The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Shezmu’s Toil



I am the guardian of the great,

I am the judge of the physical,

The roaring din of my press,

Squeezes and wraps the wicked,



Those who know me truly only guess of me,

Those who see me fear me,

Those who are afraid of me demonize me,

And those who patronize me cower from me,



I am but the tool of Osiris,

His law my command,

Warped and molded into myths,

But all of his laws only come from the land,

Its order brings good men bliss,

His control makes no man stand,



For am I the punish-er or the instrument?

Am I the chosen or one who is in agreement?

Am I justice incarnate?

Or just the flavor that justice does onset?



Alas I will forever be seen,

As fearful and frightening to human beings,

For if they are just with their heart and have not been a fiend,

Then I am the greatest of old friends the pod with two beans,



But if you seem to cross a line,

Then punishment is coming from the divine,

But punishment itself has a face,

Often by country, grouping, or race,



Then am I judging the world to be,

Off of doctrines that were passed down to me,

Then all the world’s ideas are marked,

By who, what, where, and when the ideas were sparked,



So then all of our morality,

Just simply is what was comfy for mom and dad,

On running and ordering our great city,

Who hit them on the wrist to tell them it was bad,

Even if it was from instigation a falsity,

Will we be doomed to forever be led?



For I am a creature trapped from a time,

When lion heads and animals divine,

When thoughts of heaven had scales in tow,

And the holy worked on in fields of gold,



Who is the lion demon meant to be?

What has he done to be thought of as free?

Where does he sit to judge you and me?

When will his judgment come through and again be seen?

It is only a matter of words to make anything true,

And far too often a truth is something generally assumed,



So let the old teach the new,

But let it be a guide on what not to do,

Leave the violence of before and grow anew,

Then we will be champions of the great lord Shezmu,

Me

You

Us

/Them\

They

We

Are all of the land and laws that generate so keep them well balanced that’s all we can create…

Nozick's Nightmare



I often find myself awake at night,

Half asleep in remorse and dying of fright,

Counting interactions of universes on the side,

What selves I might discover on true sets of lies,

The self of me,

That is me,

That isn't me,

That would be me,

That could be me,

That should be me,

And that wants me to be me,

The me that's oblivious to me at all,



This is all well and fine playing in the folds of my mind,

Not afraid of the of what I might find,

So no callous idea might be sought,

No contradictions allowed,

No explaining empty husk,

But why choose a outward choice on what is all the fuss,

Ideas of some seem way too miraculous,



Yet the six year olds doubtful icecream world complex,

Is as structured and well thought as any religious text,

So is it all confounding drabble we vent,

This shows in us real inherent truth of malcontent,

That Nozick's argument must be taken seriously without rebuke,

Not some wishful thinking easily seen as a fluke,

For never is our universal shell so apparent then in other ideals,

The opening grounds for belief battlefields,,



The Norse would scoff and laugh and holler,

Saying Mimmir's price is a hard offer,

For seeing all in one and one in all loops the paradigms over again,

Dogs chasing our tails our heads do start to swim,



Should we give up the chase instead,

Excepting our fate as soon to be dead?!



No! he screams in roaring cause,

Its the paradox that is the beauty in all,



For we can not rebuke the thought,

That our views are skewed standing inside the parking lot,

Describing the things that come in our minds as lust,

Amazing to us standing just outside of our sidewalks crust,

So is the romantic image a simple girl in frills,

Sitting gorgeous on pedestals never climbing the hills,

Uselessly beautiful we hold true yet due to cause out unfavorable ills,

The unending crash scenario seems to send us a note that shrills,

Will tasks become more daunting still,

As we begin entering the vacuums eternal chill...



The price of control is finite response,

A doubtful dogmatic materialistic reproach,

Does less to stop the leaking of idyllic voice,

For if the natural can be super- with just a change of view,

Does that mean belief is just as fragile too,

Are all the ideas just throwing up thoughts,

Of random junctures in random husks,

Does the universe have direction,

Does the universe tell jokes,

Is it so serious a game,

Are we here to have the ultimate free lunch?

Is it that we are from the outward perspective,

The one who is set in scene doomed to take the punch directive ,



This is truly a scary idea,

The product of our nightmares fear,

Are we all the ones who are doomed,

Our message weaved to destructive looms,

For if we are able to see in chemical inflection,

Absorb in the new data in energy direction,

Are we just scrapping the surface of our senses,

Playing director and smiling in our own intentions,

Always finding higher and yet taller fences...





