Saturday, February 03, 2007

The Devil’s Ominous Haiku’s
(Taken from his parlor and sent directly to you)

Peril on the Wind

Alas! ‘What cry was that?’
Peril on the wind!
Death from infinity…!

#1665 2-2-2007

Ringing from Hell

I sink, ‘Thou seized me!’
I hear, “Ringing, ringing!”
I see, the bells of Hell:”

#1666 2-3-2007

Devil’s Road

I see, only Iris’
I hear, only echoes
The road is so desolate!

#1667 2-2-2007

Beautiful Devil

The heart with a flame
Can melt the heart of ice and snow
Ah! Beautiful devil.


Noontime in Hell

Half priest, half Mantic ore
Hell weeps and smiles
‘Tis, ‘Day of he Beast;

“What is past the mountains?”
“Be patient, imp…” (a voice says)


Hell’s Mantic ore (s)

“Where is my father’s home?”
“A quarter mile, from here, —
Come, if you are hungry…

We shall eat him, whole and soul:
Watch how things are done, down here”


Comments: If I ask myself the question “Is there really such a creature, or being as the devil?” and if I say “no,” then I end up in a debate with myself over: was evolution involved in the process of creation? And is the doctrine of the trinity implied in the Genesis account of creation (being a Christian)? and were there folks before Adam and Eve? and was there such a thing as the Great Flood? and are the “sons of God” in Genesis 6, angelic beings? and on and on I go. I think for me it is better to believe, there is a devil, it seems to flow better.

Friday, November 10, 2006

The Making of: “The Tales of Poseidonia,”
(or the ‘Port of Poseidonia,’ Atlantis’ Demise)

I want to tell you about the gradual way I made: “The Tales of Poseidonia.” I made it gradually and it took me two years and four months to make it, but that is not what I mean by gradual. What I mean by gradual is the way the preparation was made inside of me, and how it developed into what you have read, may read, or might not read, but hear about, but what I wrote to be read. I will tell it, but perhaps it will sound too chronological, it is not meant to be, because for the most part it is relatively new. It was started in mid July, of 2004, and the last words written November 9, 2006 (now of course, revised).
To begin with, I must say I’ve learned how to listen, as well as speak, and I have of course much to say, as every writer should have, or why read, write, listen and talk. And so I have read much on Atlantis, the demons, the underworld, the Manticore, giants (even went to Malta to talk to the inhabitants about such legends)) and I myself have had some experience in this dark shadow)) and the Tiamat, all characters in the book: The Tales of Poseidonia. How else could I have known about everything I’ve written in the novel? (This is not an advertisement for the book; it is a lecture, for the most part, on the book, perhaps even a judgment to its value and credibility.) In other words, this is how I wrote the book, or wrote this soon to be book (2007).
I must admit, I always seem to be looking, listening, watching, but that is a way of learning for me, that is if one has the profound need to learn it can be a good way to go about it: I do with everyone around me, and everything around you if you are with me. And I begin this project as soon as I get up out of bed, every day of my life, to learn what I can put into my head, stories. For the most part, that is how I feel about it.
Those of you who have read a few of the parts of “The Tales of Poseidonia,” and thus far, no one has read the revised edition fully, nor has anyone read all twenty-one episodes (or parts), because three were lost, and just rewritten, and there has been one new one added, and only the first eight ever published in magazines; so those of you whom have read the few that have been available certainly understand what I am talking about.
When I was young, prior to my college days, and world travels, and military days, and the war in Vietnam that I was in, before all this, I had a desire for fantasy, mixed with reality—H.P. Lovecraft was quite good at that (he added a lot of horror though, which I am not too fond of), as were others. With fantasy though comes actual convictions, things you think can really be, ideas, and so in those early days I was deeply convinced some of my fantasies on things were something more than pretend. And at times my mind was tremendously occupied with finding out what was behind or inside of these legends, and tales, and just were the truth line was. I read all twenty six volumes of my encyclopedias three times and in one period (18-months) read 400-books on they mysteries of the world, to include most religions, and demonology, and Christology, and theology, and all the zoologies, and ologies I could think of.
At any rate this is the way it comes to my mind, when I look back, and things perhaps haven’t changed all that much, except, now I’m putting them into stories. With all this in mind, during my college days, I studied psychology, and one of the areas I worked in was dual disorders, and behavior development (and behavior modification; along with drugs and substance abuse). I found I was more interested in their character, and the nature of things, and how one changes his behavior, which of course is by changing his reasoning, and can it be changed? How gullible people can be by producing emotions with simple speaking and gestures. And I even studied higher theology in my graduate work (eschatology), went to Haiti to see the voodoo and the Christians mingle together. All this of course plays a roll in the stories, or episodes I am talking about, in the making of “The Tales of Poseidonia,” it is why I chose this story among all the others to use as an example, bottom line must be somewhere around the word “nature.” This is not an experiment, it is expressed results in creating a book, experiences, activity, interesting things, life, it all goes tremendously onto the paper, in black ink. Hence, the reader comes to feel the mixture of things, and we all have mixtures, different in each person, depending on our history. And in most cases, most of our histories are long ones, and in creating this story where Ais the Queen of Atlantis shows up in the, I think third chapter, she is young, and you follow her all the way to the end. And the King of Atlantis, which starts from the first chapter, stops about three chapters short of the final chapter, and Ais carries it on. So we see history here, slowly.
So here was a quick glance at how I made the story, I hope it helps you.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

The Great Tower at Kura: An Old, Old Man [A Poem] Part I

The Great Tower at Kura
[4th Millennium BC]

At the start of the 4th-millennium BC (350-years before the Great Flood took place, which ended all civilizations on the face of the earth) gave rise to Slaug (a region of land, territory), an empire within civilization (a city-state of sorts); --of which, the human race was subject to an international court, that incorporated a triangle of cultures, empires, societies, and nations across all the connecting continents of the world, of which all were connected at this particular time together. They—meaning all lands on earth—was the composition, one opus for the entire globe, sustained from one region in the Atlantic, wherein, the strait nearby, which lead into the Mediterranean, would be know as the Pillars of Hercules; yet at that time there was no connecting of the Atlantic to the Mediterranean Sea above land.

There were no external moral laws either, against any behavior during this era of civilizations around the globe. Yes, people were different, and humility was not a virtue; the laws within the heart that told one it was wrong, were dead, like bones left to dry in a corpse. What might be considered unmoral actions, were all relative.

Economies were often—which was the norm—based on slavery for its labor and other desirable services. There was no discrimination, all were equal in the minds of the slave owners, masters—bitter-sweet you might say—slaves being: brown, white, black, yellow, red skin, the world over, and the government favored no one, and savagely dealt with each and everyone the same, as if to say, human life was a commodity at best; to the earths total, and complete sum, all combined civilizations were part of the circle.

As one was reared to think back in these days: death was simply a recycling of that commodity to be found in most every corner of the world; consequently, free labor in a city-state was a right, which it was given by the great democracy that had its world command center in the Atlantic, by a mysterious nation, a powerful and ingenious people, a subgroup from a higher order that no one dared to defy; democracy bent on, and within the world that did not subject the Atlantic Power Region [APR], to it. The Slaug’s had more slaves possibly than any other civilization on earth at this time; that is, this time I am writing about, the time when this story really did take place, according to my dream-vision. Who am I [if you are asking], I’m the dream, my name is Shark, and I have left these hidden secrets within a mound on an island for another time, for people to find and explore my writings, if you have found these writings, and this story, than you have searched or someone has what is called ‘Sacred Geometry,’ and so be it; for I have searched high and low in all the lands of the world to bring alive mysteries that have been hidden, and this is one.

—Religious dissenters [nonconformist] were killed, butchered alive in front of citizens; I did say democracy was in this land—did I not—but open was its boarders to debauchery and the Nation of the Atlantic held the secrets of the necromantic-culture, and that is what the people wanted; buried alive in front of whoever wished to watch, and be it a testament to those who wished to defy the democracy—of which inhuman crudity of the era was, or better put, seemed to be, in human crudity, being normal; it is really only this day and age that man has stepped forward to wave the flag of moral rights and responsibilities, yet hidden beyond all the dictators of the world of today, is exactly what was back in those far off days, evil-hidden—black enchantment—this was the rule, the norm.

Again I must say, and one should remember, it was the model, natural for people to act this way, or was it? Hundreds were put into huge burials [dugout-graves] holes in the ground: perhaps four-hundred could be thrown or tossed, cast in like diseased cattle into these grave pits (I have seen this with my own eyes in my vision). The liar was crucified upside down, he was considered a man with his insides out, and had no skeleton, thus, he was de-boned like a fish soon after, and left to rot outside the cities with the hyenas.

When sentiment: attitude, or opinions crept out, and were witnessed as to anything against the laws and ideals of the Atlantic-Governing Region, it was put out by the abolitionist, then and only then. This was the group that bore the Eagle Wings (yes this group was the Hidden Red Guards, the SS Nazis of our day; the CIA, or FBI, or KGB of the day); the Abolitionist of Kura, that worked for the Atlanta Group, were all of these subgroups and more. The emblem that went above their chest, or copper armbands, or brass ring, was the same emblem many other nations in future time would acquired. For example, the wings would go onto the Egyptian culture as well as the Persians to follower and the Roman’s would adopt the eagle wings; and yet far off in the future, the Nazi’s. And in the longer version of humanity yet to be born, the eagle wings would be adapted by North America to follow, the United States, for some odd reason this emblem would never rest for 10,000-years; never relax, never to find a inactive place for very long, remaining open to the conquers of the world, or so it seemed; yes, this was also used by this powerful nation to clench world power, this Atlanta Group—saying their government was for the people by the people—hence, democracy was born, but not signifying exactly what people wanted per se (for they were in a way brain washed), and even though it was not considered as great of an achievement as in today’s standards, it was significant nonetheless; and so it was.

The Abolitionist of Kura (within the city’s governing element), who were the enforcers, would chase down the traders—traders that were considered against the people of course, --the people of the Atlantic Group, so they’d say; the only favoritism was to their own kind was The Atlantic Group—which ruled the world bi-proxy, and at bay. In this city, the city really named Kura, but yet was known as, “The City of the Great Tower,” which was on the edge of the Black Sea, during its existence there was no Black Sea per se—at this time, it would come after the Great Flood—yes I repeat, it did not exit yet, it rather was created, created after the great upheaval of the earth. It was a desert now, a plateau kingdom that rested on the deserts edge, indented with terrain that would someday make a great sea; that said, after the continents would be split in-two (un-connecting the land masses) the crust of the earth would twist with birth pains, turning everything upside down during this Great Flood to be, of this era yet to come. But I’m ahead of my dream——Kura, as was this powerful and mighty economic city-state called, gained the name of: “The Great City Tower,” is where I wish to remain.

As I was about to say, in the middle of the city of Kura, in its very center, its nerve center, otherwise known as its ‘navel,’ stood a two-thousand foot tower, two-thousand feet high into the dusty-blue ink like atmosphere. Its circumference huge also was deep rooted, that is to say, planted, and pushed deep into the crust of the earth to secure it for five-thousand years. It was a marvel of might to an on looking world by its visitors and tourist; but the might came from the Atlantic again, like most things of extraordinary feats, for they did the planting, and I shall get to that momentarily.

Like a peg, a fence peg, it was as it was: unfathomable, much entrenched was this mighty tower, this landmark of all landmarks into layers and layers of earth; taller than the pyramids of Egypt, stronger than the stonewalls of Troy, and more durable than Stonehenge; and older than the Sphinx. Who could boast a mightier beacon such as this [?] Not even Gilgamish and his mighty Uruk. Yet this symbol was not of hope or for one to look forward to, on behalf of mankind, rather the opposite, it was an encouragement to be subdued by the Atlantic group.

Within this city-fortress that spread out like the sun’s beams from the implanted tower, where 230,000-city inhabitants lived, of which 25,000 were-slaves who lived and ate and gossiped and tolerated the rules from the heap that ruled from the Atlantic region, that is, employed slaves with no wages other than time to spend until they earned their freedom, as a result, joining the democracy, the democracy that said they had to be in a slave-status, in all respects, this made the city’s populace somewhere around or close to: 255,000 at this point and time. All the people, as if it was a draft, knew they had to serve two years in slavery upon their sixteenth-birthday. And if not, how could an economy grow prosperous—it was beyond their comprehension, it was an unanswerable question, and pleasing to the Atlantic Group to leave it that way, wherein they had installed this reasoning for many years. It was something never brought up, after its implantation into civilization. The only way to get out of it was to buy your way out before you got in. And should you commit any infractions during your servitude, your time could be extended. The government could use your time and services, or you could be auctioned off by the government to the populist for commodities needed (Note: it is not much different in many ways as being a slave to credit cards of the 21st century I do believe; and trying to pay for credit given in advance, thus one sells his body and soul).

In essence, you did as you were told under this democratic-bondage: for the people by the people, so it was said, but what was meant was free labor for economic purposes, instead of an army that would spoil and use up all ones resources by free labor again to the government, therefore it was in a way, better for the populace, and for the commanding army of some two thousand miles away. In addition, there was open, or free sex if the master so desired it from his or her slave, be it with man or woman, or both?

Look for 'Part Two,' and now here is the poem:

An Old, Old Man
[Dedicated to Papa Augusto]

His words are in shackles,
His eyes are dim,
Not a word, says he—
But they snap at him…
The ultimate love:
Is his children and hope
He kneels now and prays
And bows to his God!

Exposed to the demons
That circles the air
He sits and he thinks:
“How much can I bear?”

He’s an old, old man
—his days are but few
He sits and he thinks:
“How much time can I stew?”

#608 [3/31/05]

Poet and Author: Dennis L. Siluk, website:
The Great Tower at Kura Part II

No God

There was, as you may have already come to this conclusion, no god—that’s right—there was no God to speak of in this all-inclusive world order. The term for God, or deity, was never used, not prior to the great flood at least, not by the governing group from the Atlantic, not out-loud in Kura for the most part. If there was a supernatural being, very little was known of him, and where he was? If there was a secret society, it was taken out of the textbook that was found, that I Shark found, in the hollow of the Shark Mound. No one saw him [Him: being God]: and if they prayed to him, so be it, He evidently didn’t listen, and if He did, no one told the neighbors—no one knew what was on his mind, this God that people sometimes said never existed, if anything was on their minds for the salvation of the world it was the Atlantic Group whom wanted to be worshiped for the most part. There were rumors of course, of a God long ago, but then, there are always such things, is that not so: it was how they thought.

And so, there was not a God or a devil or for that matter, politicians, not even a military—as I have already mentioned, as one might expect a city-state to have; yet, there were what was called Watcher’s, or Regulator’s whom would bring you in front of an elected judge—that being, the Abolitionist of Kura would do this, but only if the crime was against the Atlantic Group, which was not excusable—for death lingered shortly after ones crime, and that was normally the judgment, no one fed a criminal either, it was not economically worthy to have done such a pathless feat: feed the enemy with your hard earned money, gold and pensions, for what, to have them rob or abuse the law again, it was better to rid society of the mess and work with the productive; if not needed for strenuous labor that is, in gold mines or in other such places.

And to be quite frank, very few got this privilege, and if they did work, they worked free the rest of their lives, if somehow allowed them to earn money along the way they could pay back their freedom if the slave owner was willing. This was all of course in agreement with the democracy. If it was against the city-state, the judge could judge it. Or the king of the province, or city-state for that matter: that is, they could hear it, and judge it. If the crime was against the Atlantic Group, s/he died and that was it (there was no favorites).

The ruling authorities lived on a mountain called Mt. Hermon, there were two hundred of them, and some of their offspring, sons and daughters lived on this big island continent in the Atlantic we have been looking at, ruled from this area, mostly by way of their spiritual fathers. They were said to be 2/3’s godlike and one third human, that is, the half-breeds on the island in the Atlantic. The two-hundred on Mt. Hermon were castaways, angelic renegades, with superhuman powers, and looked most angelic indeed, again to the inhabitants, godlike. This island, who ruled the world, by proxy, was by, or near what is known today know as the Azores.

By some kind of electrical transmutation that connected the pyramids to the towers on this Island in the Atlantic, communication was transferred from Mt. Hermon to the leaders of the Atlantic Group. In a like manner, it was transferred to the Great Tower, where a high-priest, whom had a long, very long skull, like those from the Atlantic-Island, would receive these messages, and bring the demands to the king, and his Security Counsel, and from there to the people, for the people. The king was elected by the Atlantic-Island, and usually was one of the humans, from—lets say—a city-state, in most cases from the Great Tower area; --yet not always, and the city’s Security Counsel, being of the inhabitants, had the most slaves of them all; there were fifteen members to rule this city-body.


Narn was but a child when he witnessed the Great Tower being build, and placed within his camp, for at that time it was not a city, rather a military camp, this was of course, before they had done-away with the military. And the Tower would do just that. The Tower was brought forward by these giants of sorts, sons of the supernatural beings on Mt. Hermon, and there they worked and were fed by the surrounding inhabitants. Fed sows and cows and every living beast and thing available until the city government of the Great Tower, of which now was being put into place was built.

The giants of the day had at times become so hungry they ate the humans whom could not bring them food quick enough. Some were so huge—they reached as high as six-hundred feet; others, on the lower side of the measuring scale, were between: thirteen to seventeen feet tall. All the huge ones would die in the battles that were yet to come (in the near future), their future to be, and prior to the great flood also, just ahead of them; they would battle against one another, killing all but the smaller giants. They, the giants were all evil-spirited.

Whatever the great structure was made of it would not chip, nor was it capable of rusting or becoming salt eaten from the great sea that lay beyond their reach: yet received the winds of salt from them: which would fill their gully, to become one day the Black Sea.

And so this once military site became a city in the makings.

Birth of a City

As time went on, and the city grew, Narn grew old, not necessary weak, or feeble, but like all on earth—like all mortals by and by we grow old with years, but not old by how man would consider him in today’s society, oh no, he was in the winter of his life, but it was only the beginning of winter for him; he was now 175-years old (for some odd reason the genetic structure of humankind ((back then)) did not cascade as it does nowadays). Age was relevant, that is to say, for the times it was common; possible 350-years could be a nice age to die at, or even longer. It would not be for a time yet when this no-God world would have a big-God change, and the rules also, for age would be lowered to one-hundred and twenty-years, maximum for life expediency, and that would hinge on good behavior, from the no-God residue.

Narn, had inherited from his father the only, and I say only in the highest regards, the only house that was allowed to be attached onto the Great Tower. None other, no other permanent fixture was ever connected to the Tower, only this one room shack of a house, made of brick and cedarwood. It measured two-hundred square feet, small in every respect. His father had built the house more as a tool shed, and was allowed to use it while helping with the design of the Great Tower, and the measuring that was needed during its construction, and planning stages. So respected was he, and he had done such a good job with the Atlantic-Group, and the giants even took favor to him, so respected was he, that the leaders of the two-hundred, of which there were fifteen-such leaders in all, all agreed it should remain as it was, the tiny house, possibly a touch of respect to show the city they had a heart, or possibly they wanted to appease the old man for he was influential. And no one dared violate this, not even after the two-hundred whom were destroyed by the no-God, the God the two-hundred said never existed, as they had proclaimed to the people they ruled over. This God that was no God, had an archangel, Ure’al who came down and buried alive the leaders of the two-hundred in the sands of the desert by Mt. Hermon, and for the rest, they were chained under rocks, and within the vaults of the earth. But for some unusual reason, the Atlantic civilization was left alone; although 50% of their power and influence was buried with their forefathers. And this in itself would prove to spark and trigger wars on the Pacific side of the great waters of the world, as well as in the Mediterranean, the Great Sea, along with many city-states, consequently the age of terror and war had started—it had arrived as all living humans knew someday it would. But nonetheless, a city was born.

And as the city grew, neighbors from all around came to see the Great Tower of Kura, and the little house that was attached to the Tower, and as time went on farther down memory’s path, and closer to the time of the Great Flood to be, people came from the all over the known world, from all walks of life, and from the other side of the world to see this global monument—this feat of feats, the cone-heads, or Atlantic-warriors, and priests, with the long skulls, and red hair, came also to worship at the Tower their fathers had left behind. The Long-fingers from the Pacific who had built 90-ton stone monuments of themselves came and moved them by levitation; and the people from the North came: everywhere, everyone came to see this world pilgrimage site.

At the same time the countryside was becoming armed, and more dangerous, and people even tried to take pieces of the house for souvenirs; until the king placed guards watching the visiting groups, individuals, as they came to see this great monument to a bygone era. As this all took root, and trade started to become a zigzagging ordeal, and no one keeping their contracts with one another, frustration grew, it became a world off its rotating axis, it was tilted now, and the Atlantic Group did nothing. No investments were being made, no institutions were being built. No mutilator structure was now in place for peace (where at one time civilization was a circle, there was no beginning or end all was joined together and if there was a seam, no one knew where). A world upside down, without an earthquake, that is how it was developing; it was a time of great squabbles, when generals dethroned kings, and became kings themselves, and the Atlantic authority could do little, but watch. It would seem man was the only creature that could light the world, or darken it, the only creature that could light a fire, was now dissolving to mud. Yet no one dared challenge the supernatural island in the Atlantic, the five members of the Permanent Security Counsel, where were all Atlanteon in nature, these five members were part of the fifteen member group. It had that privilege—of permanency, and that alone it would seem would destroy the world.

The Great Upheaval

And then came the great upheaval, and everyone somehow was looking for the no-God, they never knew, the one they pushed aside, the one they now said: “Yes, I did hear of Him.” The one they were forbidden to talk about, they all knew him now, they must have, they were praying to Him, for death was in the air, the scent of death reeked over the lands like a decaying cloud (from the cedar forests of Lebanon and Syria, to the land of the Nile and the cities of Uruk and Ur, and Troy; and the lands of Attica and Thessaly, Cyprus and Babylon, Susa and over the great rivers of the Euphrates and the Tigris, all of Elam). Some were praying to the Tower, others were raping and killing at will, as if the world was coming to an end, and doing what they always wanted to, but in fear of reprisal, held off. The rain pored, and the animals, the saber-tooth cats, and dogs and all wild creatures started to take over the earth as the waters from the heavens and from the surface poured. And the continents broke, and the North and South Pole’s were put into place, and Greenland was formed, thus

stopping the once warm airs of Europe to settle on the North American side of the world, so came the Arctic, which never existed before; all such things were never before. And as the world started to become torn apart, the Black Sea came into existence, and The Great Tower, the indestructible Tower was buried, buried by the no—God, buried in the sands of time—dragged into nothingness, hidden for all time in the Great Sea, the newly created Black Sea where it remains today—to this very day. Some say ships have seen it, and sank after hitting its top, or sides; not knowing what to make of it; yet, not many, if any have acknowledged it, where it is, not sure why, possibly because it was the ruminants of a global takeover by a supernatural race, a race no one wants to acknowledge existed. And so it remains as it is, out of sight out of mind, and mostly out of mind. Should it resurrect, so will this tale.

Note: A dream of sorts

Author and Poet: Dennis L. Siluk
Kura: Part III The Abyss of the Black Sea

[December 2005] Seven thousand feet, into the abyss of the Black Sea, where a hand full of shipwrecks, dating back to 3900 BC, about one hundred years after the destruction of the Great Tower at Kura, still remained, is where I’m bringing you; where some great flood took place. Below the current water line of the great sea, a waterline, eons old, John Michael Walsh, archeologist, from his mini submarine investigated this suspicious abyss.

‘What happened to these ships,’ he asked himself, which he just discovered, discovered and pondered on?

It was but a few months earlier, along this area he found branches, wood and rubbish for the most part (so he informed me), along with polished stones, yes there was a civilization here long ago he concluded, along the shores of this great sea; yes there was a war in the middle of this sea perhaps, he also told himself: the ships were there. And yes there was a flood, for the waterline was there. And here he was in the deep, the very heart of the sea, where he found ships, dark as it was, he had a beam of light from his submarine, thus, he saw all he needed to see; signs of carved tools were in sight; planks and ceramic amphorae, jars, ancient jars and wines.

He knew archaeologists have long been interested in the Black Sea, but he was the discoverer of these ancient ships, he also knew the story, the legend I should say: of the Great Tower at Kura. Perhaps these were merchant ships being escorted by a war ship, so it looked to him. He took some video images of the geographical area. Pondered on his thoughts for a while, stared into the blackness around the ships, the ancient floor of the sea.

As he looked about, he saw parts of the Great Tower to his astonishment; thus, the legend was true. But how was this indestructible tower destroyed. What could have happened? And so he moved about in the water. He discovered nickel, and iron, large and small amounts, all about the area; tantalizing evidence of an extraterrestrial cause, or roots of this mystery, or perhaps it was an earthquake, but he abruptly shifted his thoughts back to where they were, even so, even if the earthquake did take place, how was it triggered, it eliminated 90% of everything, or at least everything in this region of the world: it must have. This asteroid or comet that hit, most likely an asteroid he concluded: was, or had the impact of this is 100,000-times greater that of the strongest earthquake known. “Yes, yes,” he said, ‘…but was it this that brought the Tower down, brought the sea to its present structure, and brought the ships to its depths of: 7000-feet?

He had known of asteroids striking in Mexico, the Yucatan area, but that was millions of years ago, that ended the dinosaur age, but 7000-years ago, it was monumental stimuli for him. He was now in a daze, in a frenzy of hysteria, he couldn’t believe all his thoughts, his new ideas, his new discover. He would tell the world, he would be famous. The Great Tower of Kura was now rediscovered. He would be in the science journals, newspapers.

Then all of a sudden, just like that, there was a trimmer, a small shake in the earth, an earthquake, not much, just enough to disturbed the water, and he looked about, he had taken a vast number of pictures, then he discovered something else, an unearthed giant dinosaur, yes, yes a dinosaur, it was unearthed when the trimmer happened. “Just a minute,” he told his submarine, he talked to it as one does to his horse, or dog, or car:

“Yes, just a minute, I got to take a closer look at this, and then we got to get going back to the surface.”

Having said that, he looked at the clock, time was short, very short, and his fuel and air supply was short, very short, but he had enough, just enough perchance, so he thought, told himself, said to his second self:

“…perhaps, perhaps enough for…” then his eyes drifted to the giant dinosaur.

“It must be 145-million years old,” he told his Ms Submarine, “yes, indeed, I’ll excavate it, but what if it gets covered up again? or shifts to another location? and we can’t find it, I’m here now, now is the time; no time for paleontologists, or fossil hunters, I’m here now, no time to find a million dollar dig like this again, I got it now!”

And so he would not leave the site, and I must be frank with you, his ship is with the others this very day in the abyss below; yes indeed this very minute is where it rests in peace.

One thing the middle aged archeologist did do, he left his radio on, and I taped it, and a video image was released, and I have it, and so I shall be the next one down there. I was his only friend.

See Dennis' web site:
Aforgomon’s Creation [Poetic Prose of an ungodly creation]

(Part I, Aforgomon’s son) I saw the god-son, of Aforgomon, there was something in his gaze likened to a salty hurricane! Like his father he tried to swallow me, but I escaped to the land and by the Tower of Kura, to its tower by the Black Sea: the tower now mostly underneath the deep; to his son, his creation, Aforgomon’s creation: I was free.

How did he give him birth, I asked myself this when I found out he had a son: a horror story of course, he had brought me into his land of terror beyond the earths crust, to earth’s core I think, someplace deep, deeper than hells abyss: the land where hidden demons live, and jungle whores hid; where Tom Ron, Thomas Tin, and Vain Pain, once novelties of his kingdom were now vipers swallowing one another, as they were now attached to, onto the head of Aforgomon the younger [the son]. He was a cursed god to look at, a god of three tentacles, that had viper heads on each; himself, he had raging red flaming hair, and bloodshot eyes, fangs on the side of his mouth that hung over his lips, long ears like an elephants.

