Yard Lamp of Gloria: Visions That Survived the Floods

By Aglaia Marusin

Synoptic Anticipation
My five-fold discourse commences with an outback Trek to a somewhat supernatural setting. This preparatory destination, by echelon, anticipates my nicer, statelier but more unendurable big Energy Center; designated as the glorious Glib megalopolis... Then, the reader is catapulted to its enormous counterpart chorus of something so inexpressible, and yet inchoate, as to render yardstick usage of vocabulary inadequate! But not only so- rather- in that the Plot of such outbursts skids to a standstill at the dilated disclosure of a Hypersphere! Accordingly addressed, as it were, a romantic and surreal tale of the personified Divinity- shared by my primitive gliff of Her- follows suit (instantaneously) until to no reservation. And finally- to conclude this Vision- I embark upon an ultimate frontier with that selfsame Hypersphere paramount.
Precedent to deployment of The Yard Lamp of Gloria storyboard, I noticed interlink of the 1990s at the LILCO, or Long Island Lighting Company with its fine public works of innovative energy distribution along New Yorks industrial peninsula. Therein, I perused the early inception of its very vast framework of infrastructure, and how that the 120 mile long island has reached a zenith of such classical reputation. By this diorama- inter alia- I was able to reconsider well enough the future ramifications of street lighting, and that perhaps for its very own sake...
As such, imagine a brighter Tomorrow of unparalleled lamp entities designed to energize us into Immortality. Indeed, the cornerstone of which paves parking lots of sacrosanct cessation; or- as shown in yon Yard Lamp of Gloria- some radiant respite to fulfill todays anticipation still! Wherefore, our precarious din of affairs need be altered- drastically- nonetheless, if ever we are to attain the upper rung via Jacobs Ladder! Not an impending clich, I say, but a requisite pioneer spirit for all. Aglaia Marusin
August 11, 2015

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504960670

Aglaia Marusin

I was born in the Czech Republic, and- like Nicola Tesla- I came to New York and eventually moved up to Denver, Colorado near Colorado Springs where Tesla had his huge toroidal terminal charged for high voltage experimentation. With high-intensity discharge fixtures I had makeshift manufactured, I was able to facilitate some of that inventor's spirit into today's gadgetry driven Generation X. My video playlist: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCDAYT91tTOtu11o-qL8r9Vg What you are about to read was begun in 1991, and completed in Summer of 2015. All my experience is compressed into its contents, and is open for study, debate, innovation or just ordinary entertainment. Reader discretion is advised. To my dear mother and father this work is dedicated.

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© 2015 Paul Marusin. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/11/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6066-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6067-0 (e)

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Contents

Prophetic Prologue

Consecration

My Superfluous Mouseprint

Transalteratorium

Transalteratorium

GLIB

Prefatory Glory

Flanged Flight

Homecoming

Prefatory Glory

MEGAFUGAGARGANTUGOOGOLPLEX

Recapitulation

Firsthand Major Flood Image Section

Amalgamated Monumentary

Prophetic Prism Of

Phase Sequence I

Prayer

Prophetic Profusion

Dual Envoy

The Poet’s Cornerstone Tribute:

The Old Valley Brook Ballroom

Bb Big Ball

MEGAPHOTOPOLIS

Vox Stellarum

About the Author

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

A poet can do much more for the country than a proprietor at a nail factory.

Fredrick Theodore Roosevelt

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun:

Ecclesiastes chapter 11, verse 7 (KJV)

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

Advent

Ere stars of heaven fall

Again upon this Earth,

Or babes begin to bawl

By reason of such dearth,

I’ll shine- protective- all

On Heaven’s holy Birth.

If ever earthquakes quiver

Our land to liquefaction,

And sirens make us shiver

To take up arms in action,

I still will flash My River

But billionths of a fraction!

For I am that which once

Came on the earth to save

As many as for months

And years await the grave;

Today, o’er railroad shunts

Red semaphores do wave!

You often seek an answer

To things beyond the soul,

Yet seldom heed as cancer

Devours some, but whole-

I’ll heal up all that rancor

If you make Me your goal!

The following novella has been tweaked and

perfected to the uttermost dot and tittle on a

four day, August 11th, 2015 Upstate stay, NY

where I secluded myself near lonely Arkville.

Synoptic Anticipation

My five-fold discourse commences

with an outback Trek to a somewhat

supernatural setting. This preparatory

destination, by echelon, anticipates my

nicer, statelier but more unendurable

big Energy Center; designated as the

glorious Glib megalopolis… Then,

the reader is catapulted to its enormous

counterpart chorus of something so

inexpressible, and yet inchoate, as to

render yardstick usage of vocabulary

inadequate! But not only so- rather- in

that the Plot of such outbursts skids to

a standstill at the dilated disclosure of

a Hypersphere! Accordingly addressed,

as it were, a romantic and surreal tale

of the personified Divinity- shared by

my primitive gliff of Her- follows suit

(instantaneously) until to no reservation.