Not so simple a glass one might hoist,

I think the true tone is consciousness holds choice,

We direct our flow off of intrinsic voice,

Finding opinion then impending nous,

Well standing in shells of thousands that would not damage,

Until the right ideal takes us to the final ledge,

But thousands of beliefs playing out thousands of other realities,

Could we really ever call the final point in all the subtleties...





Like others before us giving in,

So easy now to see it as the end,

Realizing we are the brightest but least held true,

Yet we hold no responsibility on the worlds view,

To purpose in time and direct in total,

On a ball who's purpose is still on call,

We play our games and drink away our times,

Dance out theories never actually met in our minds,



So lets sit and think on secular oblation,

For the shaman knew that life was simple survive and move in obligation,

Yet we are in argument of differences in nations,

Too tied up in all the newest sensations,



Man has forgot that differences can make the hardest bonds,

For those who are different but share similar cause,

Not just accepting things for them as they are,

But challenging how many conceptualization's can we have in far,





For people can argue with there own mind,

Challenge in truth,

Challenge it in time,

But the Zen master will tell you,

And it is truth culture lacks to find,

That for each step forward six new thoughts open up behind,





The real action is to have us move on deeper impulses,

Not just stories of different poses,

On larger truths we can stew,

For if one is content with ones personal view,

Then the days of one challenging are numbered and few,





The presumption of god lays down the line,

That if he or they existed in our reality then we would be blind,

So unless the pagan dance display,

Wins out on top in nu wave,

Then we will simply label and boast,

On something as identifiable as ghosts,

For it seems to me that just the fact,

That we buy into sentient existence is where its at,

The argument isn't what universe your in,

But what rules you must play with so that in the end,

Carbon life forms in whole will be a successful win...





Fecundity is the paradox in the root of itself,

That roots for our successful health,

Splitting into individual and grouped out towns,

Maybe it is the difference agent itself finding fractal in its clouds,

For are the connections aren't the same for those without our bounds,

From a negative universe,

Only discovered by the ending Hearse,

That drives us towards what our mouth does sing,

An unending ultimum of destructions and beginnings,

Singing to us just in a way that we can listen,

Even from our some what small pathetic position,

Just for the din to sit, play with, and judge,

The material points no better than a fat kid with fudge,



But this I see an immature jaunt,

Or are we the accident the universe never did want,

With unending possibilities come unending answers at most,

Our culture the best montage of thousands of perspective hosts,

So I feel I'll end in this real time without the desired "truth" so desired,

From this most would want philosophers fired,

And while the answer of paradox at times,

Is too crazy for some while it dances between lines,

The unending qualm of us, a universal laborer's song,

To ride the wave of chaos has been real true order all along,

For what else can we do,

But try to smell the fabrics natural glue,

The only glue known to me and to you,

Finding answers from our point leaves you frustrated and shrew,

As no man has ever truly relinquished his natural Que's,



For are we the ape that can propose this ideal,

Or the rabble of a horde speaking out crazy ominous feel,

For no utopia sought will be enough,

No for perfection is quite an abstract thought,

One who's missions are too soon forgot,

For the things you long for and cling to today,

Will be your bane in sight of coming actions and plays,

So can we all seem to hum,

In unison of one reliable sun,

One reliable moon,

One reliable world who cleans up our messes,

And tucks us in too,

Letting us know the spring will be there in the end through,

For we are all using the phrasings of root,

And forgetting they were once Pan's chaotic-al flute,

For we will remember when overview is small,

That we created the labels we speak of in total and all,

So lets admit the defeat that we are all trying our best,

To understand where and when we should fest,

Find ourselves truly giving it a real test,

Shell off the luggage,

Take off the clothes,

Remember were in the end we all go,

For I wish to dream on true intent,

To speak my words and challenge my wit,



And when the reaper comes to claim,

I'll say what an achievement I put into that game,

I played with others and accepted my falls,

Rolled the dice hard or never rolled them at all,

For I would like to find "me," at the core,

Like the most lustrous gold in the massive vein of ore,

For when I glimpse him just for a moment or four,,

That lets me know hey it just isn't as scary anymore...



Sean Stutzman

Dreaming The Dream Back To Life



As splashing hills meet rolling waters,

Forests of mountains mixed with mountains of forest,

I often find myself dozing,

Dancing lazily in the sky,

I feel it is still more than what people say and lie,

For dreams echo the choices contributed in our minds,

Yet I question the material of my mind,

For if only for a second I start to see the blending of symbols,

The construction of ideas,

But instead I find the moral,

The lesson,

The agenda from inside,

For I think we are made into an agenda of the mind,

Dreams can be a requiem inside of our own minds,

The insistent buzz of questions hovering just inside,

Built as a cover to deny the real world and life,

Sad thoughts creep but cannot leech me and I look back and see,

The rainbow trees the chimpanzees,

And our friends on the inside,

But there is a goal to make theft our dreams,

Immature response to feeling real things,

There is an agenda of the waking to control the subconscious,

To use chemicals to ostracize inspirational contact,

How arrogantly we hold to materialistic things,

For if there were a goal of what we need to be,

It sounds from our subconscious in one phrase:

"Are you feeling guilty?"