An envious god, god-son, and resentful god, and one with a trance like look, almost paralyzed with hateful desires, with prostate looks. And he watched his three playmates devour one anther, bite them, swallow them, but they could not kill one another, no they could just show their teeth, there bite, their lucid dreadful endless plight to bite, nibble and gnaw at one another. It was his enjoyment to watch these cadaverous creatures he himself created for companionship, feast on one another like lethal shades fighting in the moon’s sardonic face.

“I have come,” so he told me then—his father, long ago, before he was born: before the son-god of Aforgomon, after peering from his abyss den, up through the hub of deeper-hell, or wherever it was, where he had lived for eons, now on earth’s surface, his death by chains, could not hold me, nor his “fire” was simply more symbol than bite, for it did not hold me neither, not his gleam, nor did it obliterate me as he said it would; trying to terrify me is what it was, as in his dizzying gaze, that really froze me into a sea within his eyes—for a moment: deep was his pitiless far-reaching, wind full chamber within his brain—the eye of his brain (for I could see it)—for I could feel it, He had no pity for anybody—and he could not have me. A glassy curious bird he was.

My body veered before the wind, as he appeared—at my command, that is when: when He turned and swallowed me—, but I called onto the King of Kings, the Lord of Lord’s and He spit me out, along with his necromancy!... and was sent back to his voiceless race, the demigod’s in some hidden cell of decay, in the earth’s inner marshy shore; that is when he searched for a way to give birth to a physical and spiritual being, the one now he calls his son: who is a mountain of madness, a luring octopus in the threshold of some vortex, which is doomed with its three goiter liked, human viper heads: chewing and gnawing at one another like dead mutton? He was the product of a vicious god; a demonic creature with power, eeriness and terror at his limbs, haunting even the shadows, the ghouls and ghosts, imps and devils, nightmares. He was really nothing, nothing but fumes of some reeking noisome birth: sucked out of a woman’s womb, and given three heads, he wanted mine, but he got his own nightmare. He was so ugly he frightened the stars: necrophilia. And to the heads of the octopus I can only say they were too busy trying to slay the world, impress the times, and court the multitude with wordy rhymes. Thus came no passion, only ecstasy and woe; a hackney’s feeling of the general heart. This so called the throb of triumphant, all becoming their lark; and the Younger saw this, and with their emptiness, he filled himself up with these fools, and before they knew it, they were part of the valley of worms, and riper joys came when the Younger saw they had no recourse, no king, no love, only self, and thus, he possessed them; what else?

Aforgomon: He had found a woman whom woud bare him a son, she was a cruel world, in a ruthless situation, and thereafter, he turned her into a reptilian serpent, liken to the son she bore him: likened to the three heads that scorned him—and she ran and ran and hid, and cremated herself on a dark pyre: now ashes; for she could not bear his supreme irony, his strange mind! Nor her sons, nor the three heads that were twisted like trees.

(Part II, the Escape?) How did I escape: through ancient harbor lanes, and pain, a little nervous pace, a redeeming hope within my heart, a floor and roof within my soul, something they were lacking, for it was emptiness they had, which the son-god looked for and found in them: obscured by smoke, cobwebs, and frosts, is what cost, cost the three their demise: thus, I tossed the dark and the dusty, as they tried to charm their way, I tossed the dark and the dusty to the wind, and prayed. As the son-god, piled the twisted trees around their legs, and cast them into the lake, and when His father with gluttonous eyes, laid upon the jungle woman, she bore him green mangled revulsion; from the earth came this noxious birth, and weedy beast, dark green: heedless, the beast wanted to die, but it lived, in muttered darkness, with its three heads.

Dedicated to: Clark A. Smith and H.P. Lovecraft #970 12/18/05

See Dennis' web site:

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

The Complete (and revised): Tales of Poseidonia

[Atlantis’ Demise: and Dark Den Beneath the Surface]

A Dark Romance

By Dennis L. Siluk

Copyright@ 2004 by Dennis L. Siluk
Tales of Poseidonia
[Atlantis’ Dark Den Beneath the Surface]
Revised, 2007
All rights Reserved

Illustrations by the author

For: My mother, Elsie T. Siluk
[Born 9/28/l920-died, July, 1, 2003],
Who liked a good suspense-mystery…?

“Who, being loved, is poor?”
Oscar Wilde

The Port of Poseidonia

Originally published Chapters

Note: Chapters written July/August, 2004 [1 thru 8]

Port of Poseidonia Part I
[Atlantis’ Dark powers]

Port of Poseidonia Part II
[The necropolis]

Port of Poseidonia Part III
[The Island of Iffrikonn]

Port of Poseidonia Part IV
[Diekplous & Ais’ Sin]

Port of Poseidonia Part V
[The nor’ easter]

Port Of Poseidonia Part VI
[Ruler of Heroes]

Port of Poseidonia Part VII
[The Gates of Hell] Chapters 1 thru 4

Port of Poseidonia Part VII
[Eventualities] Chapters 5+

Port of Poseidonia VIII
[Hell’s Dilemma]

Port of Poseidonia lX
[Immortal Minds and Qin]

Port of Poseidonia X
[Lesbian’s Villainess’ Dagger]

Port of Poseidonia XI
[The Codex Scrolls and Staccato Cry]

Note: Chapters 1 thru 8 were previously published in July and August of 2004 in an international Magazine (Chapters 12 thru 17 (Chapters 1 and 2 published a second time in another Magazine, in September, 2005, with an annual readership of 12-million); these same chapters, written in 2005, were never published in its revised form, only published in its unrefined form. Lost Chapters 18, 19 and 21, rewritten in November 2006, thereafter published on the Internet under Mr. Siluk’s Blogs. Chapter #21, written in November 9, 2006, published thereafter on Mr. Siluk’s Blogs.

Chapters Written in: 2005

Port of Poseidonia XII—The Kings Reprieve
Port of Poseidonia XIII—Sanctification of Power
Port of Poseidonia XIV—The Power Spirit
Port of Poseidonia XV—Paradise and the Chariot
Port of Poseidonia XVI—Grooming In Chicago
Port of Poseidonia XVII—Reflections

End Chapters:
[*Lost Chapters rewritten in November, 2006]

*Port of Poseidonia XVIII—Looking for Ais
*Port of Poseidonia XIX—An Internal-Limbo
Port of Poseidonia XX (new Chapter): Ais’ Peace
*Port of Poseidonia XXI—Final Chapter

Back of Book:

A Last Poem [Elsie T. Siluk]
Other books by the Author
Notes on the Story


Port of Poseidonia
[Atlantis’ Dark Powers]

Let us not all believe Atlantis did not have its secrets and shady powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, one of them. (Part I)

The Port and the Tower at Poseidonia

The seaport harbor City of Poseidonia (a settlement of sort), within an island-continent known as Atlantis, during the period this story took place it was under the archrulership of Phrygian, and his High Priest Xandore: thus, the High Priest was drinking mead from a great horn, that is when it all started.
It was a placid day, the first day of spring, and a jubilee was in motion throughout the port city, to celebrate life, the beginning of breath and both the King and High Priest were in good spirits. The King requested that the High Priest accompany him to the High Tower, the Great Tower of Atlantis, the uppermost tower in Poseidonia, to its summit he wished him to go, some fifteen hundred feet up a stairway, far above the lowest walls of the great port city. There, to the great demigod Poseidon, he would make his offerings, and possibly to the goddess Isis, who had taught the great King sorcery, and vast amounts of magic, whom was also the goddess of fertility for his kingdom, and would hopefully bless his Archkingdom. (Poseidon, whom was the brother of Zeus, and god over the seas, was once ruler of Atlantis, and his daughter was named for the land, the Romans would in time equate him with Neptune, but he was in Atlantis long before that status come about.)
And so the king and priest, diligently walked to the tower doors, the priest drinking from his horn intermittently—his mead. As they walked the last few steps to the tower entrance, which lead into the main and private tower room, the High Priest could hear the drumming of evil manifest itself in the form of shadows, and shapes, and this kind was playing pipes behind him—sounds, rhythms, macabre chimes, which brought forth grotesque images to his mind, as he neared the last step to the tower, the tower he had never been to before, that no High Priest, nor man had been to before, no man that is but the king (and a few select people). If anything, it was, or could have been considered an honor to be invited to go there. He presupposed it would be a shrine therein, or two, for the god and goddess of the king’s likening, which were, to his understanding, Poseidon and Isis.
The king had a slim ripper attached to his royal belt around his abdomen. And again I say they had but a few more steps to this long and arduous climb to the top of the tower, and to one of its main rooms. The king hardly puffed at all, because of the loss of air in his lungs—not the least exhausted, and the High Priest, as weak as a drowned duck after the climb, gasping for air, relief, wanting to lean against the walls, but he dare not, lest the king feel him not able to do his duties, and a weakling, plus a dishonor to his gods, and therefore he’d be dismissed from his high position; as a result, he did not linger on any support, but used his knees to keep balance.

The Tower and Agaliarept

The High Priest now had finished his mead, behind him shadows clashing as if one was fighting the other over something, but it could simply be his imagination he pondered, it was the mead and the long expedition up the unending flight of stairs talking and producing images in his mind, so he told himself: ‘…yes, oh yes, the imagination of the mind,’ so he told himself: ‘…it can produce many such things.’
The priest looked down the winding staircase; it seemed, ten thousand miles downward. Then the king opened the large solid thick door to the tower room, and as they entered—a dozen footsteps followed, followed beyond the threshold where a chill was waiting to grab whatever…but it didn’t, not yet.
It was a warm day outside in the city, this spring festive forenoon day.
The bleakness of this room, ill kept, tapestries torn down laying about as shrubbery might be in an unkempt garden, holes in the carpet, the window open to the clouds, the smell of corpses reeking from its walls: a room with no furniture, the stink filled ones throat to the vomiting stage, yet it did not take hold of the king, only the High Priest did it seem to bother.
The king lit a fire, not sure how it got lit, but all of a sudden a wick in oil within a glass had bust into sputtering smoke and flames. It was with difficulty the priest adjusted his vision, trying to examine his surroundings. The room was like a nine-sided cube and again I must point out, it stunk to a suffocating state. (A deep-throated chuckle came out from a shadow leaping off the walls; it had entered the room with the two. The High Priest stepped cautiously away from the voice ((the voice being from the infamous Agaliarept, the henchman from Hell)).
Said Xandore, to his mind’s eye, ‘What crime is being perpetrated here (?)’?
He gazed about silently. Again a voice boomed out of an invisible mouth, a shadow of a mouth, an echoing that bounced off the walls; cold sweat drenched the body of the High Priest. At that given moment, that very second, that instance, the king was doing some incantations. His hands moving about as if to settle in a prayer style form: as the High Priest now was clawing at his tunic. The shadow seemed to be transforming—back and forth—into a hunchback form, demonic form, a horse like head, with a human body, long fingernails as if they were spikes, talons. His feet were deformed, large feet, as he was seemingly large anyhow, they fit his odd shapely body; muscular, and hairless body, almost with dog like ears.
The red lips of the king spoke: “Fool, you are the spring sacrifice to the gods,” then he pulled out his ripper and embedded it deep into his chest. The priest bellowed, and blood spurted all about. The king looked down upon this dying figure, with his high face bones, fleshless appearance, sharp aquiline nose, and two emerald eyes—which showed a flat affect.
To all humanity, the High Priest was dead, yet the king knew his soul was still in his body, the body being its coffin for the present awaiting its calling. It would leave soon. His eyes were shut; the upper body naked to the hips now, a film of blue deadly coldness covered his body, a wax like countenance, to his white face. There was no more respiration or cardiac activity. As the body lay there it became spongy like, akin to rotten dough.

Agaliarept, Satan’s Henchman

As the king continued waiting for the vile odor and the soul to leave, amalgamation was about to take place with Agaliarept [Agaliarept, the Henchman]: penetrating the dying body; in essence, a transfiguration: at this moment came a snickering of the unearthly voice of Agaliarept, “Let me in,” he sounded, in a nauseating harsh voice; yet, only the king had the power to grant such a request.
Calm the king was to the imp, telling him to be patient, for still the soul of the priest was linked to the body by a thread, but after four hours, the king gave the permission needed, and the demon materialized within the body of the priest as a huge configuration now, huge within the room also, as his shadow covered the floor and ceiling—; he had seeped into the dead body as if being sucked into a cyclone.
Faint and dizzy the lapsed soul of the priest was, hence, he could no longer hang onto his body, and therefore let go of it, as the unholy spirit filled the void inch by inch. The king ostensibly had it timed just perfect.
The human offering was made to Beelzebub (king of the demons), Isis, and Poseidon, as their ensemble entered the cold body—completely.
Said the king to the dead corpse, knowing his spirit was still within the room, “You were hungry for power—you are here, and now I give you wisdom in its place, with much training you will be able to learn how to speak without a voice-producing-organ, until then, be gone….”
Said Agaliarept, in his new body, standing side by side of the king, looking out into the twilight at the crimson stars, “Skeptical fool he was,” then he shifted a bit, looking out now, from the side of his eye, the long part of his eye—at the King, as if, if his day may come—they both remained silent.

Agaliarept (also known as the Horse head demon) had a rightful glare and he appeared weathered and ghastly yellow. But the world would not know the difference of who was who, or who he really was, even with his bloodless lips, expressionless skull, his dry grin, lack of personality, they would not dare speak even if they guessed the body was the shell of the henchman, not that of the High Priest.

(The Grand Tower of Atlantis: In the Port City of Poseidonia: there were many secrets in Atlantis in those day, in another tower room, behind the one the High Priest was slain in, the one the High Priest did not see, only the King—and a few select demonic beings, and scribes, there were documents, ancient scrolls, maintained there by his youthful scribes, and duplicated when need be: a library of sorts on the human race; one such document indicating: Atlantis has outposts of communication throughout the world, it has been here over 3000-years, thus far. And through time, another alien race by some kind of agreement has kept data on this world of ours—with the help of Atlantis, through the pyramids on Earth in Egypt ((to include the great stones and circle known as Stonehenge, in England, the platform and Gate of the Sun, in Bolivia, and Lebanon, along with Machu Picchu in Peru; to mention a few sites; of course we must remember, the names were different back when this story takes place)) and the sending back of signals, to the king, king Poseidon (the King’s ancestor). They used obelisks that were planted in Egypt for transmitting globally through the Great Atlantis Tower, here at the Port of Poseidon, as well as the inner core of the pyramid, which holds an energy source in the Great Pyramid of Egypt itself.
“The race called, ‘The Old Ones,’ were in charge of transmitting this information after a while, evidently they were more suitable for the task, able to lock onto circular energy (which only a nomadic tribe knew about at the time, then the Old Ones brought forth its secrets), what would regenerate itself as in a letter eight, whereas the human needed to be fed constantly and died out because of the loss of energy, and the cascading of his chromosomes—this energy was perpetual.” (There were tools in that room, what looked like a control room, and maps that showed messages that had come back and forth throughout the galaxy.))

Port of Poseidonia: and the Necropolis
[Islands of the East]

Let us not all believe Atlantis did not have its secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, one of them. (Part II)

The Guest from the Eastern Islands

The seaport City of Poseidonia, on the island-continent of Atlantis, during the period this story took place (approximately 10,665 BC) was under the Archrulership of Phrygian, and his High Priest Xandore, the High Priest being none other than the henchman of hell, incarnate, Agaliarept himself, after the killing of Xandore in the high tower of the acropolis: where the sacrifice to the gods were met with satisfaction; but Agaliarept did give the king a slight warning.
Several islands to the east, and southeast—in particular the Canary and Madeira Islands—belonged to Atlantis, as well as the islands to the north—the British Isles. The Royalarcheking Phrygian had called for a meeting to discuss the usage of one of those islands for a graveyard (in which he was secretly using already with experimentation of corpses, for fertilization of its land. That is to say, to see if through such an act, wondrous foods could be extracted with dead animals, and human beings. The experimentation had already produced tropical flora the size of human beings, fruits and vegetables never before seen to the human eyes—some deadly as with poisonous oils. And so it was that tons of this matter was being sent to the islands in disguise, and it was becoming obvious to the islanders something mysterious was being planted and producing a deadly result. And the Archegoverner was the answer to the dilemma, he would give his permission, henceforth, take the blame, should anything come about.

The Boat

A boatman launched gently alongside of the little marble pier of Port Poseidonia, and from the boat, a voice followed, “Throw me a rope?” Said the voice.
A young slim boy made fast his request (a student scribe), swaying a rope to the oarsman, and took hands with the Archegoverner of the Isle of Iffrikonn, the city of Yllipha, who left his one and only flesh, his brother’s daughter Ais behind, Princess Ais, now the guardian of the islands.
The young slim boy by the name of Anases who was learning to be a scribe, and would one day be a scribe, would also one day govern the British Isles, and write the history of Atlantis down, and one day would become Grand Archeknight of Atlantis, He was there to greet the Archegoverner of Iffrikonn.
A tall thin handsome middle-aged man was the Archegoverner. Accordingly, he welcomed him to the city with gleeful eyes, as he led him ashore. The ancient creature, known as the Hippokamp (the very one who often escorted the king on his journeys across the seas, Aon) was close by; he had followed the governor’s vessel into the port area from afar, a far off distance indeed, to insure it would arrive safely it was his mission.

(All the other royal guests had arrived: so the Archegoverner was told by Anases; at which time the boy had his servants take hold of his bags to carry them to the halls of the Acropolis, where he would be sleeping.)

Hydras, the Archegoverner was taken back a bit, when the young youth, Anases, of scholarly blood, and sharp blue eyes, and light bronze skin, auburn crimson hair, with just a loin cloth on to cover his private area with, took hold of his hand.
“I will take you sir to your room, which is next to mine, there you can get revitalized, freshen up a bit with the clear river water that comes down from the mountains and joins the Great River Amphus, which has seven tributaries, yes, it is pumped right into your room.

The Night

The first night the Governor had broken dreams, his forest lands were lush with living foliage, taller than, perhaps twenty feet, filled with corpses: they grew huge and blood red. The sea wind from the window was like nails scratching his back, fingers relentlessly scratching him.
As a result, the following morning, the first meeting did not go well with the king, he wanted too much of his islands, and from his lands for harvesting. An island of death that is what he was asking him to surrender his islands for. And should his people hear of this, he was sure they would revolt with him, or against him.
It was on the third day that the young boy came into Hydras’ room in the middle of night, a strange night it was to be sure, the window still open to the winds of the sea were most estranged with hung shadowy solifuga creatures crossing by its window pane. He was in a gloomily lit room solely still with the moon shedding some shadowy light on the body laying on the bed, an irritable body trying to sleep, to get to sleep, thence, Anases sat by him, massaging him slowly, carefully, gently, so he could go back to sleep, and within his tunic he pulled out a bottle of fine oil, then the young scribe used this magical essence to penetrate deep into his skin, profoundly deep into the muscle tissue its scent went, which discharged from the oil its potions: the fundamental nature from the red blood flowers of the isles, the isles that the Governor came from, his islands— it filled the room with a peculiar aroma. Slowly the Archegoverner fell into a deep sleep, very deep and dead sleep.

The Solifuga

Quietly, as Hydras slept, the youth stood up from the bed and left his oil idly open, close by the bed. What he had done prior to this was of a dark nature: he had instructed the oarsman from his own country island, to bring back a large nest of venomous Solifuga-Arachnida creatures, spider like, with beady eyes and stretched out bodies, jaws most powerful which could produce bits equal to a bulldogs. They were paralyzing creatures; creatures that would eat a rat in minutes, ripping the flesh off like a piranha. These crunching creatures would infect his mind, and slowly break down his metabolism, and disjoint his nervous system. He would forget what he would say, a few minutes after he’d say it. Sometimes these creatures chewed their victims to pulp, and so it was timing.
Thereafter, after the five-inch spider-like creatures did their duty, they would all die within minutes of the aroma entering into their blood stream, the aroma being released from the oil; it was as the king wanted, save that no one else would get hurt. And all would be blamed on the boat he brought over, should, suspicion arise and fingers be pointed to the royal palace of wrongdoing.
Henceforward, all went as planed as these aggressive and quick bodies dashed to the scent of their homeland, a powerful scent that brought them up to the bed they sought. And within minutes the bellowing of a madman was heard throughout the halls of the kingdom, a man in his sleep.
Came the king’s guards, who knew nothing of the matter, for only the High Priest and the King and the youth knew the facts behind this; hence, the king’s men killed the creatures by the dozen, and half just died as if to give the guards glory, yet it was the potion young Anases hand put into the rubbing oil that really finished them off to a genocide outcome.
Oh, he was a dreadful sight, the Governor of Iffrikonn, it was an alarming sight to see such wounds on a human body, it took the most skilled nurses and doctors to attend to his lacerations, that those spider-like creatures gave him, and consequently, he was most willing to leave all the affairs of his islands in the trusted hands of the young boy, now his best friend; or at least his best friend until he gained his senses back, for he was delirious at the present time. And thereafter he signed all the papers that needed his signature, and was brought back home by none other than Anases thereafter, to where he met the lovely and enchanting Princess Ais. As a result, upon his arrival back to the Archeimperalkingdom of Atlantis, he described the Princess to the king, and his desire grew warm to hot.

Port of Poseidonia: Princess Ais
[The Island of Iffrikonn]

Let us not all believe Atlantis did not have its secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, one of them. (Part III)

Princess Ais of Atlantis

The Princess and Aon

There is a legend to this story of stories, that before Princess Ais arrived to Atlantis, to become Queen, a strange happening took place. And I shall describe this in poetic verse before I get into the story:

The Princess of Yllipha (Ais), was sent from her home in the north of Iffrikonn [Islands off the coast of Europe], and was met by the sea-creature, Aon, and the ship that was to bring her back to Atlantis, and there within this time period, seduced during the voyage

The Princess Ais
[And the Poet-Hippokamp]

As the great ship sailed the eastern expanse
Princess Ais, looking westward to Atlantis,
Farewell, Farewell, thrice Farewells she sang
To Yllipha, in the north of Iffrikonn
Then listening to the monstrous stories of Aon,
Of the river Amphus, and its delta—
She dreamt of its grand and famous Archkingdom
Of its renowned and spellbound, strange obelisks,
Of Atlantis’ metropolitan streets

Aon—poetic eyes of green shoaling seas,
A mane of mystic sea-gold hair—
Ais, eyes of blue and night-black hair:

With Atlantian lyre and harp, strings of silver,
The Hippokamp seduced the Princess Ais.

The Passing of Time

It was a July summer at Port Poseidonia; Archeking Phrygian had met his Princess, and made her a queen. All of Atlantis, to include the Port of Poseidonia had come to love her. And she fell in time, madly in love with the king. For it was in those far off days, the Hippocamp’s had all died off; Aon was the last of his species. The king and the queen, Queen Ais, had now been man and wife for many years. And Anases had grown to become Archeknight, and governor of the British Isles, and was about due to return to Atlantis for retirement. The High Priest was still Agaliarept in disguise of the body he had taken some many years ago from Xandore, and Hydras had died a few years after he received his grim night with the wind-spiders, as he so named them. Anases, had written on scrolls the history of Atlantis, put it safely in the towers on a sacred island, a mound called the Tor, and was heading back to give the king the a duplicate set of scrolls.

Archeking Phrygian

The King

It was a warm July, late afternoon summers day, that this took place: a cool breeze was shifting though the palace gardens of Poseidonia; the King was having dinner with his beautiful wife, Ais. It was an unusual tasty and spicy meal thought the king, his cook being a virtuoso of cuisine, and the king being a connoisseur of fine foods, something was peculiar, different. He was consuming: clams chilled, with turtle-green wine, with roasted young guinea hen. The spiciness of the food gave a bittersweet flush to his face: giving him an unquenchable hunger for more, more, and more food and wine. He smiled at his young looking wife as he devoured the food, as usual. She was—it would seem—turning out to be his soul mate; year after year, smile after smile, or so it seemed to her, she become closer and more fond of him; yet it was liken to a master to a pet possibly (she was his devotee for sure: pet or not), and yes, love of a pet it may have been for him, who is to say, for in any love affair, it is never equal, one always loves more than the other; it would never be equal love but love yes, but not unconditional love what she had what he could not offer perhaps, but love conceivably a little less, was fine with her, so it had to be.
And so, it is went without questioning, her love was much more than his: anyone, everyone could tell that: should he demand she take his place in the grave at a moment’s request, a moments notice, it would be so—she would do it cheerfully.
“I am,” he said, “in a glorified mood this evening my love, my sweet youthful love, the love of my life.”
And so it was, but even more for her. Yes, he was a kind man to his wife—possibly only to his wife, and a ruthless king, a vicious man if need be, to the world around him, but again I say, normally not her, as most totalitarians are I do understand. And for certain, he never counted his sins, nor repented for them, or for that matter, stopped committing them. Thus, he had his enemies.
Trying to hold a beam, the King now looking at his wife was getting some indigestion, a grin came upon his face, as his wife looked deep into his countenance, yet the king for the moment, was not trying to resolve anything, just looking and being uncomfortable. He poised, dropping a second helping of the hen into his mouth, and tried to swallow it whole, not intentionally, but for some reason it started to swell within his mouth and so he quickly tried to digest it a second time, in the process it was blocking up his windpipe, wedged in it, crossing over to a point of stopping his flow of air to his lungs and stomach. The High Priest was in the back of the garden, out of sight, behind a tree watching all the unfolding of events, the commotion to take place, and proceedings taking place at the moment. It had now expanded in his throat to the position it was almost completely stuck, but not entirely yet, and so he continued trying to throw it up, cough it up and out of his mouth, and his wife was yelling for assistance during this time, but no one came, not even a mouse, or bird. There was stillness in the area, a silence around them.
“What can I do?” she moaned with tears drenching her face. She was unwilling to leave him alone, lest someone come and kill him out of spite and conspiracy, yet he was dying nonetheless; a dreadful position to be in, to say the least. The High Priest watched the king turn purple, and yellow, and dark blue, and other unfavorable colors, colors of death, as he suppressed his elation. It is true as true can be: demons have no mercy, no conscious of wrong, or will to change, they are who they are—unfeeling psychopaths for the most part.


(It was unfortunate for the King; for his death took place within a matter of minutes and when he woke up he was in the gulf, the Great Gulf waters of hell, and on his way to Hell’s Dock.)

Belphegor, Demon King

Entirely unrelated to the King’s arrival was Belphegor sitting by a table on the pier [Hell’s Dock], as the oarsman tied a rope to the wooden pole attached to the dock, Hell’s Dock. Belphegor just happened to be there, he being a little higher in rank than Agaliarept—the henchman; Belphegor was the King of the demons, and was simply sitting about rolling dice on a wooden table, his claws like a savage beast moving about as if they were out of control, automatically without his consent just twitching,
“What do you have to offer me, to offer Hell in return for a high position here?” he asked with a sly, yet seemingly sincere overtone to his voice, sincere only that he would give him rank and position, for he needed a good and willing soldier, subordinate to him.
The King glanced to the waters of the gulf—it was a long way back to Atlantis, a long way, yet no way he knew of to get there, if even there was such a possibility to that thought; and then looking at the towering walls and gates of Hell he was mortified—they were thick, and unforgiving to look at, punishing to tolerate; then he looked back to the sea, the gulf as it was called, and the many ships in the gulf bringing in many, many souls.
“No, I have nothing to offer Hell,” said the King of Atlantis.
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” answered Belphegor. (The king knowing at this point, even though he was faithful to the demonic world, it no longer counted—it was their nature).
After a moment’s hesitation, Phrygian and Belphegor looked at one another with indifference.
“And what do you have worth of value?” asked the subversive spirit of darkness?
“The queen Ais, who is all beautiful, and retains her shape and youth as to other women alive, for I am sure if I asked her to come to Hell with me, she’d do so.” The king questioned himself, on why that came out of his mouth, I mean, he was in Hell, what good was it saying what he said, yet he felt he needed to say it, and it was the only thing he had of value at the moment.
And so with a shake of the dice, the grotesque hybrid, the wild beast of the underworld came up with a three and a six, and that was the hours he’d be allowed to get her—to leave Hell and find his bride and wife and bring her to the King of the Demons for his pleasures, willingly. With that, the spirit-shadow of the king got back onto the vessel that had bought him into the waters of the abyss-gulf, and the oarsman took him back to where he had come from, and told him he’d be waiting, and should he not return, he would be put into the deepest hole with all of Hell heaps of matter on top of him for a thousand years, once found.

