Mazarine End

"Man is something that should be overcome Rebel – this is the nobility of slaves." Seventy-two years The beginning of everything, the leader of fear The marble infused in pain Engraved with countless starved bodies The veins carved in stones Beat at this moment Another sixty years The kindling sparks, the order after catastrophe The pollutants stream in snowy ice Blind the eyes of history The foggy future Migrants of a foreign land A tune rises Unrelated to power or justice The curtain pulls Unrelated to betrayals or righteous Spring wind breezes Unrelated to realities or doctrines Once again glaciaxia rises What is the purpose

"I am destined to be light!" I call out in the storm; The story begins, Uninterruptable by a full stop, The eight-legged stallion, The ten Suns in the sky, Are nothing but footnotes, The freezing night has passed, All rises back to life, Just as how it was expected to be; However-- --However; "Why is the night now with me!" I cry out on the sugarcane field; The sun is above, The crows never stop, The hot dry air, The bare foot burns on the ground; I lick the bitter tear by my lips, I wipe the sand grains by my eyes, On the straw pile, People pray for the night, Along with its arrival.

Run, jump, wander, on the olive mountain. Sea breezes through the horn, the giant beast shrieks, On the olive mountain, broken gravels, rotten cloths, wilted calami. Purple, black, shiny pebbles, Translucent as ice, greasy as butter. Crystals, frosts, microscopic, fungus, Water penetrates deep into the stems and roots. Fluid, atomic, ionised, visible on collision, Re-enter, re-deepen, re-merge, Gaze into the indivisible media, Is that, The essence of reality, Or pixelated serration.

Don't you know? I am looking for Zarathustra.