For even the killer has nightmares,

The Sadist still gets scared,

And the sociopath takes drastic action to keep it in the means he cares,

Just lost lights dancing out shadows from inner despairs,

Our lack of control is true beauty,

Our undertone realized,

That your brain is optimizing your most intricate,

And simple desires from inside,

For if the man does watch his acts and does not reason action in time,

Stuck forever in an instant locked to memory is his mind,

So let us claim back the circle of last nights dreams,

Lets realize that hallucinations of culture are never quite what they seem,

Let us hold the messages to be outside,

For in epicurean discourse we find true natures mind,



So the waking wish to conqueror the dreams from inside,

But only through letting go do you finally walk with the tide,

Your feet teaming with delight,

As cheer brings metaphoric sunlight,

For courage echoes feeling,

Feeling echoes love,

And the dream world is the playground of our illusion world,

I say this in opinion,

Because what I see is now that I love my dreams I keep asking,

How is it I inspire to be,

The very me inside the bubble tossed by the sea?

For each day I try to be the one who echoes out with life,

For I will dance with our psyche generator and balance living strife,



No defined path can access the correct means for any person,

Your road is your road,

Your thoughts your thought,

And while we claim to be real and here,

The dreams seem more accurately poised,

Not for reality but the hidden sight behind it all,

You can't call it intent,

You can't give it form,

It isn't some deity,

For you to try to absorb,

It is purpose the underlying call,

Even the simplest ant has survival on its call,

So guilt then echoes the beauty of our minds,

To self correct define and understand our root desire for life,

The animals act the personal charms,

The people can act like animals living on farms,

And all the while the sandman smiles,

Knowing that we see how we would like to see,

We feel how we want to feel,

So this dream me is more me than myself,

Beyond hunger,

Beyond survival,

Beyond the normal constructs simply aligned,

But instead I feel the dream is real,

The champion is me,

The story sometimes is not even mine,

But my true form rises with each victory,

Recycles with each loss,

Yet all the while my phoenix resurrects my emotions that come at cost,



For the dream is more real than me,

The archetype is true desire,

For our brain works as a story,

The story is hard to find,

But if we can find it the good in us revives,

Yet modern man thinks that dreaming is so dull,

We did study after study to ratify a chemical reaction for sure,

Yet this dispels the magic point of how to still explain,

When your brain goes down at night,

No loss of function for the drag,

Instead of resting why does it then defrag?

Psychology cannot except in the evolving mind,

Because it would have to except internal subconscious insight,

A path that leads back to that not explained,

Something we should all agree to disagree now that religions are tamed,

But we will keep up the quarrel,

And use microscopic arguments on both sides,

It seems that partisan politics are bleeding into our minds,

For we stand divided on issues never known at all,

Forgetting that prophets rise as civil morality falls,



A single voice and message can act like a glue,

But accepting diversity in actions make opposites bond to you,

So resurrect your phoenix and discard the faulty lies,

We can only hold opinions up to opinionated eyes,

For if the story echoes from each others messages spreading,

Then accepting how special these things are is a needle in need of threading,

For I claim my ideas to hold up all at once,

But others would see me as a lazy anti-socialite dunce,

Too caught up in the long term,

To linked to dreams and sights,

But I would challenge them on any topic,

Devil’s advocate any point,

And the absolutist’s greatest dreams disappear to dust,

Showing their actions were not heart felt but born out of reaction for power lust,



So be your dream realistically and hold yourself composed,

Those that are un-moving are already half way closed,

We can hold the world to oh so many dreams,

And see how even through the bad a new world seems to gleam,

But megalomaniacs are the demons that sit between the seams,

Needed to change,

Needed to upset,

But the actions of a few corrupt the sustainability of most,

Those evil actions linger like unresolved ghosts,

They will only be nightmares if we supplement them with boasts,

Claiming effectiveness in action,

While legislating the problem to a fraction,

No civilized state is forever,

The pride of those that claimed it almost always brings disaster,

For humanist dream and act without hearing the other side,

Do we act on everything?

Does that make every action alright?

Should we sacrifice the planet to some deistic force?