Hades Command
[The Second Death]

Oh those faces I’ve seen:

Tracks of tears
Ribs bending
Noses slim, thin
(Thin as a needle)

Shoulders sharp
Hands like stone
Fingers and feet
(Like old tobacco)

I seen the: great,
Young and wise—

Many deaths seen
Heaped together
In Hades regime
(Old smoked residue)

And Her I find I[m no
No better than the beggar
Perhaps the fool…

The Kings Request

The king approached Ais’ window, it was an eldritch eerie-night, with dark shadows ebbing across and over the moon, like recognizable demonic figures watching overhead as if to see if the king was sincere about his expedition.
“Hiji,” said the king in a ghostly drab.
“My husband,” she whispered in disbelief, the High Priest had not taken her for a wife yet, and therefore was alone.
Lost for words the king stared into her deep devoted eyes, and upon her golden bronze skin and ivory white teeth. He wanted to caress her, but she was human, and he at this moment was spirit in a shadowy form.
“Pardon me my love, but I wish for you to accompany me to Hell, where I must live out my days, my endless days. If you come with me, I will be given a high position.”
She did not hesitate, she simply jumped up and out of bed, and with a light to guide her, she stepped by the open window, and he led the way—not a word was said in reversal (no about face), not one word or iota of dissatisfaction with his request.

The Oarsman

As they boarded the boat to take their journey back across the long and deep waters of the gulf, the oarsman simply sneered with his knotted-up muscles and black soot-like tar and greenish skin: perturbing lips, and three large fangs, a pointed head, big eyes and long neck, and pointed ears. In case you think the king took this all lightheartedly, think again, the king now was mauling over and over what the heck was he doing with his dearly-loved Queen: I mean, he really for once had second thoughts of his obnoxious behavior. That is to say, taking her on this unnatural, uncommon voyage (to be the property of the King of Demons) of her own free will, where at anytime she could choose to leave, this was bothering him, to the point he was unsure of his motives, and just why he was doing what he was doing was unclear, for she had not committed any sins that he knew of, that would bind her to hell later, should she die at any given time. But of course, God is the only one for certain that has that specific information on such matters, and her of course.

When they got into the middle of the gulf, the deepest part of the water, Phrygian stood up and knocked the oarsman off balance, grabbing the oar, and then kicked him out of the boat. With chaos and darkness on his side he ventured beyond his reach, nowhere could he now be seen. The gulf of Hell was long and deep, thick with muck and slim, matter caked on top of more substance. Visualizing her suffering, he told her to go back—possibly his only one good deed he had ever done, but she refused, and having done that, she was condemned to be with him, as her flesh turned into his source of ghostly material; and there they sailed, drifting a thousand years dreadfully and cheerfully in this endless gulf: the only comfort was they were together.

Port of Poseidonia: Diekplous
[The Oarsman’s and Ais]

Let us not all believe Atlantis did not have its secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, one of them. (Part lV)

The Greek Looking Ship of Hades
[Used by the King of Atlantis]

Atlantis, the watery Grave

The old king, King Phrygian of Atlantis, now settled into his watery Archkingdom of what was left of Port Poseidonia, the heart of Atlantis. He got thinking of the arduous and long years in Hell’s watery gulf, where his ship was his home, like Atlantis was before, before that is, before he ended up in this everlasting, encircling watery grave of graves. Yes, an Atlantis warship (small in figure) was his home for a thousand years, how undignified for a king, a king that ruled the world to end—that is, from end to end, to finish up in such a mundane life style, a nightmare one might add; and now again it had become his home, an Atlantis vessel from Atlantis when it sunk.
How odd he pondered, knowing now that Atlantis had sunken into the crust of the earth like a snake caught in a sinkhole, but his home nonetheless was here, Hell’s gulf and an Atlanteon ship, and somewhere under these waters was Atlantis, perhaps he could find it. He had named the ship “Diekplous,” [The Maneuver]: because he could—and had learned—carefully learned, how to maneuver the belly of the ship with agility, all practice, plying for a thousand years made his skill as its pilot, masterful: hence, he could run, or out run and escape its enemies, which were many from the Docks of Hell: yes many I say, there were many after him, for the King of Demons, Belphegor, had put out what one might call a warrant for his capture, a guarantee that was attached to a reward, that implied: to whom ever brought him back—King Phrygian—a reward of high rank would be given, and in the underworld, it was precious, a valued commodity not to take lightly, if not downright priceless.

The Midget Triremes

I could estimate the dimensions of the vessel, the Greek looking (Atlantis) warship if you wish: at first glance one would mistake it for a Greek Triremes, at first glance that is, but a closer look would transform that into reality, and thus it would be much downsized, let’s say 70% so; whereas it would still remain a good size vessel, powered by oars or sail; it was close to forty-feet long, six feet wide, and three feet high (above water). It could fit, if need be sixty-people in it, as compared to its giant (or normal size) of 180-people.
The prow [end of the ship] was tipped with a ram, and a cutting blade, which extended about three feet off the stern [rear part of a ship]. The king had played helmsman [pilot] over a thousand years—who worked a double rudder, in the stern. He was if anything, a master of his trade. At night he could lower the anchor within minutes and draw it back to the winch on the main deck in seconds. It was though, the shell of the vessel that was getting weak from the endless unrest of the waters hitting its sides, and surely would not last another thousand years.

If there was one of those giant oarsman’s, unarmed and in the hot, airless gulf of hell (normally with only a loin cloth was necessary to wear, if that), the king could maneuver his two deck boat quite well, sometimes even command the boat to ram and strike the unarmed other vessels, if boredom got to him. He had not lost his lust for revenge, intrigue or malice, not even in the pits of hell, and under the umbrella of domination—his nature had not changed, nor would it seem, his self-interest. This of course was mostly tried when he noticed—from a distance—the oarsman was not an experienced one; as a consequence, he would follow his spirit’s will, his evil side that is.
This particular ship was quite heavy and seldom did it need an oar to roll, for the winds seemed to do his bidding, by and by. Yet, there were those days when king and queen (Ais) would have to do both, stroke the waters with the oars. Sometimes the king would hum so he and Ais could mark time in rowing, counting with the beat. All the while Ais would look at him with high regard, something she did not seem to lose, especially now when life had put a ruthless dilemma onto her shoulders.

Ais’ sin

What is sin to a queen might not be sin to a king, it is hard to tell, but for women change of mind often comes because of guilt, or can be, and living in a watery grave as they had enveloped themselves into, unwillingly one may have second thoughts to what was done in the past, thus the will, the pushing of the will, makes the spirit of the person, makes her make concessions, and one finds themselves telling little truths that at onetime were thought better left alone.
Tons of reminiscent time was available, think time was on their hands, to write poetry in the back of one’s mind, on the ebony-wood of the ship—carve ones thoughts into it, if need be; also on the stones in the graveyard of Atlantis, this is what she had did, little by little, and so in a days work, one day, she wrote it all out on stone all the previous thoughts, the ones carved in stone and wood, all these past thoughts, guilt-fibers that were turning into shame; carved it into stone, like petroglyphs, one day in the broken halls of Atlantis.

The day of the Hippokamp (Aon) had come back to her mind, not sure why, but it did, possibly it had come back a number of times, it was—for better or worse—her first encounter with love and sex, sex and lust, lust and desire, that had turned into guilt and now shame, or was it more than shame [?] With all this time to think, ponder; it had come back, and in a haunting way.
She remembered the occasion, she was on her way to meet the king from her island home, she was young and gullible back then, and the Hippokamp, noted for his sway and prowess in the art of love lulled her like a skillful sculpture. The journey was several days and they got to know each other quite well, Aon and Ais, Ais and Aon, each day one or the other would spot the other and connect, connect with sight and voice and neither one would turn about and run, run to hide from the other, to escape their desires—for she was to be the kings bride. Oh, it was a long time ago she told herself, she had pushed it aside, maybe mistakenly pushed it aside, for now she was thinking of it, about it: but how can one forget hours of love making, love at its height; it was never reproduced by the king in such a way as that (perhaps no one could reproduce such love making, it was supernatural, she had a hundred organisms, as he had, and never to stop, it was endless, a females ultimate sexual experience; only the gods of man could perform like that, perhaps that is way the god’s of Atlantis vanished when it sunk): with all his glory and heart, and love, never duplicated in such an erotic way since. The High Priest was of that order also, so she understood. In any case, He seduced her little by little, more each day, a little more—just a little more, with his mysticism, enveloping her to his dim magical powers of lust, slowly dancing into her eyes, yes like white flashes of strange potions of star dust—crimson stardust, mixed with desire until they both melted together—melted like fog raising a halo up, and around a mountain until it passed into the heavens, and the only thing left is the naked mountain. When he left, he left a warm feeling in her, inside of her, warm and wanting, it had never passed into oblivion, it evidently was unsinkable. It was still dancing in her stomach, in her throat the silence of desire; yet, with the guilt, or so she thought it was guilt: ‘what else could it be,’ she asked herself as she carved her sin into stone so her husband could see it and, and deal with it, torture her for it. Possibly leave her for it, or is that what she wanted, a way out, who can tell, whose to say what the other person is thinking, she perhaps didn’t even know, planning something unconsciously, and when it is triggered into motion, the conscious takes over. What would she do then she asked herself, or did she know.

And so it was this day, during this time she wrote her poem of pity into stone that extended above the waters of the gulf, where the ship was anchored; she left the poem exposed on the rock for her husband to see, and when he did, he simply scratched it out, as if it was of no value. What more could he do, he was no fool.

Khsha-yar-shan [Ruler of Heroes/the Kings Throne]

Over nine-thousand years had passed, and Anases was still looking for his missing scrolls, when a man by the name of Ephialtes was found wondering about in an unoccupied diving boat (a small boat), vacant except for him of course. He had said he escaped the venturous claws of Belphegor, he had told this to his salvation, whom he called Anases, for he was the one who found him adrift in the gulf waters of Hades, and brought him down into the underground passages that lead to this once ancient Mecca, the ancient city of Atlantis (Atlantis’ Dark Den Beneath the Surface) now) now but a tomb, half underwater, the other half above within the center of an underground mountain. What followed was: Ephialtes accompanied the scribe Anases, and Ephialtes would be Anases’ assistant looking for the missing scrolls, and in the process, he would meet and make friendships with Ais and Phrygian.

It was not known to the three, that Ephialtes was the great betrayer of the Greek nation; the one who would, or had altered the fate and course of world history. Perhaps he planned to do the same in Hell—only time would tell.

Port of Poseidonia: The nor'easter
[And the Mountains of Hell]

Let us not all believe Atlantis did not have its secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, one of them. (Part V)

The Storm

A thousand years had passed and the late King of Atlantis, Phrygian, with his Queen Ais were neither a day older or younger since they had journeyed into the Great Gulf of Hell, with its turbulent waters at times, and its endless dim fog that covered their presence. They had drifted aimlessly like water rats, ghosts within an abyss. It was around the year 9,600 BC, and there came a great hurricane, cyclone in the gulf; it looked as if the whole earth had collapsed, went upside down; a tempest that shook the foundations of Hell itself a nor’easter winds, vortex that twisted everything about. Ais hung onto Phrygian and Phrygian hung onto the vessel, lest they be caught in the water for a thousand years with bobbing heads up and down out of the water like drowning porpoises. When the storm had settled and the earth stopped shaking they found themselves still within the vessel, but on the side of a mountain top—a peak of sorts, it was about the size of their craft, it was sticking out of the water, not much more than a few feet, and the vessel was for the most part, destroyed as its side was struck, its thick wood crushed into the hard granite rock of the mountain peak.
And so the cracked vessel (along its shell ((side bottom)), cracked like an egg, gave the two inhabitants no choice but to leave its domain: for the insides of the craft were pushed and cracked to one side of the boat, and falling apart, unusable.
As they found themselves outside of the craft on this rock or peak of granite, they both found themselves lingering about aimlessly, thinking, the king knew there was no hope, once cast into Hell—I mean, to the landing docks of hell, and then inland where one sees the real Hell, as Hell. The Hell that resided at the pier was simply its transit station one might say, and the gulf, its waters were where the parade of ships simply carried the doomed ones one might add—to their fate; as the onlookers at the docks saw the parade of hundreds of ships (day and night), boats of all sizes rowing in, coming in, some sailing in on windy days, they smirked and laughed and gave a grave welcoming: thus, it was—if anything—amusing for the permanent residents of Hell’s docks to see this never-ending cycle of ships and boats coming in—full and empty when they left.

(But what was Ais thinking? I shall tell you: there was no bright little stars for her pretty little eyes to look upon, no varying colors and degrees of brightness in Hades Gulf, as was in the upper worlds Atlantis. No twinkling of greens and yellows by the sun onto the foliage to charm the day, like the beautiful landscapes Atlantis had to offer; no sanctuary from doom. All beauties were diminished, now under her feet, sort of speaking, long gone. She had for so long witnessed her husbands agility in handling the ship, I suppose these were an fresh lightness providing somekind of pleasure, yet it was pleasing only out of boredom; she did have occasional dreams also, which she was cherishing as experience, but it was all confined, all old stuff. At times she felt she could fly, or wanted to fly out of the ship; there was no liberty, or new found freedom in this shared experience, to hope was senseless, she could not imagine what help she was to her mate, besides company in his own misfortune, he created his own circumstances, and would take a miracle to get her out of this strange world, where she lived naked and unarmed. Where demons were the dominant race. This is what she was thinking, in the waters of the gulf)

The Discovery

In this land of the dead, hours were days and days were months and months were years, and the seasons seldom changed. Abaddon and Zammrel, Lucifer’s lieges, were on the lookout for the king and queen, but were blinded by the thick fog often, and as spellbinding and supernatural as they were, they were not omnipotent, or omnipresent: they could not be at two places at one time or command Hell’s foundations to not give refuge to seekers, the only problem that would be for the seeker, it was really or normally just a matter of time, before they were captured, one could not runaway forever? And their constant movements with the boat provided some escape, but now it would not be so hard to be found as it was before, it was just a matter of time as they had always know, the little hope they had was gone; hope was really just a game saying: look how hard you tried, and see, you tried in vain.

(The craft was aging, and both the King and Queen knew, as did every demon in Hell know. Matter-of-fact, Ais had noticed many times in recent years and months the ship seemed to nose stubbornly in every direction but the one her husband wanted, or desired to lead it in, so most of his energy was in turning its blunt prow back into the course he wanted, it made it most difficult of course, when a pursuer chased him, and with a matter of strokes he had to grasp the stern of the skiff, lest he be captured. Hence, in a frenzy of despair he often just made his escape. So close sometimes the demonic hands of the creature chasing him, in another boat, reached outward for his stern! And the look of terror always followed his eyes. This terror covered his whole face, yet she could not figure out why, why that is, fear should bother him, I mean, it was what he built his empire on, and he was dead, in a dead world, he just didn’t control this one. )

And as the days passed one by one as they hid along side the rocks, half under the water half hugging the tips of the rocks, which were really the mountain tops, being missed by a thread, but by a glance or two, had they looked longer, straighter, possibly the seekers would have, might have spotted them to capture. The king could see on the faces of Zammrel and Abaddon, lurid eyes of hate, wanting to be the heroes who brought him back to the Gates of Hell, to Hells domain, to hells’ everlasting torments.
The rock, the rock, that is all they had left to them, for them, with them; it was the mother of rocks to them, the womb that covered them, their salvation—for God was not watching, present in Hell, only the god of Hell was in Hell, Satan, someplace, and usually he didn’t’ like being there (no more than Ais’ was liking it lately) and was seldom there to be frank, it was His henchmen he ordered to do his dirty work, his kings and generals and henchmen. Yet Ais remained strong with her husband unselfishly strong (thinking though), and so claimed each and every day to be his wife, she was a proud one thought the king, and a faithful one. They were about midway between the entrance of the gulf and the pier. Twenty miles each way perhaps, surely no wider in total length than forty-miles thought the king; but now it was deeper, much deeper, and as deep to hold a mountain below his feet—possibly five miles deep. All the mountains or hills before were on the other side of the gulf, where the pier was. On the opposite side of the gulf was what was known as Paradise, a place he was forbidden—to touch, go to, nor could any one from Hell expect to be granted access to such a place if they could get close enough to smell the fresh breeze, cool fresh breeze that existed beyond this lifeless airless atmosphere. Oh it had its moments, but hot air on air was not a magical moment, and it is no wonder the Ten-Winged Serpent, Satan Himself would not come down here often, it was a land of decay, where things grew moldy, rot and crumbled.
With many a hiss from the gulf stream, and the clutching of eyes that rowed the oars in the vessels that went by, he decided to venture deeper into the waters to look for a possible entrance into the mountain, a cave of sorts, or any kind of crevice, split or opening anything to hide from this eternal domination that wanted to enslave him once captured, enslave him like a bug under their feet.
Yes, in spite of all, the king had some kind of hope, something that made him search and search, day after day, for an entrance. But he found only cliff after cliff, until the one-hundredth time, there he found an opening, small as it was, it was an opening nonetheless.

(It seemed to Ais, that her loving husband, the once king of Atlantis, was becoming no more than an infuriated creature, a reptile cold, if anything she was somewhat injured, here she gave up her afterlife to be with him, and all they’ve done was struggle, she even allowed herself to be inflicted with death, if anything there was becoming some kind of realization of this predicament in which she had placed herself. Her husband was becoming more of a savage of a man, the one who had stolen her heart, she was hurt; she was scrutinizing him intently now, she wanted to be loved, not gazed upon stupidly.)

The Entrance

They were like two shadows chained together—both used to one another, it was a love no one would believe in books, it was hard to believe in reality, in desperation they loved even more than previous to their downfall.

—They had found a crevice, crack—a peak-hole you might say into a mountain mostly underwater (it was the same one that peeked above the water a few feet they had been hanging onto); this strange refuge gave them a rest as they pushed their slinky forms through it.
The mountain extended to many fathoms bellow, and as they found their way to and threw the passageway, they found themselves somewhat sinking with the gravity of it all; a graveyard of bones lay all about, in the eldritch-dark, misty gloom settled here and there, ivory-laced black moss circled the atmosphere. It was the gloom of the earth, and the first night there was: phobic, neurotic mind bending occurrences for them with its tight-macabre walls closing in on each side of them—ebbing. They didn’t think things could get worse, but just its lack of light was worse than the surface of the water with all its danger and fog included. Nonetheless they slept a night in peace, unguarded for once, so they acquired one gift, at a price of another, for sleeping in the waters of Hell’s gulf, was impossible, yes, sleep was a privilege, a gift, and treasured by all, and all they needed to do was remember a thousand years of not sleeping; so this was their outlook on the matter, and gift in the raw.

They had waked up, or so it seem, days later, or possibly weeks or months later, distance or movements did not measure time it was measured by events more so. And waking up to know what was going on was time. If a boatman oared by you (in the gulf), and then another one shortly thereafter, one might say it was five minutes or five hours between events. Then if there was more fog, and the spotting of these vessels were less seldom, then time was measured accordingly, one would have to allow more time for each event. It became simple after a while for the couple, after a hundred or so years that is, and then after a thousand years they didn’t even have to think on measuring time it was automatic. Their guess was that they’d been down there between eight hundred to 1500-years. But it was a thousand years they were there, take or give a few.

The Discovery

Now Phrygian and Ais saw a moved rock, a rock they had leaned against, oh yes, thick shadows have weight, believe it or not. And they quickly moved the surface of that area, and a larger hole opened—not too large just enough to seep through it like curled up worms digging their way to freedom, to the top of the surface of land. And when they came out on the other end, and to their amazement they saw a city, a city deep within the core of the mountain, a necropolis, a resting place for a dead city—and as they looked closer they identified it, it was none other than their Atlantis; towers and temples all laying about as if a hurricane, or earthquake had caused some kind of earthly catastrophe, potentially an upheaval—volcanic activity, or asteroid or meteorite impacted the earth—something on that order
as they got closer within this mammoth core of the mountain—in the inner cave that is, pieces of oxide (iron) were all about and other minerals like globs of nickel lay here and there, that told the king it was highly, and most likely a meteor (s) that struck the earth, thus, elsewhere, if not everywhere there would be craters on earth, this was the upshot of the ocean floor. It had evidently sunk, and turned things a little upside down (what before was land, was mountains, some below the seas; probably even what were cities could now be on top of mountains that had never previously existed); furthermore, it was possible the earth itself became lopsided, and very promising unbalanced the earth’s axis; in addition, this upheaval of the oceans floors, was surely the cause of the earth being sprayed with large and small portions of a huge asteroid from an asteroid belt, or one, or a dozen, likely frozen rocks, flying by earth, and through the earth’s atmospheres; puzzling but probable.

But on the other side, the brighter side, they had found—as they came closer to the towers, found the larger tower, and the acropolis, it was of course now part of Atlantis’ graveyard. It was their previous home, Atlantis itself. Then by a standing upright temple, came Anases, in shadow form, like them—configurations of dark mass. On one hand it was a rude awakening for all, and on the other, a jubilee for all, for none had seen another being in a very long time.
“Phrygian,” he cried with a crack in his voice, “and Ais, I am so glad to see you.”
Asked Phrygian, in a lost commanding voice, a more human one than when he was Archeking of Atlantis, “My old friend, what are you doing here?”
“Oh yes,” he replied, looking about, “yes, yes, I am looking for my scrolls, I had them in the tower as you must remember—I think, but I can’t find them, how will the world ever know of our existence?”
“They will make tales of us,” the old king now said with a nostalgic voice, “they will tell wild and long tales; yes, yes indeed that is exactly what they will do.” Then Anases left them as they stood, and started searching every rock, fissure he could find, continuing his search for the lost scrolls.
As they walked further into the debris, and looked about, allowing themselves to a tour of sorts, looking at the few standing buildings, there within the tour, they turned to each other, Ais saying,
“At least we’re home.” But she was daydreaming of the days of glory and beauty of Atlantis, which surely the king was doing also and her words came out in poetry:

The Lost Archkingdom Atlantis

Her nine-sided ivory tower obelisks,
Atlantis’ throne to kings and gods:
Were topped with trident crowns—

Her towers, temples, and turrets:
Her tapestries and treasures of fur—
Fountains, pools and waterfalls,
Her gardens, lilies and poppies,
Her sculptures, palaces, observatories,
Her giant pearls of Yndessoss!
Coral reds and whites from Mu,
Lemuria’s vast urns and vases—
Give glory to you: Archkingdom, Atlantis
Lost forever in the deep fathoms of Hell….

Port of Poseidonia: The Garden of Poseidon
[Ruler of Heroes]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces did not have its secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them. (Part VI)

Ephialtes (425 BC) wanted the king’s throne, to be ruler of heroes in Hell and was promised it from Agaliarept, the Henchman and Belphegor, the King of the Demons, should he bring the king of Atlantis to the landing dock, to the pier where these two played their games, now chess, and ruled Hell from; should this come about, he would be given this position and power, authority.
Yes they wanted to see everything, and the pier was the best place for it. Hell was almost entirely in the power of these two savage men, each clinging tenaciously to the chess member they were holding, and looking at one another in wonderment, what was in their minds I do not know for sure, but in Ephialtes’ the question as to how soon this would take place was paramount.
Agaliarept and Belphegor, spoke in some bastard tongue, only demons of antiquity could understand, a language they conversed in before earth was inhabited by the now human race. My guess would be, since Ephialtes was standing by musing, if not gloating about his new adventure, kind of like saying: ‘Who are you, I am here now,’ and here was a man no man could trust, they were saying something to the effect: my delight would be to drive this spear (a spear one of his guards was holding behind him, and its end sat down laying between him and his guard) to run it through him. But he wanted the king of Atlantis more, and thus, smiled back.

—No one knew where the couple was, and should Ephialtes tell, he would leave his treasure open to other hungry hunting imps and ghouls, demonic forces, and evil spirits—for there was a gallery of these consuming creatures in every direction you looked. And therefore, a hundred years he played the game of building trust with his comrades and he devised his plan, day by day. Yes, he clutched to Anases like an anchor to the ground holding the ship steady. Both Anases and Ephialtes searched for the scrolls, or at least, Ephialtes pretended to, for it wasn’t in his heart; he had betrayed the Greeks to the Persians at Salamis, and on other occasions likewise, betrayed them for gold, or a prize; but no one in the watery grave of Atlantis, the old Port of Poseidonia knew of his reputation. It was after their death this took place, plus, only such news of this, came to the docks of Hell, where they had not been for eons.
Somber with inner violence in his heart, his mind, Ephialtes went about his business helping Anases like an apprentice. No one being the wiser; he was joyous at times and placid, he knew he could not bring the old king back by himself, so in his spare time he’d create images in the darkness, and how the plan of capturing him would be on his face. He visualizes drawing a map out for the force to come and surround him, capture him—later on he’d actually do it. But he needed to sure he got all the credit, it was a once in a life time offer of power being granted to a new member of Hell, and one of less rank than the King of Atlantis. Perhaps this would have been his position, had he brought his wife to the clutches of the ruling dual.

Anases the Scribe

The Garden

It was at the end of the one-hundredth year, he had his plan all ready. He had for twenty-five years rebuilt the Garden of Poseidon, brick by brick; oh, it wasn’t as grand as it was before, but for being in the shadowy tomb of the mountain, it was an achievement to the eyes. He did not allow anyone to enter it, saying: it had to be completed, and then it would be given to Ais, as a gift to the King of Atlantis. Hence, he would get her to bring him into the garden where the capture would take place. Oh, it was a great plan he told himself, he even pranced about in the garden like an elf eating rotten apples, laughing like a crazy man about it, about the moment the king would be enslaved. And the more he thought about it the more uproarious he became.

During this time, this last twenty-five years, he chummed up to Anases so to get closer to Phrygian and his wife, creating a trust, bond of sorts; oh, he was a snake in the grass for sure, but the King was no gentle lamb himself. He implied this was going to be the event of events in the waters of Hades, in the Great Gulf, for all to remember, from one corner of Hell to the other, to the outer limits of its boundaries right up to the surface of earth itself for all the demonic beings to hear and celebrate. Ephialtes even praised this underground haven as his own sanctuary, his prize for being a faithful and good servant on earth; that this was his heaven.
—It was the day, the day of his salvation, so he called it. Quietly, like a mouse, Ephialtes crept out of the mountain enclosure, the cave domain, the underwater prison of sorts, and swam into the lifeless, or almost lifeless waters of the gulf looking for the four guardians of Hell, Belphegor, the King of the Demons, Agaliarept—the henchman, assigned by Satan himself; along with Buer and Gywan, both overseers of the Walls and gates to Hell. As Ephialtes saw the underneath of a large vessel, he surfaced, and sure enough it was the Royalty of Hell, the four guardians mentioned before, with twenty rowers on the second deck below in place. Treasures flooded in Ephialtes’ mind like seagulls chasing a ship at night, and could it be any sweeter for the four in the boat, I doubt it.