And finally- to conclude this Vision- I

embark upon an ultimate frontier with

that selfsame Hypersphere paramount.

Precedent to deployment of The Yard

Lamp of Gloria storyboard, I noticed

interlink of the 1990’s at the LILCO, or

Long Island Lighting Company with its

fine public works of innovative energy

distribution along New York’s industrial

peninsula. Therein, I perused the early

inception of its very vast framework of

infrastructure, and how that the 120 mile

long island has reached a zenith of such

classical reputation. By this diorama- inter

alia- I was able to reconsider well enough

the future ramifications of street lighting,

and that perhaps for its very own sake…

As such, imagine a brighter Tomorrow

of unparalleled lamp entities designed

to energize us into Immortality. Indeed,

the cornerstone of which paves parking

lots of sacrosanct cessation; or- as shown

in yon Yard Lamp of Gloria- some radiant

respite to fulfill today’s anticipation still!

Wherefore, our precarious din of affairs

need be altered- drastically- nonetheless,

if ever we are to attain the upper rung via

Jacob’s Ladder! Not an impending cliché,

I say, but a requisite pioneer spirit for all.

Aglaia Marusin

August 11, 2015

Prophetic Prologue

We, relentless with idolatry, being bound up by an inexorable escalator, or be it on some round-the-clock trying treadmill equipped with digital dials- are luxuriously conveyed as on a cushion of technology; carelessly carried along a shaft to tenuous endlessness where Time, an ultra-advanced creature without any pendulum, supremely sustains mankind but for some little while. And yet, blindly, we still engage in affable jaunts, only to be disconcerted, distraught and ultimately eviscerated in the long run. Unfulfilled and found insatiable. Yea, not only that, but rather obtrusively dismantled, as it were, from Universal Plurality we would then consequently be. On the other hand- but if found upon this Trek of Gloria- conversely a far better situation should transpire… Yea, furthermore, away from that constant and indefatigable metronome Medium of such immemorial persistence, we’d leave behind eventually those ravages of Time. Never to run rampant, nor run any rat race! At long last emancipated! Mankind marvelously set free.

Caught up unto eternity instead! Unburdened ultimately, but bound by holiness.

And now, back beyond the Front Reverberatory Gl’re of an old auditorium may promenade on by, in one supercolossal entourage, those whole Hyperblown Superstars- so piercingly bright, but far whiter than white; of which ev’ry oversized Ball of invisible indivisibility exposes naught but integrated fusion. Quasi-stellar fusion that far transcends the atomic building-blocks of nuclear force. As if these Superpowers (in the original sense of the word) were all of such selfsame continuity: perpetual, unwavering and eternal. Indeed, each comprised by an ever wraparound-about, punctureless blank clone.

The Hyperblown Superstars, or much rather, the supernal prototypes thereof, are conjectured to be infinitely superior to any geometrical sphere; radiantly rounder and far smoother than any unbounded contour of curvature, that is. And what luminously breathiest dimension shall deftly yield or obliquely bow before and from beneath such as these! Harmoniously floating about, yet high above that super-supple, elastic sacred aether of spacetime continuum. As if with one vacuum of holy horror, one is forced to refrain himself from a lethal glimpse of the Shekinah glory! Even as Moses of Exodus, many centuries past, precariously hid himself away in the bedrock crags of utter existence, amidst a grotto of granite, so to speak, wherein even he had to shield his gaze with that opaque slab and slag of impenetrable thickness! Like an electric are welder visored up and heavily helmeted, except by plumbiferous plastering; so Moses was thus compelled by a divine caveat to steadfastly stay paved inside that narrow fissure of a rock-solid crypt (Nature’s asphalt and concrete membrane, from cornerstone to capstone, thinly flinched into itself!)- yet only to still turn athwart and away, evasively, from aureate Quasar-concentrated rays lambently leaking thro’! Transilluminating, by gamma and x-ray shortwave emission, the entire whole halves of but frozen lava, from where the languid man in one climactic instant- concealed in this incubated insulator, and by the cleavage of a petrified time-slot, was ever then able to dare confront the back parts of DIVINE SPIRIT retreating now to His enthronement from whence He came…

By abstract contrast, where but one unoccupied intramural coliseum grants us the empyreal impression of Someone’s see-through clear cloven tongue (none other than that of the Holy Ghost), the unseen but acutely felt Hyperblown Superstars fulgurantly outshine nearly ev’ry spectacular splendour; only God and the six-winged seraphim and cherubim of much brighter echelon than they!