Because that is what we are doing in many different names,

The message is the same past the pagans ending with Yahweh,

If he said do anything yet listen to my rules,

What contradicting idea do we display the most,

For you can want your dream to play out and be real,

But in the end it’s the system of ordinance not divinity you feel,

I could be wrong I'll state that fact without even a flinch,

But tell me this what can you say when Ragnarok ensues,

When revelations is upon us and the world is in constant feud,

The lord or lords would descend ready for the fight,

Only to discover that human corpses are left with dust shining in the light,



For will our mother turn and croak?

Not a chance at all,

She'll frown for a million years and then smile as life regrows,

Her endless life springing back from cellular repose,

For bacteria can withstand the chill of space,

They only need good conditions in the right place,

Our mother the natural arbiter of both,

DNA refreshes with new improved growth,

It would almost seem that man did agree to stay within the boundaries of our world’s life tree,

But dropped responsibilities of bringing the animals up to be free,

But allowed shallow panic to allow for cities made of death,

Supposedly imbued with a force of divine breath,

Instead I see casualties in a war,

The burnt up bodies of rocks, deer, and wild boars,

Like Hitler's graves the skyscrapers stand with human guards about,

Self-consuming they are hoping to justify their right to power,

Imprisoning and killing those with doubts,

For what else then a politician calls his opponent a pessimist,

When his whole view comes from gloom and doom but likes promoting it,

Just as brainwashed and reluctant of the power battles within sight,

We will continue more action out of pure fright,

We are meant to leave we are meant for flight,

But sprinting at the beginning of a marathon leaves all muscles overly tight,



Your vision gets telescoped and your mind becomes impulsive,

That is supposedly the responsible discourse for advances?

Again I laugh and smile and say you will answer the question to make it feel right in your brain,

Yet the ending of species the crashing of riots insane,

You tell the Bushmen they are irresponsible,

That they have no idea how to play the game,

Yet they are sitting back laughing knowing we will end the same,

Back to the beginning for rushing through the play,

So here at this point I marry in my dream,

To bring up the animals in evolutionary being,

To bring all animals to sentient,

To survey the planets malcontent,

To raise up carbon life to be,

The poetry that our myths speak to you and to me,

Not the arrogance of creating a human paradise,

That of a loss,

But instead allowing the flow and movement of the progression of life,

To create the aforementioned garden of no strife,

As we generate new ideas new thoughts,

We must balance and handle the old,

For life is a pro-generator for capacities,

To handle the new novelty the world must utilize more human beings,

Which would suggest that we are natures answer to the gaps,

It breeds conquest for our own new conjectures,

Yet disregarding all forms of real stability,

For if our life is meant to be,

A job, a car, and family,

Then all life is losing is its desired flavor,

Like penned cows and pigs we live inside our lives,

The highest obesity levels,

Yet not enough money on the inside?

So soon we will blame all on our poor "Disaster," bringing mother,

When really we should be hearing what’s wrong with one another,

For beauty is true trust for what can I say,

The most beautiful women ends up being the quick lay,

The simple approach braggadocious at most,

For when in nature do you see the chimpanzee cry,

Where does fear and loathing boil up inside,

Truly it is the archetypes of our own minds,

That allow them to move readily while we are caught inside,

For death has no exceptions,

He is a friend to me and you,

He is the one who recycles our world opens it anew,

To justify another idea is to be singing to the pews,

To make others operate on preconceived intentions,

For don't you think Paul's job easy,

To stand against the world with heart out beating,

Yet its easiest to remove your enemies argument with feud,

One that is way more easily poignant the more you demonize their view,

And allow for imperialist dictation we bitched at the British we do,

But culture will be the dying throws,

Of a life of living in others views,

Forgetting how and when all our ancestors got screwed,

For food will over produce and cause war,

War will activate patriarchal and matriarchal lore’s,

And again we will stand in broken response as the prophets push their inglorious words,

For all people can reach to insight even most subservient,

And one day they will stand over their masters,

Knowing every intimate detail to lead him to disaster,

For our country and lives will only go faster,

Leading the weak to damage the strong to sum,

So what kind of man will you become?

Giving that we are in the "Greatest," Empire of our sun,

What role will you have played when the masquerade is done,

Those who know that systems are faulty will continue dreaming past authority,

For we are the twenty percent unchallenged in schools and left for dead,

Called to be the problem but knowing what is instead,

I call for real progress with a clear head,

And dream the dream I know is really there instead....



Sean Stutzman

The OnlyTrue Reserection



I screamed - I kicked - I cried out again,

Wailing - Thrashing the wood overhead,

Set trapped all my answers all sat there and lay,

On books of wood and tablets of clay,

The answers are set never to leave,

They are resolute forever no more ways to concede,





What cruel fate sat me where I am,

A vicious woman of heartless intent?