Gusoyn, Agaliarept’s Assistant
[and: Tower Guard]

(It was somewhat impossible for Agaliarept and Belphegor to grasp, to believe in the strange tale Ephialtes had told them of the King and Queen of Atlantis living in the underground nest like cave, where Atlantis had somehow been buried by the earth’s catastrophe some years previously, but they did remember the calamity quite well, yet the scope of it all was mind boggling. On the other hand, it was believable the outer crust of the earth had moved when the disaster took place, and this inner world ((although five hundred miles below the surface)), this inner world, in certain places captured some of the upheavals of the adversity, and its debris; not totally impossible to conceive, only that Atlantis was part of this scenario, and the king and queen of all people found it, to them they looked at Ephialtes in surprise when he told them.)

Within a matter of minutes the five were in the Garden of Poseidon, the four hidden behind a small temple, with four walls, made especially for this occasion to hide the four; it was part of the Garden, part of the plan.
Now Ephialtes calls to Anases to announce to Queen Ais, and King Phrygian that the celebration, the jubilee will start in the Garden, and will be handed over to the king and queen as their rightful place and gift by Ephialtes, thus as he is speaking grandiloquently, the vague words he speaks gives the four hidden a hazy laugh, then an odious and simultaneous laughter.

Now each of the four remain hidden in the Grand Garden of Poseidon, like a spider to the fly, and the fly caught in a web, they wait for the moment, the queen and king will enter, and as the king and queen do enter, Ephialtes stands in front of them, and their friend Anases, likewise (unaware of what Ephialtes is up to) their friend, nonchantingly bows to the king (unknown to him what is about to take place); at that moment, as he is about to say something, the four hidden beings of Hell, like phantoms of the deep, fly out of their hiding place, and subdue the king.

(Surprisingly, under such conditions, Ais held her nerves and muscles, commanded them, and her grinning jaw likewise, the demon had terrific speed she thought, and one grabbed her, but then let go, “Sorry,” he said, “it is not you I want!” It was Belphegor.
Then at that moment, that very instant, ape like delightful movements came out of Agaliarept, he could not hold it in any longer. It was an on the spot ceremony of sorts, “Our guards,” gorilla-like demon, “will assure you, you will return and stay in Hell this time, King of Atlantis,” and he added with laughter, “there will be no redeeming for you.” In the meantime, Ais’ eyes had been straining, examining the excitement, and curiosity, a glimpse at each of the members of Hell, she had no fear though, as one might expect if something had befallen ones husband, and even perhaps her, and if there was, with a sigh she gave it up.)

The Capture and the Philosophy

Phantasmagoria circled the boat as the ghost ship crept along the waters of the gulf, with the king, the prize of Ephialtes for Hell’s glory, the king framed in a circle with the over head mass of ghostly beasts as not to allow him to escape again, as they rowed the vessel to the Docks of Hell.

The Queen remained in a frozen stance, in the darken silence of the Garden (after all had left), stunned in quiet horror, relief, and peace—for some odd reason, she had more emotions than one could name. Her soft eyes not moving, not seeing, not even crying, or longing, or racing to join her husband any longer in Hell, for surely she could had jumped into the gray- machinated [plot]. But she did not move: but mumbled for once on a philosophers note: ‘…men of power entrap themselves in granite webs of life, dead or alive, they fight battles, only for a way to get out of them later on, and taking with them all whoever may enter their space’; she was tired of it all, perhaps relieved it was over.
Standing ideally alone, utterly unaided, lost in the Garden of Poseidon, human evil mixed with cosmic evil was too much to carry for her, for the queen, she couldn’t any longer carry his or be his fancy. Could it be he demanded too much of people, whatever it was, or whatever she was thinking, she stood stone still for the longest time thinking in mid air it seemed.
There was no such thing as death, or dying, for in the mist of it all, it was simply a process of transformation, “We were not made to disintegrate into nothingness.” She said aloud, adding, “evil did not die, it was simply hidden away onto and into another corner of the world, so the rest of the world didn’t have to go on with it, could forget the damages caused by one man, and thus, have a little peace until the next one showed up.”
It was like God was giving humankind a break between storms for her now, since Hell wouldn’t. Hell was becoming to Ais, as well as for the King all it was said to be, except for some reason, Hell did not seem to have power over her.

Port of Poseidonia: The Gates of Hell
[The Cosmic Lovers] Component One of Two [Chapters 1 thru 4]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces did not have its secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them—in the depths of Hell and its boundaries. (Part VIl)

The vessel went slow it seemed—it appeared as if there was no wind in the air and the water seemed like syrup, thick with the muck of the world, and therefore everything went slower than normal. Phrygian sat down patiently in the middle of the vessel, he lost his exuberance for existence, his contagious ways of persuasion were silent; but the eyes of the crew, everyone to include the oarsman aboard the vessel, became quite jubilant. His love for Ais seemed to occupy him; here he was, going to the pier, to the Gates of Hell, this wasn’t for a days vacation, no, it was for eternity, countless days. He had grown somewhat dependent on her, just the opposite of how he used to be. But this time he noticed she froze, did not say: “I’ll come with you,” even though he wanted to tell her not to, she did it without him saying it. He wanted to be the hero. But now he was no more than a dead lion, with no teeth.
“Got you, didn’t think we’d get you did yaw?” said Buer, a plump demonic being (gorilla like), who was one of the main guards of the tower and walls of hell. He slapped him in the head a little to see if he could annoy him, but the king was not responsive, he was dead to the world, as if in some trance.
“You will meet many beings like you, but you are special, the lost King of Atlantis, they have talked about you for a very long time…!” bellowed Buer again, for the umpteenth time.
The king turned about, looked at Buer, he was ugly, fat, with funny big ears, a long nose—ape like features.
“Shut up, fat man; just take me to my destination!” Buer spit at him, a gob in his face but it was of no consequence to the king, he just turned about, gave it little attention if any.

Demonic beings can do many things: such as, transforming themselves into heavier forms than one might think, and Phrygian, was not simply a ghost, as one might think he was, the closer he got to Hell, the more his form turned into a greater mass, a different kind of dimension, a mass of matter different than flesh, more like the water in the river, like syrup, mucky.
“It is the law of the Universe, and in particularly, the netherworld, as you know it as, and you become part of the matter of your environment if you want to survive,” so said the king of demons, adding to make conversation, “if you are in space, you become particles of that matter, and space and time is different depending where you are; for instance, if you are on earth, you become physical, or else you have to hide in the dark shadows of earth; and accordingly, if you are in the Gulf, you are a ghost in dark form with substance the closer you get to the docks, it is the nature of things, by the gates of hell it becomes much more so, you become more matter, and substance. It is the way it is.” The King of Atlantis, paid little attention to the demon king, and just laid his head into his palms, his elbows on his upper thighs.

King in the Boat

What was the Phrygian really thinking about in the boat—his mind was surely in deep thought, could it have been: life should have been simpler than what he made it out to be? Oh yes, questions to be answered, to be thought out, to be reviewed and analyzed and surmised and possibly disguised if they produced too much pain.
It might be she [Ais] did not want to go with him, left him just because he did not know how to team with her. She was always wanting to. ‘What had she wanted?’ he asked himself sitting in the boat, “Well, never mind,” he mumbled, “it’s too late now….” He kept thinking of her though, all through the voyage to the docks of Hell.

“Give me the details of what will take place once we get to the gates?” asked Phrygian, to whom was he speaking, no one knew and no one answered, and he did not ask again.
The moisture in the air was thick, thick almost like the water, like he was becoming slowly (turning into a Jell-O form of physical soft tissue, a new world to him).

—Then surprisingly, and all of a sudden, everyone heard Agaliarept—the Henchman say, in his bellowing, echoing harsh voice:
“There isn’t much to tell,” he listlessly spit up and out of his horse head mouth (he had many forms to him, and this one was useful some reason at this moment). He was the one whom was made High Priest by none other than Phrygian, so long ago at Hell’s request. ‘How things change,’ he told his second self. There was an old saying on Atlantis, that: ‘All the gems in the world drift back to Atlantis, as does all of Hells, subversive spirits, demons.’ He told himself sitting in the boat, ‘What else could I have done, demons would be virtually unstoppable if it were not for a few attributes they commonly lack.’ That is, if he wanted to keep his kingdom. He could have given it up, I suppose, and lived like other human beings. Demons he knew had no reason, love or compassion. It was not part of their nature. The human hero has the light of the sun, and reason on his side, but now he had only a vanished dawn.

In Atlantis, he was introduced to many demonic forces throughout his region. There was the uncouth Japanese Oni who could ingest vineyards of wine, when he came to visit the king, the king had to have twenty people gather up the grapes and crush them to produce wine for him during his stay, and he spit out rivers of crap when he laughed; he hoped he’d not meet that disgusting creature down here in Hell. It was a hundred demons who built parts of Atlantis, for the saying is true, ‘work like a demon,’ they need no rest, but at times they crave passion, and he had to provide many women for them; Atlantis had many sins, he knew that and he was part of the foundation of Atlantis.
Yes, obsessive workaholics they can be. He never told her, Ais, but one time he allowed one to enter his bed with him, and enchant his wife, unknowingly to enchant her. Maybe she knew and said nothing (so where his thoughts at the moment). Now he was joining their world. But didn’t he think somewhere along the line, this day would come. I mean, did he think everyone goes to the other place, paradise? Is that rational thinking? Or do we tell ourselves that so we can do as we please, a note, perhaps in the back of his mind might have done him well: be accountable to your conscious, God and the men you rule over. He was really accountable only to himself, and at times Hell.
Now he could see river-rats climbing up the posts on the ship. I guess life was a progression of events to him, leading in different ways or so he seemed to look at it that way now: phases toward life and love, and a recession from life and love.
Harshly rising to his feet he searched for a way out and no sooner had he stood up; he was shoved back done to his former position.

Anases Says

A few hours had passed since they, Belphegor and his envoys apprehended Phrygian, he got thinking as he watched Ais in a comatose stance, staring into the rocky structure of old Atlantis, he got thinking, talking out loud you might say on their relationship:
‘I knew them both, both very well, almost, almost all my life I’ve known them, all my physical existence, I know both Ais and the king (nodding his head as if it was about to fall off his shoulders); with him there was more of a good mixed of good and bad, perhaps more good than bad and with Ais, likewise, there was a little bad mixed in with her good.’ He then glanced at Ais again, concluded, she was worth knowing better.
Then he thought about Gywan, the demonic creature that helped subdue the king, he wasn’t a bad looking demon, until he opened his mouth, and out came the buckteeth. Actually, compared to Buer, and Belphegor, and Agaliarept, he was actually pleasant to look at, a pleasant face and body, although he also had that look that said, he could kill a stranger calmly and walk away while birds ravaged his corpse; something like the King, Phrygian could do.

Ais Says

Ais, who lacked on opinions (during her marriage) made a good wife nonetheless, for the king, and the King who proved to be adaptable, proved also to be a somewhat of a good husband for Ais, although both minds were in different spheres most of the time. And this was what encircled her brain at the moment. She, Ais was practical and He, the king of Atlantis, was in triumphantly captive in worship.
Now she had time to think: an unconquerable, revulsion seized her, she was conscious, or so she felt conscious, for the very first time, conscious of her disgust in his captivity in reverence to the forsaken world. There would be no more encores for her this was it, and possibly all the better because of it. Her shoulders were starting to shake now, he was her prodigy, but so was Aon, whom actually came before him. She had fallen in love with Atlantis before she had fallen in love with the King. And she had fallen into passion with Aon’s love making before the King had ever touched her. A silhouette, profile of the king appeared in her mind’s eye, and then faded like dust.

(Ais stayed with her husband 1100-plus years, most of them in the Gulf Waters, the sea of Hades, when indeed she could have lived a better life in another world, the upper world that is. This was all coming to mind now, “I do not know…” said Anases, now in the distance, pretending to look for his scrolls, but more was on his mind. “At any rate, “ continued to say, “in this mammoth cavern we can live out our lives, whatever that may be, and near Atlantis, both our lives, we can live our days in peace. We are royalty you know, not like those hunting demons. The kingship of Atlantis was handed to your husband, father to son, we had to desperately serve to get our positions, we must remember the king slew many to keep his, even the High Priest, at the whims of Hell.”
Ais listened intently, she knew very little on such matters of state, even though it all happened around her in her own city, she knew nothing of the killing of the High Pries either.
Indeed, how strange thought Ais, to know so little of what is going on around you? Most unpleasant for the poor queen to hear at such a trying things, for she was part of it all in an abnormal way, but in a way, it would assist her in future decisions.
As Anases continued to talk, she had an excellent opportunity to inspect him more closely. He was not as large as her husband, ex husband, as she thought of him now, but are we not attracted to those other folks that remind us of our lost loved ones, thus, it might seem she was vulnerable now. He was not as large or tall as Phrygian, but his skin—now that she was remembering—was the same copper-red as his, as many on Atlantis were; other features we similar also, his check bones were prominent, and had the aquiline nose like her ex husbands.
She thought about Anases for a long moment ‘this could be a miserable time here…’and then she felt compelled to use it wisely. During this period of conversation, between her and Anases, Anases took vigorous steps toward the queen. The skill in which he moved was perhaps crude but she paid no attention to it, she had just lost her husband, if not awkward for her, she was still stunned by the events. On the other had, Anases had the deepest admiration for hr, but it was only that, this was a big somewhat dark inner world, and he was lonely by nature.
—Ais was an impressive and handsome creature, even in her new form, to say the least, now a foot away from her, Anases leaped upon her, and out of somekind of desperation, they hung onto one another, “We must allow ourselves to have desires…” he said, but she said not a word to his zealousness, and held one for the moment, as if it might make a difference, yet her heart was not with him.

The mountain, it had horizontal slits, long but wide in its upper part along its sides—towards it summit, its dome like peak, it served to admit light. The dome seemed to be suspended or hovering by the pressure of the water outside of it—keeping the dome balanced; knowing that a sea was on the outside of the shell of this Mountain was not the biggest comfort to Ais, she would have preferred more of a ground level environment.

I must stress, in this tortuous inner earth, one realized time is no factor, it almost doesn’t exist, thus in the following days and months Ais had time to familiarize herself with Anases, and for the most part, could never get too used of him—but of course, he was the only one around—like her husband, or Aon, but Atlantis, its ruins provided some familiarity, and that provided some tranquility.)) The hollow mountain was or could be boring during these long days and nights, Ais would leave often the mountain to swim in the gulf, in its mucky waters, through an entrance only a few knew about, with loose rocks on the wall of the mountain, boulders were below the entrance, to show Ais the way, yet only revealing at close range; the opening was small which led straight to the sea, yet it was narrow with extreme darkness. It gave a good view of the golf; an unobstructed view of the entire area in front of the mountains dome, providing the mucky mist was lifted. The waters had these hideous lazy ugly skeleton fish, that got in her way during her swimming, but she endured, nonetheless, she simply had to have something different to do, in this somewhat artificial sea, in that perhaps God Himself, created to separate Hell from Paradise.)).

At the Landing Dock

Buer with his Aches and Pains

They were now pulling up at the landing dock, at Hell’s pier, the reeking smell of a thousand demonic beings flowed overhead. The stink sunk over the King of Atlantis’ vessel, it was almost paralyzing—likened to a mammoth nest of bats swarming in their own waste; the stink was making a black cloud as Phrygian was about to be escorted foot by foot, step by step onto the pier; he coughed enigmatically—and undyingly, save for the fact he couldn’t die all over again anyhow, he was already dead. He noticed the nostrils of everyone seemed to have grown twofold on their faces they didn’t fit proportionally. As he looked about, he soon realized he’d possibly be a hideous looking creature like them in time, probably as hideous as Buer.
Then he noticed:

The imps were now descending all about, around the landing dock, (in a most peculiar way) they filled the air with a burst of bulky, shifting stench, some remaining suspended in mid air as their lush corpse odors remained lingering: bat-lipped imps, bone-spitting imps, barrenness upon their lips—nostrils huffing like dying sows, unclean light circling within their own gloom; and murk seeping out of their wombs they had saved for this occasion; their breath came thus up from their bowels, to spill, and so it did right on Phrygian, as they flew overhead.

Somewhat isolated in on the boat they learned closer to him mocking and scorning him; yes, the madness of truth and reality that fell upon him was devastating, as, by their putrid stench-spell, manifested scorn, triumphant revenge—call it what you will—it drifted back and forth, inch by inch filling each and every ounce of space around his person. Not a perfect stench, just revolting enough to be paralyzing.

“What did you expect?” Boomed a voice, gaunt and ill willed, even Ephialtes was shaken by the moment.

‘Guilt,’ he felt guilt; he provoked life, poked fun at it, beyond the point of retreat, as if there would be no price to pay. The smell continued, nondescript, yet it could desiccate a corpse to dust, should it remain suspended in air long enough? Yes, out of the imp’s mouths come the worms of hell, the infinite smells, and pantheist still.

He stood up to leave the boat, so the enraged pong, its stunning weariness could seep away from him, out to and into the gulf, out, and out like a slave to the lungs. The imps, who could were laughing the hardest, gave off a urine-covered mist over him. Then he disembarked.

Port of Poseidonia: Eventualities
[The Cosmic Lovers] Second Component [chapter 5 thru 9]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces did not have its secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them—in the depths of Hell and its boundaries. (Part VIl)


The Hippokamp, Aon, (connoisseur of love and female form) appeared in the waters off the Great Rock, the mountain top that hid Atlantis from not only the Earthly physical world, but from the underworld of the spirits; hence, he appeared while the beautiful Ais was bathing in the waters off the big rock.

(—When Ais saw Aon she went into utter amazement, her eyes and pale countenance came slowly off her depths, and produced a gaze into Aon’s eyes, as he saw her shape, her glistening body, which submerged him into a lost desire, this event, this meeting, seemed like it was long overdue. The closer they came to one another the more intensified their eyes become, as if they were under some hypnotic hex.)

No introductions needed to be said; there the Hippokamp emerged from the waters with another seahorse. He gazed into her eyes remembering the borrowed romance he had with her so many years ago—
“Don’t leave,” she requested to Aon, in a polite and shy way, and for the next few hours she explained what had taken place; then like before, like so may years ago:

The sound of the lyre came sweat and clear,
Upon the poetic notes of the Hippokamp
In the dark far off waters of Hades:
Archkingdom, of all breathe and land in Hell.

“Yes,” said Aon, to Ais, trying to comfort her after playing the lyre, “Yes, death cannot hide in Hell, the Hordes of Hell know who belongs to them, and it is just a matter of time. That is why they didn’t take you. Possibly fate brought me back here to you, I had sensed, whatever fate there is in the Great Gulf of Hell, and here we are.
She allowed Aon to come close to her, now knowing the nature of a Hippokamp and in particularly Aon—for they are known to make love for hours on end, but they seldom produce children; and again I say, even among themselves seldom do they have offspring. And with a different species like Ais was, or is, it has never happened to man’s knowledge. But she knew his nature, and still allowed him to come close, for it was true when she said:
“You have come to my mind on several occasions and each time I was hot and barmy with passion…with the thoughts of having you.”
She knew he wanted her, and it was becoming clear to her, that she wanted him.

On another note, Aon knew he had seduced her last time, this time, would be different, it had to be, she was too vulnerable, and he wanted her for a much longer time, and did not want a part of her, but all or nothing. She seemed to be in a daydream all of a sudden, so Aon interrupted her, “Don’t get lost in the past,” he told the beautiful, longhaired queen, with her slender shoulders and pear shaped bottom. She was more spellbound, caught in the love making of over a thousand years ago.

Law of the Cosmos
Agaliarept says

Hideously all the tales the king had heard of, heard about Hell that is, that crawled up from hell into his kingdom with its infamous heroes, revolving around ages of humanity, legends that seemed unbelievable of giants and supernatural angelic beings were all coming to the surface now. The king reasoned with his thoughts:

‘As I stand on this dock waiting for another kind of death, I am learning slowly, learning like a disease, I am a disease, cast into the form of a spirit. Nothing in a person’s life is spared from the spirit. When you violate the structure of the spirit, what it was made for, it haunts you. All I see are glimpses of people looking at me, a hundred, a thousand, all idly looking at me. Today I am the glory of Hell, tomorrow, someone else. Things will grow old quick here I see; what was royal before on earth is shallow here in hell. The Royal Demonic, they also have their grim pageantry, their shapes and illusive, intangible, jubilees I see: these are the vitally existent spirits of the here and now. All promoting the vision of hell: that it is better to be a free demon in hell, with rank and royalty to be earned, than a slave in the cosmos, in the heavens of the Almighty God. This is their credo. This is their lust. Homo sapiens are no more than wild beasts here; made to server here or there: or to a silent death it may be, for there are 72-deaths know to the universe. And the other creatures whomever they are have recognizable human features, but unnatural or uncommon ones, such as two many fingers or none at all, or no bones in their frames, no skin on their bones, or several heads. There is always something about their mouths and teeth, always, it is alarming.’

Still on the landing dock, Agaliarept notices his prey is somewhat in a trance, dreaming of days forward or past, he kind of knows Ais has met Aon, and they, oh yes, they are making love, and Agaliarept smiles, for they both know the wildness of the nymphs, for although they are not called that, they are that in their most deep rooted thoughts, and it is part of their natures.
“Yes, King of Atlantis,” he said that so all could see whom he was addressing, “yes you, she is with Aon now, your queen, and they are not thinking about you. She is not bound by Hell, she is caught in-between, and so will be judged differently, so we have no power over her, oh a little pulling, but we need not do that, she is clouded by the lyrist. She will be busy for six-hours, if not more.” The Henchman then became variable, laughing hysterically.

Diverse thoughts crept into mind, the mind of Phrygian: ‘Hell,’ his second self now talking to him (its voice saying): ‘Aon, Ais, my Kingdom, everything…’ yes, everything was coming into his mind via symbolism, saying one thing and meaning another. Now in his mind’s eye, He had seen Ais look at Aon (as if in a vision, right that moment); I mean really look at him, I mean with big, begging eyes. He shook his head to get the scene, the vision out of it. Jealousy, envy, anger filled his pale face; it was perhaps the devils trick to plant and then harvest such negative emotions, and he was ripe for the picking, easy triggers.

Ais, Eventualities

Time, oh time is but a spell in the cosmos, in the world’s underground as well, it is different than within the fixed physical world of fixed dimensions though. Aon and Ais swirled within the waves for three days, resilience playing the joyful part in the will of both lovers. Time having no axe to grind, the days passed as if three songs were but one. At one time she would have dreaded all the eventualities that presented themselves to her, as with the king she had none to speak of, then suddenly she became, realized she had choices, opinions, and troubles once, now almost forgotten with the King being gone.
She remembered all the pagan rituals, for the comfort of the soul her husband used to say; she seemed girlish now, unmolested for a moment with Aon, with a vivid imagination of the past, she did not even think of his torments he now faced. Call it a vein of monomania, or call it what you will, she was two people in her mind’s eye now. The girlish girl she never got to be, and the lover-team she always wanted to have. But finding it in the Gulf of Hades was another spooky thought, could it be real [?]
Was there a middle world, if she could not go to Heaven or didn’t have to go to Hell? Paradise was on the other side of the Gulf, that might be a place to look up she thought, or possibly a place called Limbo. It was an animated idea, but it had to be looked at, and it was now that they had revealed to one another their whole beings, Aon and Ais, now sitting on the broken walls of old Atlantis.


Ephialtes got out of the boat first, and watched the horde of creatures gathering on the pier as King Phrygian stepped up onto the pier, and walked over by Agaliarept (for Agaliarept was the Henchman of Hell, although Belphegor was king of the demons, they both had different duties according to Satanic Law; and only in certain matters in Hell could Belphegor supersede Agaliarept’s). Ephialtes even had reached down to Phrygian to give him a hand, but Phrygian wouldn’t take it, and called him, ‘traitor,’ as he walked by him, as if he had not been called that before. Then as Phrygian stood there in thought, Tyr, an imp that had followed them from above their vessel, bellowed out a death-cry, as the king stood pale and drained in dismay. He was a lunatic of sorts, this demonic creature of the British Isles, who burned villas and fought against empires of old, violated every rule on earth and in Hell. Oh he cried a wicked death-cry, for all of Hell to hear.

The Demon Tyr

The Reprieve

Phrygian The Ex king of Atlantis, now brought forth the argument to the two leaders of Hell (requesting a reprieve) saying:” Did not Cain murder Able, Cain the tiller of soil (Adam’s son)?” Yes, said Agaliarept, “And like you are going to do to me, was he not banished?” Yes, said Belphegor, “Did not God Himself give Cain a kind of reprieve? In that, it was in the form of a permit, that on his journey in life on earth, protecting him from getting his perhaps just deserts from people he would meet on his journey.” Both demons now nodded their heads ‘yes.’ Then Phrygian, said in a most hesitate way, “You are Satan’s helpers, yet, you are not going to be as generous as God, in that I will serve you well if you give me a reprieve, or call it an amnesty, or even a pardon!” (In the eyes of Phrygian, he took that as a rhetorical question when neither one of the demonic leaders said a word or even motioned to one another.)


Buer, the demonic creature of old, with his thick lips and shinny black eyes, was back up on his tour of duty, on the Great Walls of the Acropolis of Hell.
Phrygian, was taken to the lover rim of Mount Hades, there he was bruised and molested by its inhabitants, as Buer knew would take place, as he had Tyr escort him, Tyr being no less a perpetrator. There in the hills were what was called wolf-men, with long beards and giant gaunt limbs women naked with babies with no eyes. Screaming and rages going on all day and night; the king was brought to this place, as Ephialtes the new assistant to the Henchman looked on, looked at him before he left the area, looked at him, not with a smile, but actually with a sigh of sympathy and relief. Relief, that it wasn’t him on the receiving end and sympathy because somewhere within his being he still had a once of pity—he was not demon by birth, only perhaps by self interest and habit.

Port of Poseidonia: Hell’s Dilemma
[Prince Phrygian]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces did not have its secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them—in the depths of Hell and its boundaries. (Part VIll)

[Summery] King Phrygian was assigned to the environment, the surrounds of Mount Hades, in the hilly region of Hell, within the deep, lower part of the crust of the earth. Aon, now had Queen Ais, as his lover and mistress, in the waters of the Great Gulf of the Underworld; Anases, the gifted scribe was still in the underwater, inner core of the mountain, location where Atlantis was buried. Agaliarept—the henchman of Hell, had taken back his command, for he was High Priest of Atlantis for a long period of time. Belphegor, the King of the Demons, was here and there, between Hell and Earth; Ephialtes, the hero of Hell, at least for the time being, trader to the Greeks and the King of Atlantis, was a special guard, similar to Buer, and Gywan. Tyr—the imp was about, between earth and checking off and on within the interior of Hell, on Phrygian, for some odd reason he took a personal interest in him.

Hell’s Dilemma

It was grandiose and evil rulership that got King Phrygian into the position he was now in, a slave to the whims of Hell, and all its Superior Officers; he could have been one, had he turned in his wife, over to the Officer of Hell, or had he just left the bet with Belphegor alone, there might not have been any animosity; but he didn’t.
If he could masquerade under a new name in Hell he would have, for all knew the King of Atlantis in Hell, his reputation paved the way for him.
Some of the other kings were in frozen vaults, with worms all over them, jackets and coats and blankets of worms to keep them warm, others were elsewhere. But he was cast to the wastelands by Mount Hades; for the pleasures of man and beast, so saying, he was not in the vaults of the cold worms that were set-aside for such deviant royalty as he, good for that he thought. By and by, Tyr could keep an eye on him this way, and who knows, Hell may have had other plans for him, he would find out soon.

