The mother of Art is inspiration, and the mother of inspiration Memory. May Mother Mnemosyne grace this art, with Graces (Euphrosyne and her sisters) in throng, harmonizing with their nonanic cousins' bright whispers, from Thalia to Melpomene, verse in triplet chords of clarity. Disburse these thoughts, Memory: Array them in kind, that they form vibrant archetypes; and find joy in their sculpture, that I ne'er wander from your exquisite designs, ne'er fonder of silence. Lo, I pray your breath impart divine Truth upon my ecstatic heart.

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To Acropolis on bated broomstick, in memory only, lithe and green Rhys dove low toward the dashed, austere relic, haunted knowing the source of such debris. The barren sight was a chill wind. Instilled in the same bleak breath that it purified, the apparatus, hide and metal, stifled such a jaded breath just as bleakly sighed. 'Grim and pungent lucid Wormwood confers unpalatable truths in man's future. Yet we are but carrion observers, those fostered by The Three Ways' tour, vultures in a wake of naught but the dust of metropolises, wrought null by lust.'

In the dawning of an age, a hard age, the true emergence of mankind's rebirth— a second Prometheus did encage the sacred Pantheonic lightning, worth the dreadful weight of the world and more; and with this force did subsequent scholars give rise to he who the gods would abhor for his effrontery, to harness the stars and make of such great Mystery mundane. Raw civilization sprang forth therein. This one crazed man, driven to profane action, begot the downfall of all men. This Tesla earned the gods' greatest of ire, and all for insolences borne of wire.

For years the Electrifier witnessed a great prosperity sans reprisal; but then, the gods' retribution egressed --LIKE A THUNDERHEAD-- to strike down man's gall with the instantaneous furor of lightningstrikingconflagrated frenzy, turbulent, storming within Fulgent Jove. The Worldmind seared to a severe degree, and rang the heavens, and dashed whole nations to total desperation. Ten years cursed, man denied the gods' forewarned frustrations, and they through invention sought ends perverse t'nih'late distant lands. The world at war found Tesla dead, penniless heretofore

Doth the mind whisper with thought so fierce and brave and true? Its control yields sensations knowing of that which one ought do, absolution Dawn which all reveals, yet dissension rains and nerve steels, reining in glory, succulent success. Alas! True success not yet made real, necessity shall e'er her quest express and empower her charge with healing zest, tempting him with tyrannical power.   His pure ideals she bears upon her breast   tending them dearest so he might tower   o'er nations. Essence and intuition   rule at his side, fate now in fruition.

Strength lies in potential, unleashing all indecision. Within mental turmoil, tribulation and melancholy fall away; and though peace and dogma might coil about the Boughs, e'er susceptible to one's intellectual trepidation, non-commitment abandons all efforts. Revision incites trying starvation; misery renders resolution bent, dissolution of disillusionment.   Practical schemes shred dogmatic intent,   unstable visions balance subsequent   inconsistencies, confide in secrets,   and roughen intention without regrets.

Complexities enshroud bless'd elegance, dancing in eyes cast coyly in passion. Fruition's forebears forever chance great prosperity through such compassion. Balance depress'd doth adjustment instill an insatiable lust which engenders tryst most sublime. Wanton addictions thrill ev'ry sense, blind of hopeless, dashed splendors. Intoxication overcome, joys gush forth. Forever overflow chalices dix.   Inspiration sculpts reality, thus   giving birth to our greatest fantasies.   With rich dowry, emotion marries mind   when all nine muses' whispers intertwine.

ENTHEOGENIC APOTHEOSIS--

accretionary deiformity ineluctably androdioecious; vitreotic consanguinity adumbratively chiaroscuric; adiaphorous catechization devotionally enantiotic; metempsychotic edification dionysiac synaxaria; idiotropic stylophorion tritogeneic telesteria libationary omophorion

You look out of your tower painted white and hear the teeming masses shout your name. Do you regret the wicked price of fame, the beatific gift you lost that night? And do you still believe it is the same— these peacock feathers tinged with darkened flame, a pale imitation of your light?

This sovereignty constructed out of bones, where your unshriven vassalage must dwell— Was this what you desired when you fell? Can you not hear those pitiable moans above the words your legionaries yell? It is the song of pride that burns in hell and echoes off the alabaster stones.