Alas no others can I blame for my fate,

My din crescendos into self hate,

Set in stone like my mind,

Whose natures I bring argument truly self lies find,





To weak to stand I must relent,

Accept the happy hunting ground tent,

Yet so close to the end I see no beautiful sight,

No paradise found No kingdoms of light,

My struggles settle realizing my state,

No fighting will take me from my final date,





The crippling box sits mocking my head,

Angels and spirits engraved in my bed,

Is it a true lesson to sit with extinguishing hope,

Obviously I'll ascend soon according to all popes,

Yet darkness locks in as it should all go soon,

My life completed by an ethereal noon,





But hours turn to days and days into months,

My isolated prison all too much is punishment enough,

All the hours squandered in my living day,

All the damage to others treating them as prey,

I'm no better off - and no worse than those,

Who I dismantled their dreams abolished their hope,





For is it for me to stay always in lines,

To admit I don't know what’s happening in front or behind,

To proud to say that I am truly scarred,

Yet telling others pride is the worst sin to bear,

Hippocrates sings next to me in ominous tune,

Laughing at those who expect all to come as truth,





For we lose the idea that no one knows,

Where we will be when we finally go,

Systems are augmented for such cultural flow,

Yet hell is a new creation three thousand years ago,

The shamans were trying to absolve and bring peace,

To those too shattered by unexpected recent life ceased,





For rules are our own dissertations,

From prophets seeking healing in all the wrong places,

Yet we are biased in almost every view,

"Holding ourselves up," when really we kneel in the pews,

For we will never truly know ourselves,

Continuing over hurdles solvable by face value at most,

Now those tablets are dust and molded books cannot boast,

So here I lie in eternal compost,

Until finally a beautiful tree does rip asunder and renew my ghost…





Let life mirror death and death mirror life,

The ancients taught us symbolic insight,

Yet no one has returned,

Who has, has lied,

For deaths grip will take the macro un-denied

Then ask how the little dust speck cheats from inside...



Sean Stutzman

She Dances Between The Graves



Her eyes did drop to the land where she lay,

Those below wish to jump out to play,



But Sad to say they never should,

Though given opportunity they all could,



Her scarlet robe does rest on her skin,

Hiding behind the vipers grin,



For those below were never her thought,

From birth the bloodlust was what she sought,



No time to dream of those in graves,

So the land they rest is where she plays,



Her food does come to often wallow,

Removing their pains she does fallow,



Past the old hill where all can see,

To the place at wish she releases them free,



Those who choose her sweet loving kiss,

Will live on for life in total bliss,



Until the blood is far away,

Though in nocturnal night they survive anyway,



For it is in our nature to feed,

And the beauty of life is that energy is its seed,



So she sees the world on even eyes,

Every creature is at the exact same level as it dies,



For we are the children living on corpses,

The whole world is just another entropic bouquet of roses,



Looking beautiful from outside we try to come in,

But sitting dormant without much function we ruin it with din,



Our great mother the planet is our sweet Vampiress,

She feeds off our lives as we end face down on her breast,



So is it our arrogance to make out graves,

When dirt itself comes from blood, sap, and rot as it behaves,



So let the world hold you near,

And remember the grave is our cold final sneer,



For we do all wish to live forever,

Though she walks through graves no gifts given ever,



We cling to moments as drops that spray,

In sacrifices of graphic display,



For what cause but survival is there to live for,

Yet an unending list comes at those causes to die for,



Only allowed to be held by those around us,

And for normality to become the fighting ground to which we lust,



As each of our stories ring in her ears,

The taste of our life makes new options more clear,



Ironic it is her that we've come to fear,

As we allowed only survival to steer,



She wishes life to not go quick,

But to learn from the pain, the hurt, and the sick,



Our beautiful dark embracing Nephthys,

Our world will guard us as we rest,



Let those who are fearful last,

While the bravado of some makes them leave fast,



I do feel privileged to live under her rules,

As she serves an equality that makes many men fools,



Often singing her on their sides,

Only to be shown the actual justice of ebb and tides,



So let us hold our glorious mother on high,

For its guaranteed she will take your life that is no lie,



But she will be a fair and giving leader who provides,

For every time that you die it's certain the same person could never have survived,



So as she dances through graves,

Remember that what she gave you was brains,



Remember that she can always terrify you,

Unless you understand that she is our world glue,



To know more is to do more,

And to do more is to alleviate being a bore,



But never forget that clock is ticking by your door,

Always waiting to swing open once more,

She dances between the graves,

And all day long on top of it we play.





Sean Stutzman