(I mean, had he time to forecast his own doom, I suppose he would have placed himself in such vaults, repulsive as it was. At the moment his eyes were filled, riveted with anger, ‘…conceivably (I don’t know) in time it would vanish,’ he told himself; that is, ‘if anger has gravity, it may fall and bury itself,’ and hopefully so, if he wanted to go on with his state of affairs, and perhaps try to outlive it and hope he could be, or get back into the good graces of the elite of Hell, and get a position, one that was promised to him while on earth, perhaps Ephialtes, or even a better one.)

After a while, his face was starting to look as gruesome as everyone else’s he thought, as he looked about, looked about as he sat on a favorite rock up high on the mountain looking into mirror reflections of himself, looking into old polished stones; also looking down from a dwelling, an adobe type dwelling in the side of the mountain where he could sleep, on the side of the cliffs some 7,000-feet high, so now he could see far off into a sky less Hell. It was an open air-deck type dwelling; Mount Hades was a monument to Hell’s scenery.
There was a sour note to the King’s being thrown into this dramatically unbecoming lifestyle, that is to say, others were thinking: here was a king that did as he was told by the underworld, and this is what he got for his reward. Then there was the reverse of these others that were saying: he should not have defied Hell by trying to save his wife. And so this gave a lot of food for thought within the ranks of Hell.

Thought Agaliarept: ‘…there could be, perchance, be a reprieve on this matter in a hundred years or so, and let those who are thinking of rebelling, the potential mutineer that is, the dissenters, have a finality to this situation, hence, put this matter to rest [?] once and for all.’ Yes he concluded he would let the Officers of Hell, the high ranking ones anyway, know this was on his mind nothing written in stone, but on his mind.

(In a stately manner, the King of Atlantis held his head up as high as he possibly could, if indeed they could have, they would have, shamed him more, but he was a faithful king, and too many of Hell’s followers were looking at the King, to see what Hell would do in the long run. If they scorned him too much, and it got back to the human race there could be decent not only among the potential patriots of Hell, but in the inner crust world, Hells bowels also, so it was a delicate matter dealing with the King of Atlantis.)

Satan with his Wings

Prince Phrygian

When the king was young, I mean when he was a prince in Atlantis, his Archkingdom was a grand oasis, and to him everything was at his fingertips. He was once even married to a young princess who bore him a child by the name of Ampara; whom was his second wife, his first love though was Lailis (and we all know his third love, Ais), and when he ran off, ran away to marry Lailis at a very young age, Lailis whom was only a maiden from Noom—in the heartland of Atlantis—where her girlfriend Xilvaa also lived, the shepherdess with bright blue eyes, like herself, both would gaze into the skies on a warm summers day: and during one of those days—she met the Prince of Atlantis, Phrygian, and they both fell madly in love.

His father, the King of Atlantis at the time chased them to the Fountain of Ddath, where they both drank from the fountain its poisonous waters, lest they be separated during life, they chose death (the king wanting to stop the ongoing relationship).
As a result, the young prince drank it just like she did, and when the King arrived; the two bodies lay side by side. Only one was alive, and barley alive and only a few breaths left to his physical placement of his souls. Xilvaa’s father had notified the King of this courtship and was given a generous reward for doing so. Ay, but the king had seen his son’s chest move, just a little, then he prayed to the demonic forces of Hell, he prayed right to Satan himself, and was sent Belphegor, who sucked the poison out of his son’s body in a moment’s time, and drained the blood of a peasant man to strengthen his body back up, and there the King and Belphegor let the body of the woman rot, and here was the beginning of a long and close relationship with Atlantis and Hell’s Henchmen.

Ais Says

Ais thought she had seen the king in her mind—Aon was restraining her in the waters around Atlantis, ‘There he is,’ she said, as Aon stopped his playing, restraining.
“There he was! Then wasn’t! Then was! Then wasn’t’! Was!” Her thoughts were like a log bobbing up and down in the river.
“A trick of the mind,” Aon said with disgust, and annoyance; “try hard not to visualize your dead husband, for hell has no heart to give back what it receives.”

Phrygian Thinking

The king had many thoughts the following years about Ais, along the paths he walked in Hell; during his sleeping time on the rim of the mountain, on the hills; sleeping like a dog or pig wherever, however he could; sometimes stuffing himself with worms just to get a taste of something—he thought of her.
At times the king seemed silly unto himself; a madman might have said the same thing. There were moments when men and men, women and women, men and women got like that to each other in Hell. People scattered all about, here and there. The king was doing a lot of thinking, definitely, but not getting anywhere in particular with it, it did fill up the boredom he would have had, had he not.
—In his thoughts, unfaithful thoughts about Ais, in his eyes, still his Queen, he had unfaithful thoughts of her, he’d cry a curse to her hoping she would feel it, cursed her every breath in hoping she had heard it; then he cursed his own eyes for she had touched them, then walked in the mud and swamps that surrounded the area, trying to clean his dirt with dirt. His loss of all things was a murmur on his lips, his feverish lips constantly.

The king had sores all over his body, a body that seemed to be physical, and could materialize somewhat, and had he gone to earth as a spirit form, he would had been able to materialize for a moment, it was just easier to form mass in this underworld, but not the organs as humanity had. Hence, these sores on his body left a faint smell in his nostrils like decayed eggs, rutting eggs; corpse like human eggs.

Hell gave everyone time to dream—(as it did for the king), which was their companion, as were the thieves and prostitutes all around the king of Atlantis. He was with his kind, what could he say—like unto like; the king was what he himself would have called cynical, but that was being cured. Yes, he was, used to be, a bandy rooster, a roster that strutted, but he didn’t anymore. Would Heaven be boring like so many said in jest, he doubted it now for this was the ends of all ends of the line for humanity: better to be a demon on earth he murmured out loud, than a king on a dung-heap in hell, something of that sort, although I don’t think he had ‘dung-heap,’ in his vocabulary. In any case, the king, in a buzz, and humming mood, hummed out the lyrics of a song he had made up to his beloved Atlantis, in the mist of springtime:

April in Atlantis
[From the King of Atlantis, while in Hell]

It is April in Atlantis—the bridges are chilled, the wines are distilled. And down the canal in The Gardens of Poseidon, the pigeons harvest corn; the bronze horses stare; still distant (above waters of peril) rest temple grounds, and uncouth, uncrowned, the lyrist sounds. Yes! Atlantis in April is toxic, with time, with its islands of stone and grandeur’s signs.

Bye, my esteemed friend, Atlantis, this April morning day, with narrow, crowed streets to guided my way, and arches with imprinted golden-carved tales. Good-bye, my spoiled Atlantis, I am bound in Hell.

—By King Phrygian

In hell as the days passed, one by one, the king murmured a thousand times: ‘…they are too much alike…” he framed them in his mind, said again, ‘…they are too much alike,’—the days, day after day passing, nothing changing, thus, he started to live (and lived) imagined experiences; oh, not like the real thing, the same as one actually gone through I mean, (as in the days of being king of Atlantis), but it was something—and better than nothing, imagined or not.

The King’s Dilemma
[Night, the Manticore, Mt. Hades—in Hell]

The king of Atlantis, Phrygian could meet death at its own terms, bravely enough, but when it came in the form of everlasting bestial hell, demonic figures so familiar, on a daily—if not hourly—scheduling watching your every move it became uncanny and hideous. It was the face of death facing you every minute, the mind never resting. There was no way in which he could direct his course in life, or if he did, he could not hold it but a millisecond, being always observed, and an object of scorn.
As it was, he found no pleasure in existence anymore, if only he could have stumbled on a way to extinguish himself once and for all, he would have tried. Furthermore, there was no way to make a break for freedom, and there was nobody to rescue him—; God was not present or if He was, He was sleeping. This primordial world in which he found himself, plus seclusion, with in the hills, mountains and caves of Mount Hades, the interior of Hell, was the most crude of all places in existence. It was a brutal looking with a harshly treaded civilization, it was called Hell, and it was named properly he thought: no noble, chivalrous or lovable creatures in it at all.
He said to himself aloud (sitting on a rock, chin in hand, overlooking the mountain, to its valleys below, outside his cave): “I simply made the same mistakes most of us do—people do in selecting the road we wish to follow along in life, a course, perhaps given to us at birth, or thereafter, and often the least resistant; thus, I was no different than the majority.” (But of course he was different, he was the king, ruler of most of the known world, he could and did make a difference, more so than most people).
He was mostly correct in his thinking that he had taken the wrong trail in life, and now he was retracing it, step by step, day after day. His problem perhaps was he had no divide in life, and total rulership of the world was his only solution on earth. When he was first made king, the lure of discovering that he had it all in his hands was too much, in consequence, he decided to proceed, take the short distance, not turn back that was his signature for Hell: he wanted it all.

[Hell’s Surroundings] There were no clumps of trees where he was, there on Mount Hades—like what surrounded Atlantis; the landscape here was decayed growth—between him and the dock, much of the land was swampy, muck, but right in front of him it was dry up to the tip of the mountain. On a clear day one could see the restless waters of the gulf advance and retreat.
Curiosity pushed him to take walks down the mountain for a different scene, but not too far down, for there were sentries posted here and there, watching, waiting to torture him, should he leave his prescribed area. The guards eyes seemed to be able to penetrate the dark, the mist, everything.

[Night on Mt. Hades] Hell, whose forbidding walls did not allow any human beings, not cast into hell, to enter, was a strange world for the king to discover—a mysterious land indeed, and he was on its bosom—sort of speaking, at night it was even sores, the land was thence invisible to most inhabitants, accept for the formidable beasts, the demonic beast watching and waiting for savage delights.
At night he often thought about the land, almost with a fascination, if not speculation, it fell upon him as other mysteries of life did, as when he was human, and admired the dark poetry and power of the night.
The whole land of Hell was as if it was brought back to the birth of time, and stamped: ‘So it shall remain,’ (the outer world may advance, and grow but not here, it must remain untouched by God, after He evidently created it; perhaps the first day of creation. (Yes, the king dwelled upon these thoughts and dreams.)

[Fossilized] It was odd, very odd thought the king, pacing his cave one day, thus, he discovered the fossilized remains of something that seemed to have been human, at first he took only a single glance at it, and then it moved, and he examined it closer, it looked to be long-extinct (perhaps as far back as the Triassic Formation). And it moved, and there he was straining to look at these compressed, bones, bones of some demonic-half human, half lion creature, its head like a human, and its lower parts like a lion, it was an ancient Manticore—so he estimated. And it moved again, a third time. To his understanding he must had been cast naked into this stratum of rock mysteriously sometime in prehistory; unquestionably, he could not escape, or he would have; and perhaps to his advantage, and for the better.

Port of Poseidonia: Immortal Minds and Qin
[Poseidon’s birth]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces did not have its secrets, and dark powers, in the Underworld, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them—in the depths of Hell and its boundaries. (Part IX)

The Keepers

The sacred solar science of the ancients, understanding the effects of the sun on the earth to include affairs, fertility and personality, were the duties of the “Keepers” of this science, the immortals, once born into humanities realm [the Feathered Serpents, Qin being one of them, a shaman of sorts]. The information was encoded into the Keepers cranium and his imperishable soul at birth.

This information was concealed by numbers, pictures and stories to preserve the hidden knowledge to the mythological stores, for future time: of the civilizations, like Atlantis, who was the most worshipped, who claimed the highest god’s, to be their protectors, during these far off days.
In the simplest sense, the eagle of Atlantis displayed the ‘spirit of the sky,’ and the serpent ‘reincarnation’ the shedding of he skin of the snake, and then we have the ‘Feathered Snake’, the perfect being, the Atlanteon, the Prophet, the Keeper, so it was thought: whom was the sun itself; thus, this person ’The Keeper’ could do miracles, like the Moches of Peru.
Hence, these “Feathered Serpents,” performed miracles (prophets of sorts) and upon their death they would go to the brightest star, so it was said. This was what was handed down to the people and this was the truth for its day.


It was Poseidon’s mother, and Phrygian’s grandmother [Neuch] who witnessed a great burst of light in the sky over the acropolis of Atlantis (Phrygian was not born yet). But he was told the story many times, and remembered it quite well, that was:

Lighting lit up the whole of Port Poseidonia [that day], somehow, someone while she was asleep (his grandmother) had gotten pregnant and after sixteen-months she gave birth to Poseidon, whom could speak three languages, that had only taken him three days to learn. His birth was almost dragon like, save for his eyes. He could command demons and giants at an early age, which he did and in so doing, they helped build the Acropolis there at Atlantis, and they did just that, help build the Port of Poseidonia likewise. They say one of the Watchers, Azaz’el, got her pregnant, one of the two-hundred angelic beings that left God’s abode to live on earth. Defined the Almighty; he even invented the long cone hat for the Atlanteon, which would be worn for a thousand years to come, if not two or three.

Poseidon left the kingdom well equipped for Phrygian, the city had glorious obelisks, with carve designs on them, and gold and ivory covered tips, some glorified with other precious stones. The kingdom was the glory of the known world when Phrygian inherited it.


Phrygian now in the catacombs of Hell was wondering why he was always thinking of Atlantis, and its history all the time, every minute it was Atlantis, or Ais (his ex-wife), and sometimes his first love Lailis, he wondered where she went to, was, for she had died an early death. He had been in Hell many years now. And he could go off at times for days or weeks daydreaming of her and Atlantis. He was looking at each detail of his life, he had the time, and matter-of-fact he could go over each detail several times without concern. He knew in Hell there were degrees; and the Hordes of Hell, the henchmen himself had no control over which area the God of the Universe commanded a soul to go to, if indeed, he made a lawful command of it. If He said, Hell, then it was up to Commander of Hordes to put him wherever; if he said, “The Lake of Fire,” then it was there he went—the everlasting furnace of sorts.
Phrygian was not, evidently was not, as bad as some of the kings who had entered Hades realm, for they were assigned to the cold vaults where they made coats out of worms to keep themselves warm. Oh Agaliarept could go there and hassle them, but who wanted to go into the cold vaults or the horrific fires. It was better by the docks or Mount Hades: and Agaliarept could use the cold vaults for punishment, but not eternal damnation.
He thought maybe it was about 225 BC at this point in time of time, for Roman echoes were heard down in Hell—down its corridors, they had a Republic; thus the Greek and Persian wars were over. The time of Gilgamish had long past (2700 BC). So many ages had come and went since the King of Atlantis had entered Hell’s domain.
Qin, the Feathered Serpent (likened to Alexander’s wise man, and teacher, Aristotle), was his tutor so many years ago who taught him all the things he’d need to know in time, in life itself, yet he did not teach him about Hell.

Port of Poseidonia: the Lesbian’s Villainess’ Dagger
[Memories of Ais]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and the underworld with its demonic forces did not have its secrets, and dark powers beyond, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them. (Part X)


Tame, she wasn’t—thought Ais—.

Remember the scribe Anases? Well his wife, Alexandria was a lover to General Marcus’ wife Juliana; a somewhat conflicting if not bewildering love circle of sorts, except the men didn’t know, or at least Anases didn’t know of the ongoing affair, and if the General knew, he was silent about it, and was mostly absent [gone] for the most part.

A pulse in her temple throbbed sickeningly as if in a daze, pacing about the landscape of the watery grave of Atlantis, remembering the many battles Atlantis had in the Mediterranean: its island and coastal areas. For years the Atlantians had beaten the crumbling walls of the Greek cities to submission. Oh, yes, they held out long, but not long enough. Egypt fell early on during its history with Atlantis and Crete was an outpost, sort of you could say, during this time.
In those far off days there were many traitors in the cities, some with sinister anticipations, and others in despairing fears. The General, General Marcus a hairy muscular bruit of a man with broad-shoulders, big headed man, with a dervish temper, was in Africa doing what he liked best, did best, loved to do: the kill, the hunt, for in many a warrior, it becomes a high, and at times hard to settle the internal mood for blood drown (even becoming somewhat—unintentionally—suffering from hypotension). He was like a wild saber-tooth tiger, as his wife was quite the opposite, yet Alexandria was more toward his style [Anases wife], funny how opposites attack. But it was similar to how they all met: Alexandria being attracted to Anases whom was more sedate, was obviously attracted to Juliana, and had made her move early on after their first meeting. And Juliana being attracted to Marcus was subdued by Alexandria, as she was by Marcus (with a little blackmail possibly). In both cases of Anases and Juliana, one might say they were if anything: passive-dependent. And through many of such meetings, between husbands and wives, a love affair came about with Alexandra and Juliana. What was it that made them stay to gather: Juliana had once said?

“My insides play games when I’m with Alexandria; sometimes she takes my hand, only my hand for a very long time, yes, for a long time we remain silent, then something creeps inside of me, it starts out to be a feeling deep down inside I can’t shake; sometimes my hands tremble. It is what men do not understand, the soft voice of a woman, with a caress, a kind of sincerity too. We get each other in a more subtle way. It last longer you know. It takes longer to understand also. There is something colorless, white and fine about it. Possibly it is something like: ‘I’ve longed for this.’”

But Alexandra was changing, what seemed to be love, was lust, a Satanic kind of lust, a lust that craved like a bull, a lust that took at will, and a hunger for something even more stimulating each time, like a drunk caught in a never ending cycle.


It was one summers day in the Port of Poseidonia when Ais was walking with two Royal Archeguards, one, the Captain of the Guards, by the name of Eco, passed a flat-roofed house with barred windows, as he was always a step ahead of the Queen on her right-hand-side, just a foot ahead, no more no less, to insure no harm would befall her. There, from the alley came another scream, a female scream—high pitched. The sound that cried was not for help, but out of pain, out of panic, for she had twisted that kind of scream herself, the queen told herself; so it was unsuccessfully familiar, she had produced such a scream twice in the past, once because of the king, and the second time because of the long ordeal with Aon [love making] or so that was what it reminded her of: both times selfish love, love that demanded of her, not with her.
As they approached, came to the door the screams were seeping out of them like flies whizzing around in circles: Eco opened the front door, and the queen followed him in, as the other guard followed behind, sword in hand. The Queen blinked her eyes several times to adjust to the comparative darkness. Now she could hear a struggle beyond the curtain divider where a bed was, a portion of it was visible. Light through the window behind the bed illuminated the area from the darkened hall.
There lay on the bed a young Ethiopian woman, at closer view it was Juliana, the wife of General Marcus, and on top of her was Alexandra, the wife of Anases, whom had a dagger in her hand. Alexandra was of a burnished bronze skin and Juliana was of a dark silk like skin Juliana several years younger than Alexandra. The black girls face was wet with angry sweat, and tears the Egyptian dagger but inches away from her throat.

The Villainess

The victim, to be, her clothing had been torn off, exposing her fully, as Alexandra had her wrap opened, exposing her upper portion of her body. At that moment, Ais commanded Umbert, the second royal guard, to grip the woman’s hand and stop the violence, and thus do with her as he pleased, which was really, to get rid of her, once and for all. At that point the dagger dropped out of her hands, as Umbert escorted her out of the house by the hair, and threw her in the street, telling her never to be seen again in the city, for she was an embarrassment to the Royal Family.
The black girl tried to put her torn clothing back on, unspeaking yet devouring everybody with her dark deep eyes. There was an innocent charm about her no doubt, thought the queen, a young bride at seventeen to the crude and gruesome general, General Marcus, whom was three times her age. She had never told her husband of her affair with Alexandra, nor had Alexandria told Anases (all secrets within the love circle) as the queen had never told her husband of her lustful affair with the nymph, Aon.

It was told to the queen later on (some months after this event took place) that Alexandria had run off with a Hippokamp, in fear she’d be killed, or starve to death on her own in the city, but the queen knew it wasn’t Aon, or hoped it wasn’t for some hidden jealous reason. Its funny, we don’t want to leave our nest, nor do we want anyone other than us, in our old nests, those we left far behind that is.


“Who—who are you?” asked Juliana looking up from the bed meeting the Queens eyes directly, with her squeaky high pitched voice, young tearful voice, as if trying to get out of a trance.
“Ais, Queen of Atlantis,” she replied with a majestic countenance.
“I was, was—Alexandria’s lover, as you could see, and she, she became lost in some kind of spell. She has whipped me and other things and I think she became desensitized and the next level of lustfulness was beyond sex, rather watching me die.”
She didn’t know the word, but what she was trying to say, and what she really didn’t need to say was she became desensitized to simple love making and its other highs; that is to say, she needed a higher high. She needed to be drugged.
—Ah, but even the Queen was taken in a bit back by her silk firm and tight body, youthful body with its curves, as if she had taken care of herself royally to achieve what every lover desired, male or female. As she had to turn about to examine her, she noticed lacerates that seemed to be made by long finger nails; then the examine stopped and Juliana involuntarily fell to her knees by the Queen, touching her legs saying:
“Oh, please forgive me for such foolishness, for I have enticed her in the beginning, I just didn’t think it would go this far; lust has its cravings does it not.”
She then ordered lotion for her, and Eco went to get it while the other Umbert stood guard by the door; the Queen then covered her up gently, slowly, putting the covers with her fingers over her fatigued body as if they were feathers, soothing her wounds.

Port of Poseidonia: the Codex Scrolls and a Staccato Cry
[A World within a World]

Let us not all believe Atlantis did not have its secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them. (Part XI)

[Anases: proper] Anases’ Dream

A world within a world that is where Anases lived, his mind and body wondered aimlessly for centuries looking for his sacred scrolls. The Sea of Hades [the Great Gulf], is where his mountain domain was and remained, inside a mountain, it hollowness, under the sea, in a ruined city half under water, half above, this is where he lived his ghostly days out, looking for the Crown Imperial Scrolls, the history of Atlantis he had written down thousands of years prior, when he was Grand Archeknight of Atlantis, and Governor of the British Isles. He had placed them in a great tower and gave the great king of Atlantis the other set, whereupon he placed them in his vaults, King Phrygian’s vaults. (For the most part he had given up the affair with Ais, or trying to win her heart, the scrolls were his obsession, compulsion.)

For all intent and purposes Anases still held the title of Gran Archeknight of Atlantis, for what it was worth, and he still kept looking aimlessly for the scores, his records of Atlantis, and he still was a scribe, and he was the one, one of the ones who sealed the scrolls into a tower, the king being the other. Virtually everyone was gone now. Years and years had passed, time was only an expression now, and it had little relevance. It had been hundreds of years since Phrygian had been taken to the Docks of Hell, and made to face the King of Demons, Belphegor. And whatever was his doom was his doom, a harsh way of looking at things, but it was the way the king looked at things when he was king of Atlantis, and Anases’ life was the scrolls, not much more, or less, and he had no time to visualize what misfortune the king had come to, nor cared. He knew the legends of Atlantis were being falsified, and told and retold to a point no one knew an iota of truth about it.
In a like manner, Ephialtes had disappeared and never returned, not even for a visit. If anything he was a mild distraction for Anases during is stay with him. And the Queen Ais, she was under the spell of Aon, the endlessly devouring lover of passion and lust and attention. Oh she tried to avoid him, but it was helpless, and those two now were an entity, or so it seemed. And when she and Aon came around, it was for seeing old friends again. It was now the 13th Century, a modern sort of time for the world. Anases had heard the world was coming out of what was called: The Dark Ages. But Anases was quite busy the last several hundred years, since the dawn of a hero called King Arthur of the British Isles, the islands he once ruled.

—What he had done, magnificently done, was to give up on looking for the scrolls, needless to say, in view of not finding them for several thousand years, he translated his memories into poetic verse he now called them the Codex Atlanteanus [Manuscript]. One now could read about Atlantis in symbolism, in poetic codes if you will. And it was he who gave them to King Arthur’s court, whom put them in his Royal Library (yet in time they would be destroyed again, unfortunately). But he had now made a second copy and was to give it to the King of England, who was to put it in the Abbey at Mont-Saint Michael. This was to happen soon. But then all of a sudden, Ais and Aon came by, showed up un-expectantly as he was finishing his laboriously poetic code, entrenched between the inner walls of this underwater acropolis, inner mountain cave. When they showed up out of nowhere, Anases was pained, strained with expression, for he was about to deliver the Manuscript, and that would end his existence, his reason anyways, for all he knew, to exist, or so he felt were tied up in those codes, the manuscript; oh yes, Ais had played a roll in his life, as did the king and Atlantis, but it was the scrolls that gave him a reason to live on, to exist.
With profound inertia from the watery floor he stood up,
“Ah!” sighed the beautiful Ais, “this will give mankind more to speculate on.” [Looking at the scrolls.] As she was told the long story of his work in progress, with a bewildered look, answered Anases,
“Yes, yes, and I’m sure mankind will translate my translations to appease the times. But the memory of Atlantis will not lay dormant below the earths pillars any longer.”

—Aon was by the Queen, voluminously looking at her as if he could not hold his longing much longer for her, his eyes were ominous illuminated by her smile, passion and lust does many things to the mind; to include obsession, and possession, and illusions and addiction: of which he had them all.


Ais, was now in deep thought, ‘How was Atlantis for her, oh beautiful, most beautiful thing built by mankind, humankind, ruled by two worlds, the invisible and visible. Both loving her, as a man to a woman, loving her so much they even forsaken their gods for her. (Her eyes brimmed with tears.) The ruins of Atlantis, indecipherable, and the unknown dead under her, yet it was still beautiful. (Her voice in her mind trying to take in the moment, for she knew it was the last time she’d be here ((her eyes glistening with tears)).’
She said inexpediently: “I’ll always have my dreams.”

As they all looked at one another they all knew sadly it was a farewell, a last farewell possibly, and were especially gracious to one another for the moment, as an ambling breeze swept through the necropolis.
And so hesitantly, the Atlantis curtain came down after 15,000-years, and probably longer was it in existence, it came down through an uncountable lifetimes from King Phrygian, down from his Atlanteon heritage, to and from the Egyptians, Greeks, and British Isles—and on to the Americans, the new Atlantis. [Shall she also sink?]


And so, this has been the end to half of my story of the ancient wonder of the world, the one not mentioned in the seven wonders, the wondrous one of them all—Atlantis, and of course the Port of Poseidonia where it all took place. Incidentally, I was on top of the mountain of Atlantis, oh yes, it sticks out in the Atlantic sea, nine hundred miles off the coast of Europe. There shall be several more chapters, and then the conclusion.

A Staccato Cry
[Sheol, Hell’s Dominion; Part two, to XI]

There were rough days in hell, quiet days, strange days, days to articulate finalities.

Remembering Genevieve

The king, King Phrygian—had heaps of time to ponder over his life, his convictions, what went wrong, if at all anything went wrong—and if even the decay he found himself in was worth thinking about. He remembered one of the dreams he had during his 1000-years sailing around aimlessly in the river-gulf of Hades. He remembered looking at Ais, his queen, how beautiful she was, and now wondering what she was doing, but back then he’d look at her and oddly enough his mind would shift to Genevieve, his heart would give muddle acoustics or so it seemed—he’d try to refrain from such thoughts sitting in that boat, but nonetheless he’d day-dream back then. She was his finest lover, a wild kind of love. Everyone had a lover on the side he thought, it was common, normal, he never thought when he gave love-sex to Genevieve that it was taking away from Ais’ relationship with him; that he could only give her 50% of himself, because he was giving Genevieve the other 50%, and a man only has 100%; and when you slice the pie up per day: you have duties and sleeping to do, there is only 50% to give any one person, so in truth, the two women were really getting 25% of him each, while he was getting 100% of them (isn’t that a mans way, he though, and rightfully).
In-between his love affairs, especially this one, he had people coming from all over the world to meet him, give him gifts, and getting their needs met in the mean time.
He gave Genevieve a diamond bracelet, and of course much more; Genevieve thought all men were fools and took all she could. Said the King in distain:
“She was like me, she used me and loved the Egyptian, the red haired beauty, with the icy eyes and hot breath, and she loved him and only him, not me. She even told me: “…don’t you think by now, by this time I know that I can get any man I want to?”’ The king didn’t know what to say to that at the time.
“She’d sit on the balcony over looking the city of Atlantis and she repeat how beautiful I thought she was how beautiful I’d tell her she was. We’d sit there on the veranda with the lantern hung at night; she said everything with vagueness and hazy laughter—Genevieve, with her long hard legs, she said it out loud and hoarsely as I sat in and watch her.”