Wherefore, from pot-belly Franklin stove- from reverberatory Furnace to a power plant nuclear reactor- we have embarked on an unprecedented apex of total technology. However, delusively reduced down and shriveled up to impending worldwide catastrophe. If one may venture to admit, the very pinpoint and tip of an iceberg backed by perhaps glacial proportions! Could we then conversely harbor and harness unimaginable life? Of course- Heaven forbid- not us, but by SPIRIT alone and Her only! For this life foreseen sheds therewith a far finer finesse vivified by empirical Unfading Genetics. A life-force self-sustained through the divine Paraclete and virtually immortal, remaining (pro forma) ever suppliant, yet containing undefiant environmental properties, whether cosmic or terrestrial. By and large, having both an inviolable essence of immutable immunity and an unalterable value to any malevolent madhouse of deception.

For until the Coronary Panorama of cryonics may thaw raw within cryosleepers, only to exit out of an Electrical Antarctica of refrigerators- entirely alive- and not until the enveloped enclosure thereof may disclose itself mothernaked, shall sheer holographic detonations effloresce… Then would the crystal clear emergence of a better creation take place, commencing with an ab ovo, de novo. Founding before our futura a solemn procession to the all HOLY of holies, through Whom only the relatively faithful, the unacknowledged and the impoverished assume entry.

Where mortal humankind is eclipsed by idyllic surrealism narrowed down to the Unspeakable, such life is strangely manifest manifold as revealed per diem. Someone or something altogether far too bizarre for eyes to see and ears to hear. For the highest and noblest notion of any mind must merely be but the basest condescension of an Eternal Ball, for that matter. And if we were to momentarily grapple with the first, faint spark of (for example) a Transcendent Transparency, then certainly so could we thus attain one rung higher upon Jacob’s Ladder; or even stop short of a personified Heliatrix Anathasia (interminable solar-spirit). Let alone taxing a comprehensive bulk of abutments that stretch an ungirdered bright bridge buttressed, but arched o’er ev’ry breach of ignorance.

Our collective vagaries are dethroned. That like an old whorish hen of nonchalant chicks, we otherwise remain insouciant; hellbent on trying to defy the procurement of a promised causality for whatever it may entail! And so, hence only what stays perpetuated hitherto- as a memorable melodrama conferred on us in an ever disposable transaction- this better and preferred revelation replaces [rather] the vain lispings of mad mediocrity otherwise published. Thus, its dramatic blueprint (if read upon study between the lines) that we unroll scroll by scroll- of what will blithely expand into full reality- is margined by a dithyramb diaphragm, or an abstract creature transmuted from point-blank zero to whatever one can covet! Get the message? In other words, this vivid vision whispered by an unpopular Still Small Voice, having been undisturbed, uninterrupted, undetected, and uninvoked from outside the inner Sanctum Sanctorum has now become my multi-part miniseries of divine interventions. The proverbial project Visceral Vision of the Forbidden is clairaudiently channeled, and by voluminous virtue of a resourceful Superpower, as if it were my chief motif, ready to tiptoe into the real Ark of Oracles.

Until terms like self-alterable and auditorium are combined, leaving us with the new word: Alteratorium. Then take it one step excelsior, when such a narrow, high-ceiled corridor transforms its very dimensional contours, from one strata to another. Now give it an incorporeal Entire Entity of identity blown out as the Big Bouncer [true sense of the word that refers to a large ball, bouncing, istead of some night club body guard to keep the peace] or paramount paraclete created of nothing save spirit-enhanced, quasi-induced continual curvation; so self-spun, that it resiliently reanimates itself. Profoundly present within much higher, finer vibratile, and nearly breath-lit lovely levels of the [intimately insulating] TRANSALTERATORIUM, empowered by tranquil trappings of Transvortiums trigger-free, but sewn seamlessly with transducer-transference, and fronted by a single but twin twenty metric ton, quiescently quicksilver steel sheet known as Mercury Mirror. Its mirage-like sheer sheen apparently plaster-coated and paved, concretely, upon the mure of the Front Revelatory Gl’re, glaringly! With some of the aforementioned howbeit, to remain cryptical…

_____________________________________

Author’s Footnote Notice

With regard to the modus operandi of my Concord Contact as such, this sci-fi silver sliver in brief presents only the tip of an arctic iceberg; that would also float foundational as one out of divers cryogenic proposals to the fine future unravelment of a stelliferous revivification Era.

CONSECRATION

The Proverbs, Chapter I verses 20 through 23: [via intensified amplification]

20. Wisdom cries without, she utters her [still small voice] in the streets:

21. She cries in the major Megalopolis of concourse, in the openings of the gates: in the chief City she utters her words, saying,

22. "O how long, ye simple ones, will ye love mediocrity? And the scorners delight in their scoffing, or fools hate knowledge? 23. Turn you at My reproof: behold, I will pour out My DIVINE SPIRIT upon you- I will make known My words to