the flood

Take in the majesty of the vast and omi­nous moun­tains
In­dulge in our scarce con­scious de­plored rainy reigns
Where the flu­ids of our feel­ings reign supreme­ly alone
To trag­i­cal­ly heav­en thoughts as an­gels for­ev­er lost and deeply lorn
As tides against the breach­es of a coast line of big boul­ders
pres­sures and col­lid­ing vast oceans with the weight on our shoul­ders
Our anx­i­eties which brings sweet trea­sure of lone­li­ness and sen­su­ous soli­tude
A pen­chant ven­om bright nec­tar the oceans and moun­tains so poi­so­nous fruit
from the plains where we are lost, to the ocean and moun­tain our pas­sion most
where none dare tread from so­ci­ety fu­til­i­ty
soothed they are, and an­guish we have left
of our beau­ties reign supreme now bereft
the arts may rise no more, grief in our heart to its core
from this we lay at the shore, frailty un­der all this de­plore
A frail love for a gold­en fe­male body, stand­ing in all our sweet crav­ings lob­by
gen­tle we adore, for sins sub­tle no more
sen­su­ous crimes in lakes on the plains stand­ing still
filled to the rim as we tri­umph and win
but our delu­sions our dreams and our minds swelling with angers
a world of ti­ta­ni­um hate where erotics only lingers
per­vert­ed nu­ances on a mod­ern lib­er­ty
how sad this is what it means to be free.

You can an­a­lyze your flu­ids and in­vent all kinds of bull­shit over it. You can also keep liv­ing. If that is called naivety so be it. I’ll re­draw eas­i­ly and glady to a world where a sci­en­tif­ic meme nev­er ex­ist­ed. I de­nounce it and plunge in a bar­rel of straw­ber­ry wines. Get drunk on the richess. feast on cyn­i­cal de­lights. That to you cyn­i­cal makes drought, and to me cyn­i­cal makes my bel­ly swell with pure nec­tar. A dif­fer­ent re­al­i­ty, a dif­fer­ent men­tal state, a dif­fer­ent re­li­gion, dif­fer­ent rhetorics, I do not look into the pore or the vagi­na, i’m not a mi­cro­bi­ol­o­gist nor a gy­ne­col­o­gist. Nor your per­spec­tives need to be mine. If it’s a view. I have my view. I don’t need yours. In flee­ing, there is so much be­ing.
 
 

—aey­lyeaelle ell­he de el­len­deh

Flom­mist Aey­lyeaelle Ell­he De El­len­deh is a ne­oro­man­tic and neosym­bol­ist artist and philoso­pher, stud­ied sculpt­ing at The Roy­al Acad­e­my of Dec­o­ra­tive Arts of Antwerp Bel­gium, He de­cried ac­tu­al­ly hav­ing fall­en in love stand­ing be­fore the Psy­che of Leighton in Lon­don, hav­ing cried over the Sleep­ing Beau­ty by Suss­mann hell­born and hav­ing spir­i­tu­al re­li­gious af­fec­tions for the Sphinc Mys­terieux by Charles van der Stap­pen. Dec­o­ra­tive sculp­tor and Au­thor of a neosym­bol­ist mythol­o­gy on Kant­ian per­cep­tion, on the imag­i­na­tion, in­spi­ra­tion, art, deca­dence, es­thet­ics and pas­sion, hate, mis­an­thropy main­ly. Heav­i­ly in­flu­enced by Huys­mans A re­bours and Schopen­hauers refuge in art as Sades will to free erotics. He in­vent­ed the Eif­fel tow­er sev­er­al times the size of the cur­rent one in paris to launch trains into space in an art nou­veau way. He in­vent­ed can­dles on re­mote con­trol. He in­vent­ed a game of chess with over 200 pieces per play­er and in an en­tire­ly clas­si­cal and de­scent set­up. With a line of Bish­ops, an Army, an­gels, boul­ders, with tow­ers that need to be de­fend­ed for­ward to launch the boul­ders, with a court, and a high­er court with Elvin, Elvin King, Em­per­or, Em­press and vam­pire of melan­choly and a vam­pire le­gion. He is a self de­clared mad­man and of­fi­cial­ly de­clared in­sane by the state of Bel­gium deu to his ro­man­tic up­risals. De­sign­er and ar­chi­tect of the fu­ture city of Anae­htheana, which is best de­scribed as the most beau­ti­ful and lux­u­ri­ous place ever de­vised, with the con­crete bridges done again in mar­ble, a wild zoo where the high­way is now. And a for­ti­fied vat­i­can in­spired wall for a le­gion of Joans of Arc he is try­ing to call. Among that, he is call­ing upon all ar­che­types cur­rent­ly in cos­play goth­ic and mu­sic to build, among oth­er things, a Vam­pire Lane with goth­ic schools, goth­ic mu­se­ums and goth­ic lounges and palaces. And an Angh an­gel fortress. It is his one and only and fi­nal mis­sion to re­place all com­mer­cial bill­boards with ro­man­tic and aca­d­e­m­ic paint­ings. Etc … Copy­right © 2019 Aey­lyeaelle Ell­he De El­len­deh.‬

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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