Genevieve’s Arrogance

[Phrygian] I hated her arrogance; it was much like mine now that I have time to think of it. She had put her chin in the air like a Greek statue to me, far off in those days; then she’d say, ‘I’ll spoil the pose,’ and she would do so, just to annoy me. Dripping lemon in her glass of water, yes, yes, she was secretly in love with that Egyptian, that barbarian general, in love with a scum devious Egyptian, I should have killed them both. And she liked the one from Delphi, Otis, and the envoy. She’d sleep with him when I was sleeping, and Ais was in Ephesus; but she’d go back to the Egyptian, I know, I had her followed, all the way to Memphis.
She was a poor conversationalist for sure, she was at that; I even figured her out; gave her the freedom of the Acropolis and the envoy, and the general. The general thought he was cleaver, would tell my wife, blackmail me, subdue her on the settee all for them arduous legs.
But it wasn’t that easy was it…no, it wasn’t. She, Ais was not making love to him, but I let him think he could, I looked the other way, and when I seen them in the room together, I had Eco, her body guard slice him in two, right through the mid section, his body laying down half here and half there. And Eco did the same to Genevieve in her sleep, cut her head off for me. I told Ais she was trying to blackmail me.
I thought about Genevieve while in the boat, and now I think of her also while palms rest on my knees sitting on this rock shaking my head not wanting to go back mentally to the vessel, the one I sailed around, sailed in for a thousand years. It has been an ongoing feast, conglomeration of love’s and lovers; I forgot how fast time passes when I was alive that is. Genevieve was more the lover, not like my first love Lailis. Some you forget, some you want to forget and some you can’t forget. Lailis is one I can’t forget, and Genevieve is one I want to forget, and Ais, as jealous as I am, I’m starting to forget her, but not Aon.

A staccato cry, came from his nostrils, mouth, throat stomach, cries of anguish and chatter of his teeth, he was alone, all alone. There was a once of hypnotism here, just the plain gulping brutal ferocity of the truth tearing at his ribs.

(You don’t sleep in Hell, you only pretend you do, thus, you are a slave to memories, dreams, and pretending experiences, that don’t exist, and in doing so, he consequently, dropped his head in slumber, he was now worn out.)

Hell Floats

The nights die slowly in hell, for there is no real sky if anything a pale sky of a roof type gloomy mist, as if a big eye was looking down on you all the time. From the gulf, faded dimly faded mist from the waters, as if it was being scorched sometimes from the molten rocks underneath it, the magna heats everything; and like in Pompeii, ash seems to fly about in bulky form when the earth trembles from its volcanic material activities, yes it has its toil, or better, its racking shackles on Hell.

(Believe it or not—the king had learned, there was nothing to its equal, he looked with abhorrence upon his stay here, feeling merely like a worm, a cold blooded animal, one no one would think of eating. As a matter of fact, it is too hard to explain, undescript for the most part, this existence of Hell; but I shall continue the best I can.)

I want to say: over the horizon, but here there wasn’t isn’t a horizon, just a line it seems like when in the ocean you see all the blue, then only a guiding line from left to right. But here you got the lightening, the flashes, the volcanic activity, everywhere is waves from deeper parts of hell I do believe, Hell floats.

As Phrygian noticed later on during his incarnation in Hell, much of the land around him was red or dark, the dark parts of the crust of the earth was molten burnt land, and the red had not yet been totally burnet. Should he step too heavily on the dark part he’d fall into its molten lava—deep down, and it hurt, and the pain does not go away, right away that is, and you never die from it, just endure the pain. As a result, after a few experiences, you watch your step, inspect the far out distances before you step on them.
The inner earth also annoyed the king; it was no comparison to earth’s surface beauty, to Atlantis’ grandness. Around him were smells of twenty-five thousand years of decay, if not longer bringing with it the infinite cries from a few billion souls or more, all chattering their teeth! And a million demons.


It was that fatal night the king was thinking about before, when he killed the General and Genevieve, he forgot, he may have even killed Otis, how the memory slips, he told himself. Here he was, killing her all over again, in his dream-sleep mode. How many times will it surface he wondered, the stiletto, he dreamed he killed her with a stiletto, but it wasn’t the truth, he had Eco kill her with a double edged sword, he just wished he would had killed her, and his nightmares—for what you take to hell, you keep—. His attitude came to mind, surfaced, it was rather a curious jealous one, controlling for all his loves, and only one that it was not, I mean different for him was of course his first love, Lailis. Yet that was past, it was now his insensitive makeup, hateful makeup, revengeful makeup. It was as if, as if it had control of him, no matter what the price was.


The Tiamat of the Underworld

Port of Poseidonia: The Kings Reprieve
[Revenge, the Tiamat and the Tor]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces, and Hell with its hidden secrets, and dark powers, and the cosmos did not use them in all dimensions, to subdue humanity and the universe. And this sketch will bring forth, one of them. XII


The land of Hades, ruled by all the powerful demonic cells, forces: all in an orderly fashion: team work (or at least most of the time it was team work) —for the most part, —governed by Lucifer himself, whom was seldom there, governed through Agaliarept, and via Belphegor: whom both signed off on the Reprieve for Phrygian. All the aristocratic, demonic Seers from Lemuria, Mu, and Atlantis, from the beginnings of their breeding, and breathing of humanity, they all voted for his reprieve; even the Tiamat, the goddess demigod and evil doer of the seas, the gulf river of Hades, of all the waters in the solar system, on earth in Hell (so it was).


—Who, I say are the heroes of these episodes, the flashing bayonet of pride, the shinning star among the rest, the hero, this long period of time (this Atlantis story) of the Port of Poseidonia, listlessly I could not find one name, not one to take the honor; but as time goes on we shall see who beats the odds (whose hands will rest upon the prize, whose weight will prove too much to overlook, and be called hero, is there one that can grasp this, save the day, plunge headforemost into the waters of heroism? We shall see), if that that is possible, and then we shall find our hero. For if anything, we are watching the outcast of the world, trying to dominate and devour the world, and ending up in the harsh, awesome macabre beauty of the dead, emancipated from the physical world, to be incarcerated by the invisible world. The old king of Atlantis tried hard to keep his composure for the past thirty years, keep his imagination at white heat, one might say, so as not to lose his mind. And so he did just that. The Tiamat at present is in the deepest part of the Gulf of Hades.

Mount Hades

In the land where Mount Hades is, a section of Hell, where Phrygian resides, Agaliarept has now decided to grant the pardon he was hoping for, and in doing so, make the old king an emissary, to Hell’s impulsive desires.
Said Agaliarept contentedly:
“You must bow to me now, now in front of all those around these mountains, and hills and waterholes and fires, that know you snug in its cradle, and when we get back to the dock so they all know I have rewarded you likewise you must proclaim you have been duly punished, and you still respect my command!”
Agaliarept, thinking this was no big thing, was surprised when he hesitated, looked with a despiritualized emptiness, as if he might say no, said the ex-king of Atlantis,
“Agaliarept, Henchman to Lucifer, and guardian of Hell, I request one thing if I am to be loyal to you, and accept my so called liberation from this dreadful existence (Agaliarept’s eyes opening up two fold, looking like golf balls, said ‘what!!’ as Phrygian rattled on), I want Aon (the seahorse), I want him under my control, under my heal!!”

This was more involved, thought Agaliarept as he paced, but agreed, not quite knowing how this was going to take place but he had a plan (and fortunately he had friends that might help, friends filled with the horrors of fate in that, while in Hell, and in Hells waters, they were the destiny of all that entered them; and Aon was in Hell’s waters.) Plus he liked the part that he wanted revenge for him subduing his wife, knowing know, it was the second time. He wanted him brought back to the gates of Hell, tied to his old watery chariot, tied to the docks of Hell itself.
The king knew he was simply a charismatic hippocampus, a wild nymph if you will, and to be able to go on in hell with some pride, this had to be settled, how else could anyone respect him. He was a handsome creature thought the king; nonetheless, revenge has no time for beauty pageants.
“You do realize Phrygian,” said Agaliarept, upon them approaching the dock area, where he and Belphegor sat at their table, watched the incoming guests, as they called them sometimes: disembark, walk though the heavy gates, there Agaliarept and the old king showed up,
“You do realize we cannot order your wife, Ais, to come with us?”
No, Phrygian did not realize that, he took it for granted: take one, and he thought, take them both in the process if they were together. Thus, the disappointment showed on his face; said Agaliarept again said:
“We do not have the power over her, she came to Hades with freewill, should she come to the docks of Hell, and chose to stay here, she would be incarcerated here, but I doubt this would be the story.”
The two demonic leaders looked at Phrygian’s face, and then nodded their heads for him to kneel down, and he did.

“Now,” said Belphegor, “although I am the king of all the demonic forces, I do not have full authority without good reason to order the Tiamat to capture Aon for us, and it will take her to do so. Should she deny my request, it would be to her disadvantage of course, yet she could, she is a moody beast at best, and a menace to boot, but a deal is a deal. So I will ask for this favor, should you fail me I will bury you under Mount Hades for the next 10,000-years for the embarrassment!”
—Having said that, the two demon found that Ais and Aon were by the mountain, where Atlantis was, and not far from there was a place called Limbo, not many got to go there, but sometimes those coming into the boats, disappeared, and the oarsman often thought that they went there; a woman with a candle stick would appear often times, for just a moment, and they’d disappear. Should either one even know about Limbo, but surely, Aon was not eligible, if even Ais was. Nonetheless, Belphegor found the Tiamat, and brought forth his request to her.

(Belphegor had sent out word for the Tiamat to meet him, and one could see her swimming rapidly in the direction of the docks of Hell, the King of Atlantis was forced to stand up and look upon the beast he was terrified, at first glance, she stunned him, twenty feet tall, 2000-pounds of reptile, green to the bone, and eyes that puzzled the best of observers. It was difficult for the king to stand still and absorb the moment; she was fiercer looking than the demons of the dock. From every pore, sweat came out of him, trembling like a leaf—she was awful looking, repulsive, simply unimaginable. He felt he was in her power, frightfully so! He swam within himself frantically looking for a smile, to escape his fright. Nothing, not even the demon had scared him like she did. He tried hard so she could not discover his hastened state, lest he be looked upon as a sissy to her, and to all that were on the dock area.)

“You do realize Belphegor, I will request something from you in the future, should I do this task you ask!”
She was monstrously huge, green and leafy with scales, a long thick tail (half partly male, mostly female): looked similar to an erect alligator, or some prehistoric creature. But she being faced with a direct order almost, found it hard to deny Belphegor, should she want to, and it didn’t seem as if she wanted to, it seemed more as if she wanted a favor in the future, Belphegor could make life rough for her.
Thought Belphegor, in retrospect, she had done little for him in the past, it was about time he show his authority, yet he didn’t want to upset the balance of power, should Lucifer know he was going through all this to satisfy one man, it might not look too good. Yet, Belphegor had plans for the cleaver old king that hid from him for a thousand years.
Thus, after a moment’s hesitation, whatever dangers lay hidden in the mind of the Phrygian, were gone, once she took her fearsome body and submerged it into the waters of the gulf.

The Tiamat,
And Avalon

As Phrygian awaited his reward to be, have, command, to own Aon—to be brought back to the dock by the Tiamat, his heart was racing, the thought being: could this really be true: sweat revenge, ‘poetic justice, then his mind shifted, panting in other areas, old hideous and uncanny thoughts:’

As the king waited, he remembered the days of Avalon, many of the spiritual leaders of Atlantis, that didn’t follow the ways of necromancies, sought refuge on a mound called the Tor of Avalon, and a small village was near by Glastonbury, in England. The Tor was somewhat constructed by two giants of its day, Gog and Magog, so they called themselves. Its history went back 40,000-years, or possibly even 70,000. Thus, they’d escape to this misty and enchanting area to where the underground wells circled the Tor, which had tunnels throughout it; and often times to hide from the few that found their way there, and those that searched the tunnels, never returned, they would collapse on them, mysteriously collapse and bury them alive.
Eventually, Atlantis had to give up, what it could not rule, by simple exhaustion. It could not maintain its armies, its dominance over the population, for as it grew, it also became more independent; and therefore cumbersome for Atlantis to regulate; hence, they gave up what is know known as the British Isles during Phrygian’s rulership; got themselves out of its clutches before it drained them of everything, making them weaker in all aspects. But that was also the time the Empire [like all Empires] was descending within itself, and to the world outside its doors. It would seem no empire was ordained to rule forever, perhaps for a while, like the Greeks, and Romans (and in the future, the Americans), as the king was going into history.
But in the king’s mind, he was really thinking: would Hell always rule, Hell? Or would it be like other civilizations, to be toppled over into non-existence in time? For even being a member of Hell was grave to his mind, nothing seemed to be forever.


The Tiamat
And Aon

All of a sudden the Tiamat, the huge unsensuous creature, with the evil counsel watching at the docks, emerged from the water, with the head of the Hippokamp in her hand,
“My pleasure,” she bellowed as if he was a string hanging half beaten by her [laughing], “it took really very little effort,” she said, “he was slimy and abhorrent to drag all the way back here, I wanted to devour him, but here you are.”
“Ah! Wonderful! Wonderful!” Said the king of Atlantis, forgetting his previous repulsiveness for her.
Said Agaliarept, with a smirk all the way to his forehead, king, Belphegor,
“I see she has danced for you?” Belphegor did not gloat, but took a deep pride in the fact she did.
The Tiamat had female as well as male organs: from this point, she threw the Hippokamp on the stone dock like a dead fish as she announced,
[Looking at Phrygian] “Yes, the sport is delicious. Come, Phrygian, I will make babies with you, demonic babies,” and she slipped back into the water laughing crazily. She must have been older than time, thought the King of Atlantis, as Aon now crawled on the dock like a worm, as hundreds of repugnant demon looked upon him like savages out of a jungle.
“I got you back here!” said the Phrygian, to Aon, “you are thief to me,” Aon said nothing back, save for the fact, powerful other forces were looking at him, and should he defend himself, it would be horrible and dreadful to see what their evil scorpion minds could manufacture; some loathsome things I’m sure. Hell seemed to Phrygian, it always wanted to test you, and then give you the consequences, much like the cluster of evildoers on earth.
“I fear it is impossible not to watch you everyday, I cannot have you cast into some lonesome pit, I want you tied by the neck to the dock like a dog, and should you move too far this way or that way you will strangle yourself—like a dog tied to a rope, you will be able to rest only on your knees.” [A pause.] “What is that you say?” Asked the king, for Aon said not a word, but Phrygian wanted to provoke him, but wise was Aon, for he knew the king better than the king knew himself. The drama was over, resistance broken, he would say nothing; he was willing to take his punishment for what it was worth, what else he could do. There was really no fun in watching someone being punished with a flat affect to his face and limbs.

Port of Poseidonia: Sanctification of Power

Let us not all believe Atlantis and the underworld did not have its demonic forces or secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them—in the depths of Hell and its boundaries. XIII

Archeknight of Doom

Said Agaliarept [in his arrogant and assured manner], “Are you ready King of Atlantis our new Archeknight of Doom?”
He had said that to many of the kings that found their way into his Hell, even after he had befriended them like he had Phrygian on earth, assuming it was alright for him to do so, since it was his nature to, and it wasn’t all right for Phrygian, and could complain should he not keep his word.
“Ready for what,” he looked at Agaliarept, I mean the new Archeknight looked at Agaliarept, was now his glorious day to become one of them, he smiled as much of a smile he could,
“For the injection of power,” I Phrygian had power it was taken away. What is power if it can be taken away, I mean away like a fish out of a pool, taken out and thrown back in. He thought about that for a moment, tired of being a nobody, in the underworld, and he knew an assignment was forthcoming, he had got his revenge on the Hippokamp, Aon, and he was given a title; ah, not king though, that he had, but for a brief moment on earth, as everything is but a brief fleeting flash on earth.
“Come here,” said Belphegor, he was standing by Agaliarept, on the dock, by his ancient table, both sitting as if they were tax collectors.
And so he did, and did it like a good squire would, putting on a countenance that would have fooled even Tyr.


They both, Belphegor and Agaliarept grabbed Phrygian’s hands all hands folded together, as if it was a brotherhood shake, but it shook that section of the dock, the internal forces within them, now being generated into Phrygian’s being. His insides felt as if he was melting, all of them melting together, all breathing together, and his and their strength was locked into his shadowy form. Was this what it is like to have such power, I mean unbending power, power that is almost magical, to the upper world, it is called supernatural. Phrygian shook as the hands grabbed tighter around his wrists; and through all this he stood stone still, only closing his eyes as if they were about to roll back anyways, so he saved them a trip. How would I need this power; how would they expect me to use it? I got the howls but nothing else. Phrygian’s mind was racing, racing—jumping almost into a melt down, then the two pulled their hands off the king. With this power he not only could venture on earth, but should he want, or need to venture into the cosmos, he could do so. But the king knew, what ever is given, can be taken away, it was a hard lesson learned in life, but it was so.
Now stepping back to get his composure, Phrygian shook all over, kind of trying to clear his head. His lips were compressed he had to try to pry them apart; his brow twitched still, yet with all this his strength was ten fold, he could feel it being so, but still seemed fatigued, as if he had sex for several hours. He wanted to lie down, but dare not show weakness, not now; he was being given privileges beyond the norm. Yes, the power serge was overwhelming, but now he’d be able to regenerate by a peculiar process [which I shall tell you about latter, should he allow me to].

Ais and Anases

Queen Ais was with Anases by Atlantis’ watery grave, contemplating futuristic moves, what was her best move, she had asked herself: “I know I should seek out this Limbo place…” Anases being known for his wisdom and knowledge said with a passing sigh of his breath Ais holding his hand as if she was in need of advice:
It’s a dusty looking disk (Limbo), or so I’ve heard, a remnant of a spiral Galaxy, twisted inside of a giant Elliptical galaxy, it is Centaur’s, or so I’ve heard it called NGC 5128, or will be called such in future time. This disk like mini galaxy, a sheet of gauze dust from a former galaxy makes a good camouflage that is why it has been hidden from demons and Satan himself cannot find it, or angelic supernatural beings. Within this forbidden Galaxy, within a galaxy, that drifted into Centaur. A’s gravitational grip, it did this some 200,000 million years ago, resides old stars and the dusk hides the planets, or in your case, the planet called Limbo, which is in the shape of a star-planet. It has been said somehow it sank into the center of the bigger galaxy, thus Limbo sank into its center. Should we go there, or should we even be allowed to go there, it would be better than here.


“Ha-h-h-ow!” prolonged Agaliarept, plaintively—as they all let go of each other’s hands, then looking at Phrygian’s to see his reaction. “Sorry about the big surge,” said Belphegor, with a vindictive grin (apologetically, with a suspiciously jovial tone to his hiss).
Said Phrygian [qualitatively]:
“Thanks!” which came out of his mouth with a petulant overtone. He now took a few minutes to observe them for they had been doing that for quite a long time, eyeing him up. What do they want of me, surely more than I want to give; look at them with their sardonic expressions. As the king was trying to figure out the oncoming demands to be made of him, his form took on a deeper looking flesh, on his legs, hips and arms. The outlay of wrinkles he once had had gone away, his face suddenly was more smooth, not like the two demons sitting at the table, they were permanently damaged, their face, body, everything. He was at this present moment, a disappointed man, for he knew he made his mistakes, but must he live miserable at a loss, and within vanities hid within his pocket the rest of eternity? That was his thoughts, his unanswered questions: questions he dare not ask anyone, lest he be taken serious, and brought back to Mount Hades.

New Found Power and

“Me and my crazy ole Atlantis,” he began, “me and my crazy Ais—“
‘You got revenge,’ murmured someone, thing in the back of his mind.
‘You showed Aon; and now Ais has no lover.’

Phrygian gazed coolly about. Tyr was standing by laughing. He got no further with his laugh, for Phrygian hauled off and hit him concisely in the nose.
“Yew!” he shouted, thinking, ‘I showed the big bully.’
Tyr looked strangely into the old Kings eyes, then at Agaliarept and Belphegor. For the first time the king of Atlantis realized the insuperable power he had, and liked it; Tyr passionately protested, and detested him for it; and so he just gazed around helplessly at the glowing, yet violent hostile faces of the three, and then flew off.
Agaliarept liked what he saw in the king, it was not a coward, but a fighter; it would seem every waking moment the king spent at Mt. Hades was in that punch, the revenge for Tyr’s witticisms he had to endure; the ugly mannerisms he encountered. His unpopularity and turned about faces.


Phrygian was a snob by all means, by nature and reality, but he put on a show with considerable spirit and spunk I must say (realizing it is better to be an actor than a reactor); and he despised those who were just snobs to be snobs without having any spunk behind them, and Agaliarept had spunk and Tyr did not. When the chips were down, so was Tyr, and he’d go hide, as he did with the punch in the nose—go hide; this Phrygian despised. The only respect he could give Tyr was a ‘tallyho, farewell, and goodbye.’ And as he did so—Tyr, embarrassed as he was—all six eyes glared at the barbarian, and with lips curled slightly, he was the object of scorn, despicable, affected, humiliated, and one could see the snobbishness reeking out of the old king, but to him it was good breeding snobby-ness, in a dictatorial way, Tyr’s was a gutter snobby-ness to him, undeserved.

Port of Poseidonia: The Power Spirits
[The Incarnation of the King]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces, and Hell with its hidden secrets, and dark powers, did not use them in all dimensions, and throughout the Universe. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them. XIV


Life is never graceful long enough to fall to sleep in a valley, either you find yourself shortly after a quick dose climbing up, or climbing down the mountains on each side of the valley, the valley of issues, life’s issues that is, problems, etc., ah, life is a test of endurance is it not, until old age creeps up, and we seemingly let go because it is too damn hard to get back up on our feet. But dying is not death in the long term, no there is another phase to life, matter-of-fact, we may have several more phases to live. Let’s look at one.

Phrygian had just gotten his first assignment from Hell. I will explain it to you as it was to him: Agaliarept was to release him from Hell, so Belphegor, the King of Demons, could now have full authority over him. Let no anyone think, Hell, and the Universe with all its hardness has no hierarchy. It is similar to Heavens. You see, it should be well understood in the invisible and supernatural world, Satan duplicates Heaven, although it is not quite to ones advantage to say it too loud, save for the fact, the main man might hear you, and woops, off you go back to Mount Hades for a spell. In any case, it was explained to Phrygian that both God and Satan have what they call, ‘Power Spirits,’ they travel and do God’s work, or in the case of Hell, Belphegor’s work, who gets his orders directly from Satan. Thus, they travel possibly from planet to planet, or if assigned to earth, from country or city to wherever assigned. In material form [incarnating], whatever form is needed. To incarnate, or to be made flesh, one only needs to have the power to do so. And on earth, you cannot survive long in a spirit form, you need to incarnate, and only a few have this power. It is a given power, as is the travel assignments. Thus, on his travels (it was explained to him) you will also find God’s Power Spirits, from Heaven: here and there. It is best to leave that area alone or to call on assistance, you can call Bijoy or me, and so it was explained: we will assist you. If you are cast into a pig or something like that, you will not have outsmarted God’s forces, and that is a point of contention for Hell.


What was going to take place was a new career he thought. But was this necessary; was there no rest in the Universe? His first assignment was simple, or so he thought. There was a war going on, and they called it The Great War [1917]. He was to seek out a person in France, whose old lover had a child; she had gotten marred and was in her late forties; Donald, was also in his forties, and a Major in the US Army. He wanted Phrygian to get involved with his command. To—if need be—materialize and become an officer. Take the uniform off a dead soldier and play the war game. He couldn’t be killed. The main objective was to see that Major Donald Pepper would get shot and killed in action. The woman he had gotten pregnant had married another man; she was ripe and cold, hungry for money in her youth. She never told her new husband the child belonged to another man, and Donald never interfered with her life. He did although leave her a memorandum when he left, he left her his picture and old mantle clock, the clock was a wedding gift, and his note said,
“The ringing of the clock, it will remind you of your cold, cold heart, and the dark wood, of your sinful nature, for I have loved you, and gave you a son, only to be raised by a rich mans greed.”
Well, she did marry Henry as she had planned, and she did think of Donald often. And sometimes she would not wind the eight-day clock, and her husband would. She had even cheated on her husband, and now had stopped for he had caught them in the kitchen: not doing anything, other than smiling at each other, but it was obvious. She, Sally Gunderson loved her husband Henry, and her son. And had forgotten about Donald for the most part; yet, every half decade she’d look at his picture, when her husband was in his room sleeping—look at it dreamy like.
Phrygian needed to make sure he was killed, or in his will, the death letter the military sends to the family, next of kin, was to be sent to Sally Gunderson.

The Colonel

It was the third day into battle within the French trenches, the Americans and British and the French all were fighting the Germans, and Colonel Phrygian, in an American uniform, had ordered the Ammo Humpers, who brought back and forth ammunition to the dugouts, to bring now more ammo, they had enough, and to supply another area. Thus, as the Colonel met Donald, he was a courageous soldier indeed, but beside him was a young woman, she had a camera, and the more he looked, the more he seemed to know her. And for some odd reason, their eyes connected.
“What did you say your name was Colonel,” she asked, with the Major watching the scene. Colonel Phrygian.
“That sir, is a very old name, one that goes back before written history I fear.”
“And your name?” Asked Phrygian.
“Miss Lailis, no last name, I prefer this.”
A silence took place, and Phrygian said, “I know you,” it was his first love, the one that took poison with him. A tear filled his eyes she knew what side of the fence he was on, you can tell between such supernatural beings.
“Why are you here Colonel?” he knew she knew all the history that took place now it wasn’t hard to tap into information needed. He thought of what his tutors told him, to try and avoid a confrontation.
“Well Colonel,” said the Major, “it seems you two have met before, and I have a battle to run, and I am waiting for the Ammo Humpers to bring us some damn ammo before we’re blasted out of here to kingdom come.”
Lailis looked at the Major, “There will be no Ammo, the Colonel made sure of that.”
“No ammo,” said the Major, “what does the Colonel have to do with ammo, our ammo,” he looked strangle at both of them.
“I need to get you out of here,” said Lailis, but the Major would not hear of it, she knew it was a set up. As the Major turned his back to find someone to go get some more ammo, he was hit in the head with a piece of metal, he now tried to stand up, and instantly, Lailis with some internal power, with her eyes and hands pushed the Colonel backward like a tornado away from him, and a few a hundred feet or so beyond her, he had collided into a bunker, and lost his breath. The major was dead.


Sally answered the door, she was handed a letter, it had on it, the Department of the Army; she opened it, her husband was sleeping, and there was the letter, “…died in battle…1917…in the line of duty…” she looked at the mantle clock, grabbed it, ran outside, her son was now seventeen years old, she hugged the clock, and she tripped, by a person who just happened to be waiting outside, and before she fell on the cement, a woman showed up and caught her.
“Hello, the strange woman said, I’m here to comfort you because of that letter.” Sally didn’t know who she was, but thought it was connected with the Army. Then she looked over at the strange man,
“And you sir, how can I help you?”
“Oh, I, I was just passing by, and was going to see if I could get some orders for people to write soldiers overseas, but I see you have a loss, I’ll come another time.”
Said Lailis in a commanding voice, “I’m much better at this than you sir, no need to ever come back, it would be better for you that way, I promise you.”

