting a straight path into hell.
"We are moving a private Hell" He murmured deeply in serendipity, he might also have been a creator, the more he pushed his ship the more artistic he became with his stick. "Are we going to experience a new revelation" At the gates the furies agitated their sinners dashing them into shivers devouring a sleeping humanity prospect of trial and imprisonment? "What is this? Please!" Held my chest with despair and exhalation, he demanded entrance towards the Ministers of Hell. "Charon? We are going to get burned, hello?" Psychical horror escaping from the arrows of darkness the last memory If one could recall for whom triumphs over temper with a demolishing after sense and still he carries on, "Are you ever gonna have it completed?"
He parked his boat, the ferryman stepped out stamping his feet slowly, his body might at first give a phantasmagorical flow but his power of relativity is quite substantial in movement,, with a sketchy engraving eye look your never forget, it pushed you backwards with reverence to let him pass without questioning, to whomever dared to see underneath his hoody hanging to the sides of his skull with old broken stitches to a dirty cloak near to putrefaction the falling edges fume out with falling ashes every time he moves, pointing repeatedly into nothingness.
The very Hades for all the coins he collect altogether grants him power as his receptive left hand for the passages stimulate the ecosystem and no doubt including the demons pay reverence to him, the furies protect him with guardian eyes more than the angels indeed for their duties they protect for this souls to return every cycle to the purgatory. Not many are. Hell is spiritually adjoined to the corrupt pests to pay a periodical visit, also me.
"I beg your remarks? You got me by surprise, me a sinner?" Pulled up my skirts to stabilise a feet behind as he held my hand, nod with disappointment and politeness pressing my lips tight to not shout it all out, a vagrant rage stuck's in like a washing machine spinning wildly.
I'm a little tired to be describing the hells, this time it seems as a market place, "Tantalazius!!!" Waved my hand to the God with assisting manner to his field, he is so vulnerable when it comes to giving it, how generous of his, but if he gave it fully, hum... what a tradesman, how well conducted perhaps an emulation of a near death to have him wholly but what a sinner doesn't fall into this Godly seducer, the market is packed with sinners! This characters unravel and display themselves without the chastening of his genius to brake through, learn his powerful lesson. "Please... I could do it all over again" Walking pass an intellectual vision ventured as one of the souls shouted in the platform, this marble catapult, a podium castigated himself not giving it to the God, and shouting repeated while slashing its back in the nude, females and males, madden carelessly or too caring with blank eyes, suffering by compulsions. "I'm me! I'm me I wont give it, is me!" Oh my dear, there is a line of souls waiting to step up for their turn to endure resistance at the beginning they looked kind of sexy with the whip, but as the blood drips and the piercing slashes transported them into an ultimate ecstasies of fever to the self, it seem quite grotesque and pleasurable of a masochist to continue the hits. Huuhhhh, "Pater Dominus forgive my thoughts" The sweat ultimately obvious to the viewer. "What can we do? I can go up in the pedestal if you wan't but what I never stop? Would you wait for me to come?" Closed my eyes for the picture no matter the centuries charges the service of Hell to other sinners who like to watch and laugh for their turn, specially for those who God Mode.
The constant battle for supremacy is not a field of battle but of auto assassination as you enter deeper in the rings, "Excuse my enthusiasm, even in my enjoyed youth or rather affinity for madness find it always extraordinary, the private Hell?" Nine hundred steps to walk onto the hall of shame for the financial demands of the grandiosely corrupted, door shutters and walls or Iron Hades who are impenetrable for any soul to escape or ever be heard in Myth.
The spiritual intensity reawakened anyones artistic vision as a primal force, a path towards towards the Palladium, the first sight of that tomb which I came to abhor. "You broad me to Pallas, my ex husband" Paused confessing "The benefactor to my hatred" Employed soft tints of dark tears coming straight up from the acids of my stomach into the corner of my eyes, demons danced around ever happily to see my solemn bitterness that which I guarded with a private pride for what woman has no honour of her marriage, who does not hold the pain as a result of an art who made you belong till raw hatefulness you regard the last broken bits with treasure. Asserted unnecessarily for what will it help? "There is no need to bring me here, that respect can't never be changed, he was the Iron Dildo in my hand, what I called mine! The God of Craft who could transformed into anyone to manipulate any pussies and arseholes, the pumping machine who made this river flow, he became a temple then a Phallic Tower, now a Palladium" Experience an occult imagination whose privacy is mine and only mine. "Why have you broad me here CHARON?" My eyes darted with venom in the air, instantly he should return before I convert into the artisan of rage, my black wings almost in the form of a canopy, enraged to such sizes that it would precisely shadow the tombs from its distance, there is no fear but fury, feathers blowed away by a hot breeze glimmering a fever who reflects glimpses of light from the sweat of this river nymph. "I will always love you, even if you can't get out of the pit of Hell in this Palladium, my hatred is powerful enough to inspire a sexual perversion for what you are missing, so be it!" Wings agitated casting off a period of influence whom has no judgement really, but hate, hate it self a binding Oath. "Hate me Pallas, hate me as much you wish! Empower me by Hatred" I could wait a cycle of eternity alone to learn how to show miracle waters without the past aversions. Turned my self twirling with both hands above my breast. Wings soften in the air coming back for human imagination "I'm no Goddess of Hatefulness all alone! I'm every woman who converts from p**sy to cunt! With or without you the waters of creation are holly to move on." Well he knew the water nymphs that have sent him, the warrior woman and the what not in the form of woman. Recognised how dry one can be to ever trust so much craft. Entitled in the sculpture Saint Francis and Jesus prophet in the bath to restructure the church, but that church are this waters and holly spirit. Before the Palladium could not deny the God of War Craft is to return one day. Today peace reigns in abundance as lost particles on the night gathering, assembling to the experience of positive thinking and why not if this war is to be a war of colour.
"Take me home to rest, please." Requested to the eternal drive and the lineaments of the spirit who gathers constantly here and there upside down and all around in the collective being, the ferryman is the only one who has the power to drive this river, to form me. "Take me to Rio please, our son has changed his name" He is sweeter than an alternative drug and a gentleman to all species, he carries the waters of hell and heaven in one to all those who run the luxury in meeting him, he is not Evil but exquisite with generous touch converting poetry with humour, his upper waters are most of a vapour, a moisture who palpitates in the air, "He deserves sponsorship from the highest cast, not from Hades, but Zeus for the new vessel of thinking he has to offer"
(So tired from work in the return home)