Phrygian had accomplished the main part of his mission, the second part was only told to him, and given to him after the success of the first. And this being his first mission, he was given an accommodation for outstanding performance. It’s funny he thought, how they both ended up on different sides of the pendulum.

Port of Poseidonia: Paradise and the Chariot
[Planet Moiromma]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces, and Hell with its hidden secrets, and dark powers, did not use them in all dimensions, and throughout the Universe. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them. XV


It was a shock to have seen Phrygian thought Lailis, for it was her only love, lost love, and of course she was one of his many. It was fate that brought them together, fate mixed with Belphegor’s evil, but nonetheless, destiny. It was a Chicago morning and Lailis received a new assignment to go to the planet Moiromma, just outside and along earth’s solar system. But she wanted to see Phrygian one more time. And so they met down by the train station, it had a grand tower and it seemed even a little romantic, yet she was not quite feeling those feelings, rather a mystic curiosity of why he chose the evil side of life (or perhaps it chose him, and he just went along with it), and now in what was called Sheol, or the place of the dead it was carved in stone, as they say all over his face.
She was still youthful looking, as she was when she had died, and he was old looking with a reserved, with pale skin, that once had a shinny copper tone to it, so far he was handsome nonetheless, in his own way and new nature. And they met, but he was more interested in what happened to her after her death, possibly comparing notes. He looked a bit disappointed that she was content, and he wasn’t. But had she known him through out his years, it was the real him; the him she didn’t know (have the chance to know), but the real him, the him that turned out to be the King of Atlantis

said Lailis, “Upon my death I went to a place called Paradise; it was down by a gulf, and far across the gulf was a place called Sheol, the whole area being called Hades I think, except for the area I was in. But after I had learned all I could in that area I was brought back up to earth, funny I thought, and there I saw a cherubim blessing a chariot, I was asked to step onto it with a few other folks, and so I did. It ascended with us as its cargo, a cargo of spirits I’d say, near God’s kingdom, going through the floor of Heaven one might say. Oh, it was all very strange, but beautiful. Anyhow, I might have been considered a cherub and child of sorts, compared to the rest, they were much older, and a child angel I was being transformed into. Then the chariot seemed to have stopped somewhere by God’s courtroom, the Seraphim with its four heads and four wings was there at the entrance. Again the Cherubim blessed the chariot, and nearby I heard praise for the magical moment, the holy angels, souls and spirits, all singing. We, the new cargo got quite a welcome. As I stepped out of his chariot, down from it, I glittered like gleaming bronze. What a moment. And the Lord knowing I liked my traveling and so forth, made me a “Traveler,” agent you might say.”

This happy face on Lailis was not helping Phrygian deal with life, as he knew it. Maybe he was more evil than he wanted to be, it was his nature—in all respects. But he wanted to bite her, jump on her, and rape her. Take her to bed, he wanted to have her, ‘she belongs to me, me,’ he said within his head; but he remembered the words of his Commanding Officer, ‘Avoid challenges with the enemy,’ and she was the enemy, like it or not.
He leaned against the building, groaned a bit, she was vivacious, and he was moody dull. What a combination he thought.
“Well, it would seem we may or may not meet again,” a sigh came out of his lungs, and he dashed off not knowing what else to say.

Assignment Moiromma

Her new assignment was on a planet called Moiromma, a planet on the rim of Earth’s solar system, and another one parallel: seemingly off its once balanced axis, shifting to and fro from each system to the other, or so it seemed, to where it had caused some climatic arctic like changes on the planet. It was about the size of Earth’s moon.
She had been there a few times before, and knew the geographical surroundings somewhat, and a few of the 20,000-inhabidents left on the planet. The inhabitants were known to be able to die and be reborn over a hundred times, and lived between 900 to 500-years old (similar to the inhabitants of earth, before the great flood); when they were reborn, as adults, they’d most often end up on another planet, and sometimes fall right into another death cycle within hours and sometime to the contrary, living in the new environment for centuries. For example, falling on Mercury, during the day or in the middle of the night, one could die of heat, or freeze to death, but if one fell into the craters, their life existence could be longer of course, for the temperatures were more moderate: many variables to consider, and they knew the consequences; but God always seems to have plan be ‘B’ in Motion, even before plan ‘A’ sometimes.
Belphegor was trying to isolate this planet and make it into an outpost for Hell’s demon, as he did with a lot of the islands around Atlantis in its heyday, some thousands of years ago. He had done just that, with Mars eons ago, and even had his demonic forces build pyramids on its surface, and faces so his kind could spot it from the air, or cosmos (one of the purposes of the pyramids of Egypt); and some other planets as well—in eons past. But it was a challenge to him for Moiromma: for Suru’el, Ura’el and Serr’el (the holy angels), one or all three of them, as well as now Lailis were often nearby to stop or stunt his progress down with dominating the planet, and trying to turn it over into his dark playground. Also there was a horde of Fox Fairies (huli jing), ordered out of China to inhabit the planet and to seduce the women of the planet and make them barren, and suffocate them men at night, thus, hoping to eliminate any resistance to their plans. They had done well the first 200-years, killing 90% of the population. There were other creatures sent to the planet, wicked young women or old men they could look like but they were in essence the shen (spirit). In addition, again I will add: the fox Fairy was still present, and likewise, could shape shift, like Phrygian and Lailis could do now, change their shapes at will. But of course, Phrygian did not have the power Lailis had at this time of his outer world supernatural existence.
In any case, these spirits of evil simply would stand supinely by and await the end of the person they wanted to exterminate. One by one, they killed them, as they lived their lives in total ignorance of these weird spirits that surrounded them, waiting for their extinction. They could, these spirits look like a person long dead, or fly like bats. Suck a man’s blood from his body dry, or try if given the chance to do so. In the daylight you could not see them well, but by night their configurations showed up quite well, under the light of the moon; but no one seemed to be the wiser, the inhabitants that is, they took it for shadows, simply shadows of this and that, to admit there was such creatures walking their planet was not part of their realization, and if it was, they did a good job in trying to hid it from the public, tried not to panic the public—fretful it could be, thus, unimportant it remained.
This was her new assignment, to disrupt their plans to kill Skullmas, an old man, yet potent to where he had a wife who was yet to supply, re-harvest the planet with some children. He was looked upon as one of the chiefs of the several tribes left on the ice planet. The inhabitants of Moiromma, were a warring planet by nature and cannibalism was within their history. Yet, the Lord had loved them, and Lailis was to show compassion, and try to save the old warrior.
She could no longer see Phrygian, he was gone, and so dramatically she thought, yet it was all past history to her, and possibly the more she got to know him, the more she’d really know his inner nature, and they’d both be busily engaged in testing one another, and she had better things to do. Plus, she saw in his eyes his un-pleasurable appreciation for her place in the scheme of all things, and he saw in her eyes that she witnessed his scornful expression at his predicament, or perhaps it was anticipation of death reeking out to fill the labyrinth Odon, that he gave and she picked up; in any case, no matter how you slice the ball, she saw in him his unfortunate demise, and it was frightful to him; he did not want to be reminded of it.
On the more human side of the fence, He was jealous, and envy was reeking out of him. He was not sorry for his bad deeds she murmured, he was sorry he had to pay a price for them that was all.

Phrygian Thinks

Oh, he was still the king he told himself, but he wanted to be like Lailis (perhaps wanted Lailis her more than be like her): ‘…out of the coffin and into the limelight, escape his frightful hell…’ this is what he was thinking he wanted to do; yet heaven would surely not take him, nor could he bluff his way in, or shout his way in, and urging her to help him get in so he could have her was not heavens way either, he supposed. It was she he liked, he told himself. Did he? Good question: who is to really know. Anyhow he, so he thought—he wanted to be like her, as in, party with her, be with her like before. (His thoughts were whirling on; as if he had subdued voices pushing these new strange feelings to the hilt, feelings that would have to be snuffed out of course.) He even tired to imagine himself and Lailis standing on the chariot, with his whip, whipping the Hippokamp for stilling Ais; and he versioned Atlantis shinning before him, as he was the king riding on the chariot through the gates; thoughts, too many thoughts: mixed thoughts. He really was feeling very ineffectual.

Malicious thoughts continued: he had contempt for any man who could not get his own woman, like Aon, and now he added Anases to his list, whose wife had left him, amongst other things. ‘I am what I am,’ he told himself. He was in essence, I think, trying to re-create him in the present, for the future, and the moment, was simply a fancy.

Part Two of XV Continued


It was a dry cold, a profound and dense cold, a wild wind blowing every which way, on planet Moiromma; the cold was such that no man had ever experienced it equal on earth. The man she knew as Skullmas was drudging through the snow, it was hard for him because of his enormous weight, lifting up his powerful legs, his stomach in the way, up, up almost to the top of the snow to leap slowly to the next step, huffing and puffing, trying to get more air into his stomach, although his system was different, he had a large heart, and a smaller one, like his stomach, a large one and a smaller one; three sets of small lungs, one passing air to the next one, processing his blood flow. Yes, yes the snow was irrupting, but that was life. He had very little for a neck, and was all head it seemed, a large skull and mass of flesh. His arms were like giant tentacles; they swam with his body and the wind. They were also very quick though (a monster of a man, frightful looking to an observing earthling), for whatever they might be used for, to grab an ice rat, or insects digging their way out of the blue ice. He had within those jaws, formidable teeth.
He was walking back to his small abode, made out of mud and plaster, dug into the ground, with in a circle form, and a vent that went from the bottom of the dugout, to the surface over head, and a tree like ceiling, with mud plastered over it. It extended fifteen feet under the ground and five feet above it. Some of the inhabitants lived in icehouses, others in cliff dwellings. There were about 20,000 to 30,000 inhabitants scattered around the planet, perhaps in his area 10,000 to 15,000.
Little pale milky like vapors hung over his giant mass, liken to mosquitoes of some oversize source (akin to little dwarf-ghosts); their shadowy form followed him right into his mud and plastered hutch of sorts. Skullmas was in many ways a gentile man in a land of ungentle men, as was his wife who had passed on to another world, somewhere beyond, and less hope, of a more favorable nature. He was not sophisticated in any manner of speaking, not necessarily always wanting more, at the risk of hurting others to get it, it is easier to become more rotten to get it he told others—thus, he remained a bush, that is to say, a bush remains a bush no matter what, and so he and his wife had been just that in life, and character.
But what I was about to say is that the heat was intense inside his hutch, but diminished as he allowed his huge body to absorb its warmth. He was but two hundred years old.
From the ceiling these bat like creatures, dark-fairies of an evil nature, unannounced descended slowly (crawling down the wall, the precipitous creeper, clinging, projecting, hanging root-like) to seize his body, to welcome him with an incision into his chest, where they would slowly suffocate him to death. What for you may ask: who knows a game to them, if that; boredom does funny things does it not.
He felt as fine as one could be, a well nourished dog you might say, he’d not do anything out of the ordinary. If anything he was one of those earthlings, who walked high and safe most all their lives, not too interesting enough to be in any danger, so he thought. But here he was, with these little creatures wanting to harm him. Like a robber I suppose who’d rather rob an old woman, or a little boy, but a fighter in shape, no way.

Contact with Dark Fairies

Said Lailis to Skullmas in a calm and almost musical expedition,
“Some bad spirits are trying to invade your body,” as she stood there by him laying down, the dark-fairies trying at that very moment to suck into his chest like blood suckers. Skullmas looked at his chest, than at her, it was all so silent an assault.
She scrutinized the situation, said again, “I think someone in the Underworld on earth wants this planet to be a barren outpost for future times, to be used as a launching pad for the demonic world to attack other worlds. This of course made little sense to Skullmas, not that he was stupid, slow-witted or skeptic, just that it was new to him, almost unheard of, but it was happening nonetheless.
Said Lailis, “There are two natures of light: one of darkness, one of truth that is light and one of lies that is darkness.” Having said that, she added, “We need to worship the Spirit, the Creator of Moiromma, Ephraim.” And this they did. And as they held hands in prayer, the dark little elves or fairies, whatever they were, were now traumatized, and swept out of the hutch with a swirl of a wind, never to return.

She knew there was no other way to save him, they would have suffocated him just for a joke, and he would have froze right in his bed. Having done that, she was now told to return to Chicago—a voice within her thoughts had interrupted, and directed her to her next assignment.

Port of Poseidonia: Grooming in Chicago
Special Chapter—

In this Special Chapter, that was not suppose to be, but as you can see is, was added in-between two chapters, was because I had found out something Lilies had done in Chicago, and thought you might be interest in knowing, oh, it is not so much in the dark world, or even of Atlantis, but quite different, yet it all of course started because of, “The Port of Poseidonia,” had their been no Port, I’d not be able to write this short lived vignette. Part XVI

Dull and pretty, that was Annabel in a nutshell. She had been crying for days, possibly a suicide case. It would seem so, she cancelled all her appointments, avoided school and for this teenager, life seemed stressful, wanting to be popular, yet not knowing why she did, or why she wasn’t’.

Oh it was a little assignment for Ms Lilies from the angelic realm but she was willingly to take the mission on; even though she was not much older when she had taken her life to be with her first love, that being, the person who became King of Atlantis [see previous chapters; she thought that was the unpardonable sin, but it wasn’t]. And had she not done this, life may have played a sweeter roll for her, for he did survive the duet-suicide (as one of course knows if you look through Atlantis’ history). Oh she held no animosity toward Phrygian, her first and only love, it was just sad he didn’t make it to her realm, yet she never quite felt depressed about it, a fact is a fact, there are reasons we do not know involved her, so she had learned, I mean she was perhaps 12,000-years old now, not a babe by any means; so it must be me feeling sad for her. In any case, here she was in Chicago, a city in a country called the United States, on the North American Continent.
Lilies showed up in Annabel’s bedroom, like a ghost almost, she just appeared out of nowhere, and when Annabel, seventeen years old saw this, her eyes opened wide like golf balls, and was about to scream, she lost her voice somehow before that could take place though. And then she thought, thought Annabel, ‘what a pretty little angel,’ for Lilies was but five foot tall, and a beauty at such a height all the same, and with a golden heart (that last part she didn’t quite know yet). She then took in a deep breath, swallowed to make sure she was not dreaming, thus, shaking her head at the same time.
“Awe, yaw…yes, is this real?” she finally concluded.
“Awe, yaw…yes, it is real!” said the little angel, Lilies.
Everything was silent for the moment, no words. She was living with her father, her mother had passed on, had cancer, died some several years prior to this. Lilies noticed she had a dull looking dress on, a gloomily one if anything. She had no makeup on either, had a frown on her face, her eyebrows were out of whack; her lips seemed pressed tight against one another no color to them, if not white from pressing them too tightly, and her teeth looked a bit yellowish; her hair was in knots—ah, what a mess she thought.
“Images, you are a poor image for a beautiful teenager…you are a gloomy picture of a sad angel.”
“What!” she said angrily.
“You lack confidence, and how can anyone have confidence when they do not take care of themselves. Even angels got to comb their wings now and then (she chuckled at that as she said it). Your weight is twenty pounds too much. In my day, it was good to have weight; to have a full shape, body that is, not too thin, and not to fat, yet I dare say, fat is better than bones. But you are too fat.”
Oh, this was not good, not good at all. Annabel wanted to swing at her, punch her in the nose, punch her lights out, but she knew she was an angel, and that was like punching in the wind, a waste of effort.
“So,” said the snobby part of her personality, “so what are you here for, to insult me?”
“No, no, no, my lovely—yet ugly duckling… [A pause] I’m here to groom you back into the beautiful butterfly you are suppose to be.”
Annabel thought about that, she was going into a depression, she kind of knew that. And was talking about different ways of how to get rid of her ugly life, --I mean, if this was life, and all life had to offer, why live it; to parade around as an ugly duckling was not her cup of tea; you know such things but you don’t want them echoed back to you, and sometimes it is plain laziness.

The Angel Lailis


Said the little angel with hope in her eyes now, a cheerful smile, and for some reason, she was even more excited about this assignment than the one she previously had with Skullmas.
“Charm my dear is when you know it is all there—the way you want it to be.”
‘Well,’ thought Annabel, ‘that makes sense.’ Yet it was a mystery for her. You can say all you want, but she remained still an ugly duckling, and Annabel knew it.
At that moment, Lilies took Annabel’s lovely full and red eyebrows, brushed them out, and trimmed them herself [said a prayer before doing it of course, a silent one, that she’d not make a mistake, and she didn’t].
“Part one complete,” she softly said, with a voice of accomplishment and confidence.
She then looked at her yellowish stained teeth, and pulled out a substance from inside her gown, and told Annabel to go brush them now. And Annabel did. When she was done, they shinned like polished ivory, glowing gold (ah, but the formula is not for sale though).
Then she cut and trimmed and shampooed her hair, placed it in an old style from the days of Atlantis, it looked as if she was a Greek statue at the Louver in Paris. Then for two weeks she danced and played with Annabel, getting her ready, her posture, her voice to speak a little slower, a bit softer. She had even brought back fabric and somehow made bright colored clothes for Annabel, it looked a bit like Atlanteon (but then that is what she knew best), or even a ting on the Greek side, with a slant toward Egyptian a necklace that was from, 600 BC, not fancy but colorful; but it gave a royal tone to everything, she looked sharp, and with a good taste to it; the cloths showed her curves, for she had now lost fifteen pounds, and was of a beauty to be reckon with.

Said Lilies, on the last day of her assignment, “Your charm will come when you least expect it, like a bird perched on a branch, and everyone is looking at you; just remember you are the bird, and remain calm, and perched, everything else will fall in place in due time.”
“Oh, but you must not go now,” she said, said Annabel, about to cry.


Annabel never seen the little angel again, nor did she commit suicide, nor did she not attend school, or college, or go on to marry a professional, but marry whom she wanted, for she herself became a professional. Had she seen Lilies again, possibly it would have reminded her of those youthful days, and Lilies knew that, and the memory of such events are stronger left alone, alone that is until it is her turn to become a little angel, for in the back of her mind, it was there, oh yes, it was her second quest in life. And she was hoping Lilies would be her guide when the day game.

Part Two
[Grooming in Chicago]

The Meeting

Phrygian had asked Lilies to meet him, knowing about her arrival back in Chicago, and she agreed. They met, in the sunny summer afternoon at Navy Pier, a kind of festive area, many kids around, a few rides, a tour bus going back and froth to all the popular spots in the city. They both sat on a bench overlooking the great lake area. Said Lilies to Phrygian with a graceful and fascinating settled tone to her voice:
“In your heart you think evil.”
Phrygian hadn’t said a word yet, not one word, ‘why can she read my mind,’ he asked himself, now turning his head away from her. And he then talked to her about how much he had missed her not quite looking at her, and explained how his father had revived him after trying to commit suicide with her so many years ago. That he had wished he were never invigorated.
Said Lilies with a kind of good-natured frown, “If you call me your first and only true love, how is it you married, not once but twice?”
Phrygian did not have the words to carry on the dialogue. And dared not ask any decisive questions, save for the fact she had wisdom beyond his; for his way of thinking was mostly convoluted psychotic and abstruse genius if anything, and she knew this, and could lay him bare should he fight with words trying to make foolishness triumph over wisdom. In other words, he asked to have a meeting with her for false reasons, she only came to let him know that he was part of the ungodly order and she was in the divine order of the Son of God. The extent of this visit simply brought out the faith in ones order; he concluded he could not endure her wisdom in the measure she was willing to display it, and as a result, left without a goodbye.

Port of Poseidonia: Reflections
[Atlantis’ Sun, and Hades Darkness]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces did not have its secrets, and dark powers but it had its day in the sun also. And this sketch will bring forth, some of that—Part XVll

Anases and Ais

Anases had finished his scribe work and was a little bewildered what was to be next in his life, meaning, a quest, apparently he seemed to need one to exist, it was an obsession working on the records of Atlantis, then when they were lost in the deteriorate of Atlantis, of 9600 BC when it sank to the bottom of the sea, he searched aimlessly for them for centuries, then worked on the poetic code, thus handing that down for posterity sake.
He was still present in the necropolis of Atlantis’ sunken graveyard maintained in the inner core of the Mountain of Hades that perched slightly out of its gulf waters.
Ais, was quiet most of the time, yet Atlantis was familiar ground for her, and so it became her refuge, she had lost all her mates, and her lovely life on earth, and what was next was beyond her. So we have here two gloomy people, one who had finished a quest, and was lost for another, and Ais who was put into the same position she originally started from so long ago, while she was on her ship, sailing to the Port of Poseidonia, from her home land, the island of Iffrikonn. It was a long haul for her. And now the peculiar thing was, here were Ais and Anases together, of all people—funny how things work out.
“Limbo,” said Anases in a permuting manner.
“What,” said Queen Ais, “Limbo, you mean that indeterminate state?” Whatever state it was, they both had heard of it.
“It is a quest my Queen, a quest to seek and find, and perhaps be allowed to enter, why not?”
She had no reason to rebut his mission as foolish, it sounded actually worthwhile, perhaps it was, or could be an opening, like the one in the mountain she and her ex husband had found so long ago, and if so, a new adventure.

Aon’s Hope

The story for the longing-eyes and prayers of Aon: Aon the Hippokamp, the nymph, was still tied up to the dock at Hell’s Landing; tied up not far from Hell’s Gates, by none other than Phrygian. Accordingly, he could remain there indefinitely; likened to the Manticore the King had found in the cave fossilized. It is strange, the bad and wicked, punishing their own kind, yet wanting to live among the good (not sure why). But if one prayed in Hell, it was written all over Aon’s face that this enduring punishment, day after day, after day would have an ending. And it did.

Ephialtes, Buer, Gywan, and Tyr

Ephialtes was doing his new duties as a bodyguard, messenger and so for and so on for Agaliarept in Hell, running like a schoolboy at his whim. Hoping he’d get an assignment in the future like Phrygian, but that was not a pending thought in either Belphegor’s or Agaliarept’s minds. He was not to be trusted, although no demonic forces were to be trusted, but good judgment told them, he was beyond courage.

Buer and Gywan were both back on the great walls of Hell, looking down, and over and out into the gulf watching the vessels come in as usual, and the guests—as they called them—leaving the boats, as they greeted them with grins and spit and every rotten word that was ever invented, and pissed on them whenever they could. Their heats were like ice, and their wit like sharp and dumb and hungry vultures.

Tyr was running all about like a crazy ant, lost in his own pity, yet he got an assignment, believe it or not, in the Amazon playing a god of sorts. He liked it, he liked to be honored by the devil worshipers, and every so often he’d appear, and all would go crazy watching him transfigure his being onto and around the fires. And they’d sing and hum and dance. He had been to Haiti and liked the voodoo they produced there also, but there were too many demonic beings trying to get in on the gig there. And so last I heard, he was happy in the upper region of the Amazon, about 125-miles from Iquitos (where I was).

Atlantis’ Sun
Phrygian Remembers

For years the king watched the summer sun come up and over Mount Atlantis, especially its beautiful tower, and its Port City, Poseidonia, and as evening and night approached, he watched it drop down to a red almost bloodiest array of heat, heat that shifted about, and then the dark crept in to cool the night, colors of twilight appeared. He was most happy in those far off days in the Port of Poseidonia—his city of wonders, Atlantis, where he was king; now of course in Chicago waiting for a new assignment, and thinking of those haply days he would often gaze, just gaze over his city. To him, the world had become old, and gone mad a number of times now.
The kings eyes gray now, contracted, his voice shaking a bit now and then, but remembering the glory days of Atlantis, was worth it I suppose; now laying back in a one room, hotel room, in the heart of Chicago, just thinking, letting the summer air creep in, it wasn’t air like back at the Port of Poseidonia, oh no, it was polluted air, gas fumes, cigarette smog, and reeking with alcohol in the hallways. What a difference he muttered to himself.
Atlantis was all he ever wanted, now that he thought about it. The sound of horns and car tires distracted him, ‘I suppose there is a caddish line in most everyman,’ he thought, ‘that brings out wishful thinking. To some men it’s there in the dark and never comes out until it seeps out one night; but it comes out sooner or later, sometimes sideways.’ His Atlantis, the warm summer days with Ais where a part of his good outlook, one might say, he was rather lucky in that, that he had those days to remember, this was probably part of what might he call, a nervous characteristic of his when he had too much time to think. Lilies, was no longer a real envy for him, he knew life had many corners to it, and he turned them as he pleased. It was Atlantis his foremost love I suppose one could say, the one he talked about the most anyways: and what we talk about the most is what we think about the most, which is I reason, the most important to us: and that in itself says something. What comes from the heart comes out of the month, and it was first Atlantis, second Ais, and now and then, Lilies, for the most part.

The Gulf

It was if you remember, one thousand years, Phrygian sailed the gulf with Ais. But what you don’t know is that it was not always smooth sailing. For he and Ais had seen a lot, and now as he rested in his Chicago bed, waiting for his new assignment, the memories flushed out of him like the sea creatures that pestered his life. Oh there were many, the jellyfish’s, the sea snakes, the devil sharks, if anything, it was a nightmarish water safari—with horrendous predators at times. You didn’t, or couldn’t die twice, but you could feel pain one million times more: and most of these creatures were skeletonized. They didn’t bother Ais, she was off limits to them, but they did push her around, and for Phrygian, whom was part of Hell’s environment, they tortured him once in the waters. Consequently, he avoided them when he could.
There were the sea scorpions, huge as a man’s midsection, and the giant Orthocone, and the punkleosteus, the liopleurodon with its long black and white lizard like body. And then there was the megalodon, a shark so large that it preys on whales. The nothosaur, some fourteen feet long, like an alligator type creature; Phrygian had to fight a hundred times these creatures, as they tried to board his ship. In a way, Phrygian was happy he was caught, now he didn’t have to put up with the fear of these menacing creatures, he had a scent on him, that of Belphegor’s that the animals knew, and it forbid them to harm him. He liked the power.
The krakn —also resided in the deep waters of the Gulf of Hades –a sea monster that had attacked the vessel a few times with its thick and long tentacles, but retreated after Phrygian had pierced it with a sharp carved stone, part of the anchor to the ship. And there was also the Devonian, a forty-foot long bulldozer of a fish that crushed head first into the ship, armored head and with giant sheering teeth of bone. Whenever—and now was one of those times—Phrygian thought of these things, and his time at Mount Hades, he dreaded to be sent back into such a world, and took his assignments with much more pleasure, but…

AT Hell’s Request

And so the powers of darkness
Through death—
Summoned the King of Atlantis
To the gates of Hell,
At their request—
And so it was,
And come to be:
Hell—became the king’s
Time without End!…
(His eternity).

The Great Tower of Hell

End Chapters

The Port of Poseidonia: “Searching for Ais”
[A Lost Episode] XVIII

Carnivorous creatures roamed the deep of the gulf, in Hades; they just never seemed to bother with Ais, outside of pushing her here and there, now and then, when she swam in the gulf waters. Somehow she did not irritate the creatures, or monsters, as they did, those who didn’t belong there, those who tried to escape from Hell’s boats bound for Hell’s docks. Then they would, like lions set free from their dens, these cadaverous amphibians, would massacre its prey.
The long and enduring period Ais had to stay and endure the gulf, was really boring for the most part, not much to do. She thought of Anases and he of her in these past days, and Belphegor and Agaliarept also thought about Ais, wondered what had become of her, and how they would go on living in this inner world, not quite meant for her kind. Perhaps they wanted simply to gawk at her trying to endure her strange and terrible fate, it would not be unlike them. It was funny to the demonic forces, seeing two souls in Hell that didn’t belong there, each for their own reasons: one running after her lover, husband, feeling bound beyond its limits to him; he other, obsessed with scrolls, another lost lover, his being Atlantis. To Agaliarept, it was all immaterial, proportional to him, both running after lost causes.
In any case, here they all were searching for something in the labyrinthine gulf; it was then that Ais found Anases, and they joined together in a new predicament, to find an opening to the legendary ‘Limbo,’ they once heard about, lest it be pure legend with no teeth, if so, a sad day it would be, and the loss of all hope. During this time of search on the gulf, the couple spotted the demonic ship in search for them, frantically they tried to sway away from Hell’s elite vessel, but fifty-feet beside them, and they did, thus, undiscovered.

The Port of Poseidonia: “An Inter-Limbo”
[A Lost Chapter] XIX (Parts: 1,2,3, & 4)

The Quest

Ais and Anases searched high and low for this place called Limbo, the legendary second paradise, there is food for thought that dwells here, why she all of a sudden took up with Anases, but of course, logic is simple, in that, perhaps, Ais did not want to die, a million deaths in this Hell, alone, so company was cherished, hence, other eyes, like hers, would be welcomed, to watch her to the end of time, should that be her fate, a slight comfort to the mind I presume. Plus he was familiar, another comfort, but it wasn’t romantic love in the least, fondness possibly—I don’t really know.
—They were not really running away from the demonic forces of Hell, in the sense of needing to escape their clutches in fear of reprisal, especially since they had no real power over them, that would be ridicules, would it not—yet, do we not avoid those clinging projections we manifest in our brains that bother us, people in particular, thus, they jumped out of the way of the monkey, sort of speaking, their harmless-nemesis in essence.
Neither Hell, or Ais and her comrade were in any haste to peruse their quest, hence, they trotted along the gulf, like two lazy horses, and often times the demonic forces far behind them, and of course they never successfully caught up to the couple. And in time the demonic the forces left, or got lost, or were not allowed to go beyond its center of no return. And Anases and Ais simply continued their search for the opening, heading towards the other side, hoping to find the lost legend to be true.
—They had reached almost all the way across the gulf, another mile or so they’d be sitting on the shore, of what looked like an empty island, but beautiful paradise all the same; other than, there was some invisible force halting them to go beyond a certain area.

Paradise Mirage?
& The Guardian

They could both now see the coastline, it looked like a rich and full jungle, lush with foliage, and high trees, and the sun was over its domain. At that moment, Ais made a frantic jump into the water, and put all her effort into reaching the other side, under the water she swam impetuously, but a force, a tremendous tug pulled her back, a jerking like.
Now clinging to the boat, they sat in silence, opened mouth at what they had seen, paradise, transfixed, or was it a mirage?
Ais looked at Anases, thing: ‘…do we really have to live in this horrible gulf?’
A glance over his should showed her an appearing vision, or so she took it as; she hastened to the boats edge, Anases helped her, and listened, said a voice, “I almost had given you up for lost when you tumbled into Hell with your husband;” the voice continued, “for not even I, could save you from your own will, if it be in the clutches of Hell.”
(The boat was drifting closer to the shore) “But I discovered your voiceprints (echoes across the waters), and I discerned your will has changed.”
She now put out her hand, as Ais, asked her: “Do I know you?” (At the same time, feeling and thinking defensively, that the savages behind her might pluck her from this moment; and thinking, ‘why is she here.’)

Limbo or What?

As Ais was puzzled at this show of friendship, something she had not witnessed in the same manner as this in her whole lifetime, she was taken back a ting, an eyebrow raised.
The mysterious woman, noticed this, said with a soft smile, “I’m the guardian of this aperture—of space and time, I’m Juliana, you were kind to me once in old Atlantis,” she echoed softly.
“Awa, yes,” said Ais, “now I remember, it was so long ago…”
From that instant, Ais put out her hand, as Juliana said, “Once you come with me, it will be my duty to protect you.”
“But it was my pleasure to help you,’ Ais said, still a little stunned, and not believing what was happening.
“I wish that you would come,” Juliana repeated, and Anases if he wishes to, he will find his quest here.”
As Ais stepped off the boat, as instructed by Juliana, she took a leap of faith, and there she was, foot above the water, in thin air, walking to the opening, likened to a rift in the air, or tare in a curtain.
Anases stopped what he was doing, fiddling with his fingers for the most part, and equally, stepped up, and out of the boat, right behind Ais, both finding themselves in what they believed to be ‘Limbo’ with a second thought perhaps, it could simply be some indeterminate state.
Said Juliana, as they all walked into this mysterious land, “Among us, there is the best of intentions, we learn here, how beautiful it will be.”

New World Coming

Ais, noticed there were birds drinking from the water fountain nearby, and the sound of water rushing over rocks, calmed her, as Juliana took her on the tour of this mystical new world.
Said Anases, “How did we ever find this place,” I think he was really simply thinking out loud, but Juliana over heard it and answered:
“You merely came to the edge of what is known as Old Paradise, there you found your will to be with us, here you will find the River of Life, directly opposite it, the Lord of Hosts, we’ll talk more about that in time.”

The Port of Poseidonia: “Ais’ Peace”
[New Chapter] XX (The last Chapter written)

It was amazing to Ais, no more gorilla-men in search or her old, but now captured husband by the demonic forces of Hell, she paid a dear price to be with him, but now her mind seemed to be adjusting in this new abode, not sure if it was Limbo or some sort of dividing line between Paradise and Heaven and Hell, but it was some sort of sanctuary, and she was at peace here, with Juliana, and Anases and many others. There was no sickness, or diseases, no need for crutches, or canes. She had fleeting thoughts the first few days—perhaps the new term for them were: Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome feelings, she heard the term after a few days and she knew she was healing, healing wholly for whatever was to lay beyond, from what she had already endured. That river came to mind of course, the one Juliana talked about, and the Lord of Hosts. But the immediate blessing was that Hell was becoming a fading scene, day-by-day. Here gorgeous fields of flowerers and rolling green hills were all about, a shadow-less land, no gloom, no savages shouting. No amphitheater of dead souls.
Perhaps she told herself, thinking of those days past, in Hell’s waters, with the demonic four chasing her, perhaps she thought, had they caught up with here, they’d try to persuade her to go back with them to Hell’s docks, accept her lot in Hell, as long as her King of Atlantis was by her side, and thus, she’d be available, voluntarily of course, for the demonic horde, no opportunity of escape. This possibly came to mind, and if did, it was but once, and that was it.

The Port of Poseidonia: “Final Chapter”
[A Lost Chapter] XXI (Review of thinking)

My Opinion

Ais knew to her finite mind, eternity in Hell could never be understood, or at least that is my opinion, and you have yours of course. The best she could say was: “Here we are,” and go with the flow, on with destiny. I suppose the most important question was not so much where she came from as to where she would end up, or at least that is where her mind set was (and mine also, as I reread the story), someplace in the middle of the story of her life. And one may think, had she not gone along with her husband, she might have ended up in Hell anyhow, on her own volition. This of course, we will never know, the same thing goes for the little angel Lailis I suppose.
For my part, I wish she would not have want along with her husband to Hell, but as dim as that sounds, her making such a decision to do so, made the story more interesting of course, as many people do make just such dimwitted, diffused decisions, and this was no exception of course, I had no choice, as I said she is not the first or the last. I even tried to work out a plan for her to escape, to no avail—it would have to be by some divine intervention, and God does not enter Hell. This of course, presented a problem; she didn’t belong there, so I felt, so I had to look for plan ‘B.’
I did wish at one point of the story, or rereading it anyhow, and adding a few descriptive notes in it, I wished I could lift the earth above her husbands head, and save the poor soul for her, but by the time my friends I had written down half the story it was, I dare say, too late; plus, I’m sure at that point, had he returned under any circumstances, saved a hundred times or more—he would have not changed his nature or character, it was purely self interest. I have never heard of someone sent to Hell in any case, whom got to leave it under such circumstances (make good and go to heaven), and not return; thus, it must be, once in Hell you simply become more of what you really are, or at least once on its docks, you might as well figure, what is inside of you, is not conducive for Paradise or heaven. And therefore, where else can one go.

Ais’ Awakening (Conjecture)

How would Ais have said this, I’ll try: She did feel it was quite reasonable to believe the demonic forces of the underworld –ugly as they were and uproariously in nature: their nature being, it was plain to see, were unstable for heaven, paradise or humanity: they were constant liars, self interest dominated, psychopaths; or for that matter, they were not suitable for any place but where they were.
On the other hand, She knew she didn’t belong here, she knew it after a while, but love has its blind spots, as we all know. Sheol (or Hell) has its pious roots also, and the King of Atlantis, had his self-interest at stake. The Dead World was simply another abode to Ais at first, where she could be with her husband (and the demons thought that would last forever for her), but one cannot play the game of good guy forever if he is really a bad boy and so his real roots comes out, and in hell; for this reason, his real roots showing, she saw his soul as well as her soul sinking, nothing to hold his up with. She had lost pity once she found out he had none, nor ever had any for her or anyone else, above or below the earth. And then she looked around, and the awful shadow land became grounds for thinking with them mind, not the emotional heart and discovered he was an actor, and she the reactor.

End to the Story


The Contest of Children’s Story and the
Globe-trotter Poet

Dennis L. Siluk is a globe-trotter American poet who anchored in Huancayo, and has fallen in love with the Mantaro Valley. He has already become known in our towns, where he participates in every holiday that takes place, as in the most recent one that took in Jerónimo de Tunán with the Avelinos.

“It is excellent to teach the children to foment their love to literature and to promote the love of nature through a contest of children’s story on ecology and human values,” he says referring to our announcement (contest).

According to Dennis Siluk, to write a story is a way of learning to value the natural resources. “It is very important to teach our children since early age, to spread the love to the nature and to the literature,” he indicated.

He told us that: “The College Independence, In the District of Cajas, has asked me to talk to the children about literature inspired by the ecology. I consider myself to be an old soldier in this struggle for spreading this type of literature; but now that I find out that there is this contest already, I do not feel alone because since Correo has begun to publish its page of Ecology, major interest is taking for this type of topics ".

He also stresses: “When literature is taught to the children since early ages, as well, the love of nature along with his and her culture, they become more sensitive persons, and then all their beautiful feelings are put onto a piece of paper. And certainly their self-esteem and personality is formed better.”

Finally he addresses and confesses to the children (by saying): “I want to say to the children they have a wonderful country and have many things of which they can feel proud of and to make Peru to become bigger than it is. Peru is a sleeping giant! The new generation has to wake it wake up, because it has everything to be a powerful country,” he concluded.



—Periódico (9-18-2006): “Primicia”

“…Dennis Siluk, North American poet…fell in love with the Mantaro Valley…he writes in his works…. The landscape, the customs of the city…the food of the city (…all seems to come from an inspiration he draws out of the, and is captivate by, this region).
‘Huancayo is a modern city that keeps its traditions…and its colorful fair (Sunday market))…I hope it does not change…”’

—(Editor: Mr. Nilo Calero Perez)




Reviews of the
Author Dennis L. Siluk

From the Counsel General of Peru: Efrain Saavedra: “How beautiful the poem (‘The Ice Maiden’),” as he read it in his Chicago Office, on 2/14/06 (Valentine’s Day).


Dennis received two columnist awards in the past three years. In addition, in 2005 he was awarded Poet Laureate, of San Jeronimo, Peru. He has met and briefly discussed his forth book of Peruvian Poems, with the Ex First Lady of Peru, now High Senator, Keiko Fujimori; and is friends with the Consul General of Peru, in Chicago, Efrain Saavedra.

—Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk

[June 2006] Dennis was number #1 Poet (out of 131), and number #1 author for Arts and Entertainment (out of 704), for an international magazine, Ezinearticles [Annual Readership: 12-million]. He presently lives in Peru, and Minnesota, with his wife Rosa. This is his 34th Book; he has a worldwide audience.


Additional Data on the Author

Dennis’ works comprise over 2725-writtings: 850-articles; 275-short stories; 35-books (to include novels of fiction, nonfiction; alcoholism, suspense, drama, plays, poetry and few horror stories); 16-chapbooks; 1550-poems (as of November, 2006)., International mobile phone services, has now picked up Dennis’ writings, with over 50-million users. [June 2006]

Dennis has traveled as of October 2006, 696,000-air miles, throughout the world (he has been in over 60-countries and 46-states, in the United States), in which can be seen in his writings.

Mr. Dennis L. Siluk, He has over 58,000-plus readers go to just one of his 26-sites on the Internet annually; on Ezinearticles alone he has had over 250,000-readers in twenty-two months. Thus, he has about 25,000 to 30,000–readers a month, perhaps more. In 2006 alone, he was on TV, seven times, on the radio eight times, in the newspapers seven times, and in magazines three times. He has been twice on RPP (Radio Programs Peru), and schools and colleges from Lima to Huancayo, and throughout the valley have had him as a their guests for conversations or speaking engagements on culture, poetry and literature. Thus, Dennis is a person concerned about spreading the good news about the culture, beauty and heritage of Peru. Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk.

In 2006, Dennis was awarded the Grand Cross of the City, San Jeronimo, and Peru; was the judge for a school’s poetry contest, and is being considered ambassador-promoter for tourism of the Mantaro Valley (from Huancayo).


From the author and poet, E.J. Soltermann, commented on Dennis' poem in his new book, "Last Autumn and Winter,” called "Night Poem, In the Minnesota Cold," he said: "That is Poetry." I know that is not a lot of words, but a powerful statement it is, coming from someone who can judge poetry for its worth; as Dennis once said, “Only a poet is suitable to critique a poet’s poetry.” Rosa Peñaloza


By Rosa Peñaloza,

I have in the past written many comments about Dennis’ work, and today I want to share with you some of his reviews and comments other people have had. He has a variety of literature out there, from short stories (over 225 now), to articles (over 850), to poems (over 1400), to chapbooks (he has done about 13-chapbooks) —and of course his 34-books, and he is working on four other books. Of these poems perhaps 400 to 500 are in books, the rest he has not published for one reason or another. Yet still out of this figure, about 250-poems are on the Internet, not in books.

For the most part, I think Dennis is best know for his travels and poetry; he has traveled the world over, now it is almost 28-times around the world, or as he said: 694,000-air miles; not to include all the travels he has done cross-countries, on the road, etc., he did when he was young, going to: San Francisco, Omaha, along with Seattle, and the Dakotas; he lived in all those places in the 60s; in the 70s he traveled throughout Europe for four years, during this time he went to Vietnam, in 1971, and came back to Europe thereafter. Now he has spent, or taken eight trips to South America, where he has his second home, and where he loves the Mountains by Huancayo.

Here are some of his reviews:

Note 1: Recent interview on Radio Programas del Perú, concerning his two publications: “Spell of the Andes,” and “Peruvian Poems”; reaching five countries, and three continents; over 15-million people; by Milagros Valverde, 11/15/2005, 11:00 PM. (Milagros read poems from both of Mr. Siluk’s books: “Spell of the Andes” and “The Ice Maiden”.)

Note 2: “Spell of the Andes,” recommended by the Cultural Agency in Lima- Peru; located in Alfredo Benavides # 605 - Apartment 201, phone number 2428942

Note 3: Interviewed by JP Magazine, interviewer Jose Luis Pantoja Ventocilla, who had very positive comments and appreciation for Dennis’ Poetic Peruvian Traditions and Contemporary way of Life; 10/26/2005.

Note 4: Mayor of San Jeronimo, Peru, Jesus Vargas Párraga, “All mayors should recognize Dennis’ work (on his Poetic Traditions of Peru; and favorable articles for the Mantaro Valley Region) and publicize it.... (Paraphrased: we should not hide his work)”

Note 5: 91.7 Radio “Super Latina”, 10/19/2005, interviewer Joseito Arrieta, reaching 1.2 million people in the Mantaro Valley Region about the book “Spell of the Andes” (paraphrased): the Municipality and the Cultural House from Huancayo should give an acknowledgement for the work you did on The Mantaro Valley.

Note 6: Channel #5 “Panamericana” 10/16/2005, “Good Morning Huancayo” (in Huancayo, Peru ((population 325,000)); interviewed by reporter: Vladimir Bendezú, on Mr. Siluk’s two books: “Spell of the Andes,” and “Peruvian Poems”: also on, Mr. Siluk’s biography.

*Note 7: Cesar Hildebrandt, International Journalist and Commentator, for Channel #2, in Lima, Peru, on October 7, 2005, introduced Mr. Siluk’s book, “Peruvian Poems,” to the world, saying: “…Peruvian Poems, is a most interesting book, and important….” (Population of Lima, eight million, and all of Peru: twenty-five million)) plus a number of other Latin American countries: reaching about sixty-three million inhabitants, in addition, his program reaches Spain)).

Note 8: More than 240,000-visit Mr. Siluk’s web site a year: see his travels and books…!

Note 9: Mr. Siluk received a signed personal picture with compliments from the Dalai Lama, 11/05, after sending him his book with a letter, “The Last Trumpet…” on eschatology.

Note 10: Ezine Articles [Internet Magazine] 11/2005, recognized by the Magazine Team, as one of 250-top writers, out of 14,700. Christopher Knight, Editor; annual readership: twelve-million (or one million per month). Dennis has about 10,000 readers of his articles, poems and stories, alone on this site per month.

Note 11: Dennis L. Siluk Columnist of the Year, on the International Internet Magazine, Useless-knowledge; December 5, 2005 (Annual Readership: 1.5 million).

Note 12: Dennis L. Siluk was made Special Author, status, for the site

Note 13: Mr. Siluk’s works are on over 400-web sites worldwide as of (early 2005)

More Reviews:

Benjamin Szumskyj: Editor of SSWFT Magazine Australia

“In the Pits of Hell, a Seed of Faith Grows”

"The Macabre Poems: and other selected Poems,"

“…Siluk’s Atlantean poems are also well crafted, from the surreal…to the majestic…and convivial…” and the reviewer adds: “All up, Siluk is a fine poet…His choice of topic and theme are compelling and he does not hold back in injecting his own personal thoughts and feelings directly into his prose, lyrics, odes and verse…” (September 2005)


“…I liked your poem [‘The Bear-men of Qolqepunku’] very much. It is a very poignant piece.”

Aalia Wayfare
Researcher on the Practices
Of the Ukukus


“I just received your book ‘Spell of the Andes,’ and I like it a lot.’

—Luis Guillermo Guedes, Director
Of the Ricardo Palma Museum-House
In Lima, Peru [July, 2005]


“The Original title of the book Dennis L. Siluk presents is ‘Spell of the Andes’ which poems and stories were inspired by various places of our region and can be read in English and Spanish. The book separated in two parts presents the poems that evoked the Mantaro Valley, La Laguna de Paca…Miraflores, among other places. The book is dedicated to ‘the beautiful city of Huancayo’…”

By: Marissa Cardenas, Correo Newspaper,
Huancayo, Peru [7/9/05]
Translated into English by Rosa Peñaloza.


Mr. Siluk’s writings, in particular the book: ‘Islam, in Search of Satan’s Rib,’ induced a letter from Arial Sharon, Prime Minister of Israel, along with a signed picture. [2004]


“You’re a Master of the written word.” [Reference to the book: ‘Death on Demand’]

—Benjamin Szumskyj,
Editor of SSWFT-magazine out of Australia [2005]


A poetic Children’s tale “The Tale of Willy, the Humpback Whale” 1982 Pulitzer Prize entry, with favorable comments sent back by the committee.


“Dennis is a prolific and passionate writer.”

—Matt James,
Editor of ‘useless-knowledge,’ Magazine [2005]


“The Other Door,”…by Dennis L. Siluk…This is a collection of some 45 poems written…over a 20-year period in many parts of the world. Siluk has traveled widely in this country and Europe and some of the poems reflect his impressions of places he has visited. All of them have a philosophical turn. Scattered through the poems—some long, some only three lines—are lyrical lines and interesting descriptions. Siluk illustrated the book with his own pen and ink drawings.” —St. Paul Pioneer Press [1981)


“Your stories are wonderful little vignettes of immigrant life….

“… (The Little Russian Twins) it is affecting….”

—Sibyl-Child (a women’s art and culture journal) by Nancy Protun, Hyattsville, Md.; published by the Little Peoples’ Press, 1983


“The Other Door, by Dennis L. Siluk-62pp. $5….both stirring and mystical….”

—C.S.P. World News [1983]


“For those who enjoy poetry…The Other Door, offers an illustrated collection…Reflecting upon memories of his youth, Siluk depicts his old neighborhood of the 1960’s…Siluk…reflects upon his travels in poems like: ‘Bavaria’s Harvest’ (Augsburg, Germany and ‘Venice in April.’’’

—Evergreen Press
St. Paul, Minnesota [1982]


“Siluk publishes book; Siluk…formerly lived in North Dakota…”

—The Sunday Forum
Fargo-Moorhead, North Dakota [1982]


“Dennis Siluk, a St. Paul native…is the author of a recently released book of poetry called The Other Door…. The 34-year old outspoken poet was born and reared in St. Paul. The Other Door has received positive reaction from the public and various publications. One of the poems included in his book, ‘Donkeyland-(A side Street Saga)’, is a reflection of Siluk’s memories…in what was once one of the highest crime areas in St. Paul.” [1983]
St. Paul, Minnesota


“This entertaining and heart-warming story …teaches a lesson, has all the necessary ingredients needed to make a warm, charming, refreshing children’s animated television movie or special.” [1983]

—Form: Producers
Report by Creative
Entertainment Systems;
West Hollywood, CA
Evaluation Editor


The book: ‘The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon,’ writes Pastor Naason Mulâtre, from the Church of Christ, Haiti, WI; “…I received…four books [The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon…]. My friend it’s wonderful, we are pleased of them. We are planning to do a study of them twice a month. With them we can have the capacity to learn about the Antichrist. I have read all the chapters. I have…new knowledge about how to resist and fight against this enemy. I understand how [the] devil is universal in his work against [the] church of Jesus-Christ. Thanks a lot for your effort to write a so good book or Christians around the world.” [2002]

Additional (mixed) Notes and Reviews:

Mr. Siluk was the winner of the magazine competition by “The Eldritch Dark”; for most favored writer [contributor] for 2004 [with readership of some 2.2-million].

And received a letter of gratitude from President Bush for his many articles he published in the internet Magazine, “,” during his campaign for President, 2004 [1.2-million readership].

Still some of his work can be seen in the Internet Ezine Magazine, with a readership of some three million. [2005, some 350 articles, poems and short stories]

Siluk’s poetic stories and poetry in general have been recently published by the Huancayo, Peru newspaper, Correo; and “Leaves,” an international literary magazine out of India. With favorable responses by the Editor

Mr. Siluk has been to all the locations [or thereabouts] within his stories and poetry he writes; some 683,000-miles throughout the world.

His most recent book is, “The Spell of the Andes,” to be presented at the Ricardo Palma Museum-House in October 2005, and recently reviewed in Peru and the United States.

From the book, “Death on Demand,” by Mr. Siluk, says author:

E.J. Soltermann
Author of Healing from Terrorism, Fear and Global War:

“The Dead Vault: A gripping tale that sucks you deep through human emotions and spits you out at the end as something better.” (Feb. 2004)

Love and Butterflies
[For Elsie T. Siluk my mother]

She fought a good battle
The last of many—
Until there was nothing left
Where once, there was plenty.

And so, poised and dignified
She said, ‘farewell,’ in her own way
And left behind
A grand old time
Room for another

Love and Butterflies…
That was my mother.

—By Dennis L. Siluk © 7/03

Visit my web site: you can also order the books directly by/on: along with any of your notable book dealers. Other web sites you can see Siluk’s work at: www.swft/writings.html and many more.

Books by the Author

Out of Print

The Other Door, Volume I [1980]
The Tale of Willie the Humpback Whale [1981]
Two Modern Short Stories of Immigrant life [1984]
The Safe Child/the Unsafe Child [1985]

Presently In Print

The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon

Angelic Renegades & Rephaim Giants

Tales of the Tiamat [not released]
Can be purchased individually [trilogy]

Tiamat, Mother of Demon I
Gwyllion, Daughter of the Tiamat II
Revenge of the Tiamat III

Mantic ore: Day of the Beast

Chasing the Sun
[Travels of D.L Siluk]

Islam, In Search of Satan’s Rib

The Addiction Books of D.L. Siluk:

A Path to Sobriety,
A Path to Relapse Prevention
Aftercare: Chemical Dependency Recovery


A Romance in Augsburg I
Romancing San Francisco II
Where the Birds Don’t Sing III
Stay Down, Old Abram IV


Perhaps it’s Love
Cold Kindness

The Suspense short stories of D.L. Siluk:

Death on Demand
[Seven Suspenseful Short Stories]

Dracula’s Ghost
[And other Peculiar stories]

The Mumbler [psychological]

After Eve [a prehistoric adventure]


[Poems-Volume II, 2003]

The Macabre Poems [2004]

Spell of the Andes [2005]

Peruvian Poems [2005]

Last autumn and Winter [2006]
[Poems out of Minnesota]

Poetic Images out of Peru
[And other poem, 2006]

The Magic of the Avelinos
[And other poems of the Mantaro Valley]

The Road to Unishcoto
[The Wanka’s Last Battle]
And Other Poetic Writings on the Mantaro Valley
To be out in January, 2007

Orion’s Orchard
[And Other Selected Unpublished Poetry]
To be out in 3/2007

Notes about the story: “The Tales of Poseidonia,” (or: “The Port of Poseidonia”) originally written in the year 2004, 17-episodes called: “Port of Poseidonia,” revised and reedited 2/2006 and 3/2006. It originally started as a short story, and went into a week or semiweekly series published on an Internet magazine: the short chapter stories (or sketches) all internally connecting to one another. Chapters 18, 19, and 21 incomplete, so were left out: “Searching for Ais,” and “An Inter-Limbo,” and the ‘Final Chapter,“ was lost. In the early months of 2006, it was republished on a second Internet magazine, with a following of 12-million readers, and all chapters did quite well, chapter #6, seemed to have had more readers. Then in November 2006, it was reedited, and kept in its original form of chapter stories, or sketches and revised for future publication. (Originally about 30,000-words; words added to the revised edition: 36,700 ((3700 additional words)). For the most part, the episodes have remained just that, episodes, with the same plot, and theme, all connecting to a great and the original climatic ending. No additional chapters were added. Episodes, or Chapter stories: 18, 19 and 21 were rewritten in November 2006, as was the new Chapter 20: Ais’ Peace: Hell’s Pursuit; Chapters 9 thru 17 were written in 2005, never published in its final form. The Author tried to rewrite the last ending chapters according to how the lost fragments went, and in doing so, finished them to be more than what they were, but were meant to be.

Back Cover of book

“The Tales of Poseidonia,” have been long in the making. They were first written in 2004, two magazines picked them up, and then they were revised in 2006, with over 12000-additional words added (on description, clarity and explanation)) the theme and plot remaining the same)). These are romantic, dramatic dark tales; with 21-eposodes (seventeen—previous episodes)) and four new ones)) connecting to one another making it an intense story—all relating to one another, with one clear climatic ending; a stirring and deadly tale of the savage and restless underworld, in the time of Atlantis (10,665 BC). It is a thrilling adventure; the characters reap vengeance for the loss of souls, and loved ones (envy, lust and jealous plagues their worlds); an astonishing series that thousands have read only in part. In this fictionalized story, you will learn more about Atlantis, than in any ten books on the market.

Siluk was awarded Poet Laureate of San Jeronimo, Peru (2005), in 2006, given the Grand Cross of the City. You can see in the new pulp magazine, “Lost Sanctum #2”, October 2006, issue, an interview of Mr. Siluk, by Australian Editor, Benjamin Szumskyj. Look for his short stories in future issues.

Dennis lives part time in Minnesota, but has chosen the beautiful Mantaro Valley of Peru, to call his permanent residence. This is Dennis’ 36th book.

Winner of two columnists’ awards (2004, 2005); awarded The English-Magazine’s top October story of the month, 2006.Interview by Ricardo Palma University, of Lima.