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Surazeus Simon Seamount
Works at Cartographer Poet
Attended Washington State University
Lives in Columbus, Georgia
1,955 followers|262,777 views



Surazeus Simon Seamount

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Literature of life is always about
personality of amazing people
and how we perform in drama of life. 
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Surazeus Simon Seamount

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As an epic poet, and prophet of Zeus, 
I continue the long and ancient tradition 
of presenting divine revelation of truth 
in ink splotches on sheets of plant fiber. 
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Metamodern Mythopoeia in the Hermead

This article on metamodernism, linked and quoted below, describes clearly the ethos of polarity which is the impulse in me which embodied itself as the Muse who inspired me to compose an epic about philosophers, my artfully crafted myth.

Back in 1980 when I was 16 and still a Christian, before I became Atheist three years later, I felt like I was called by God to be a prophet. In 1983 when I was attending a Philosophy class at a Christian college, the professor explained the Ideas of Plato, how God cannot exist because existence refers to things that "stand out" within the limits of time and space, whereas God can subsist because it is the substance which "stands under" the forms of existence.

I realized the universe is nothing but atoms, spiraling pulses of energy that coagulate into complex bodies of chemical processes that sustain the formation of the brain which becomes conscious and generates a virtual reality which reflects that vast complex real universe.

While contemplating these myteries over the years, I realized that God is the archetype of the Tribal Leader, and that an ancestor of mine was commissioned by his tribal leader to compose stories that chronicle the life of the tribe which would imbue their experience with an overarching narrative of meaning. The genetic memory of that experience forms the programming of my own mental impulses to compose a new myth for myself to replace the Christian myth which I discarded as inadequate to explain this world.

I felt the same impulse to compose the Hermead, my epic about the lives of the philosophers whose ideas form the foundation of our civilization. I simply constructed in coherent epic narrative form the scattered legends of ancient philosophers, creating a Bible, or library of texts, that relate the human experience of exploring the nature of our world. I modeled the Hermead after the narratives of the Bible, telling the stories of the founding fathers who developed the philosophical principles that form the programming of our world view.

I invented meaning for my own life and gave myself a purpose where there is no purpose or meaning, just for the fun of writing stories. I have invented my own religion for fun, and to celebrate the power of the imagination in philosophers and scientists who seek to understand the universe.

There is no God, there is no meaning, and I was never a prophet, for I do nothing more than assemble letters in words that form sentences that generate visions in the mind of the reader, which I hope accurately reflect the real world we perceive. The joyful visions I experience while composing the tales of the epic poem the Hermead is the only purpose of the act of composition itself is the dreaming of my mind.

[Re]construction: Metamodern ‘Transcendence’ and the Return of Myth
Brendan Dempsey

"This post-postmodern ethos, eschewing both the naïve metaphysical systems of the past as well as the superficial materialism of postmodernity, has occasioned a project of reconstruction — one in which new myths and paradigmatic models are now being artfully crafted for the twenty-first century."

"This new, qualified transcendence is already informing cultural production. Indeed, when most potently expressed, one sees a kind of metamodern mythopoeia at work — that is, the construction of entirely new paradigmatic models, which, because knowingly created, seem to operate as much as works of art as myth. This metamodern mythopoeia would seem to include both the postmodern condition of doubt and knowingness as well as a more modernist optimism, a naïve faith to create new mythic systems of meaning and thusly induce a sense of greater depth and sublimity. In metamodern mythopoeia, mythologies are invented: liturgies, hymns, ceremonies, scriptures, deities, all as an artist paints a scene. ‘Theology’ becomes a creative and exploratory act, done for the sensation of the thing itself within in the realm of immanence. The most successful metamodern mythopoeia are compelling; indeed, they create an almost convincing sense of transcendence. One even entertains the possibility of being converted to one’s own invented religion…"

"However, metamodern mythopoeia never decidedly affirms or rejects the idea of the grand narratives of faith and transcendence. Indeed, it is precisely this ambiguity which allows for transcendent experience in the first place: metamodern faith must presume a kind of atheism if one is to have the freedom to create ‘God’."

Read the whole fascinating article here:

Book Page for the Hermead

Buy editions of the Hermead

#MetaModernism #Mythopoeia #Archetype #Philosophy #Ontology #WorldView #EpicPoem #Bible
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"Native Americans call themselves many things. The one thing they don't ... "

#ChangeTheMascot #NFL #SuperBowl #SuperBowl50
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White Moon Of Your Face
© Surazeus
2016 02 04

Mist swirls down from white moon among tree limbs
where sleeping birds dream wind over grass fields.
Rivers of eyes flow glowing on my breast.

Leaves flutter from open books on blind hills
where children chase shadows through gold sun rays.
I will never tell you my tale of sorrow.

Flowers blossom from twigs of my fingers
so I give apples to everyone I meet.
Rain washes my silent tears into soil.

White moon of your face lights my winding road
through bellicose forest of grasping hands.
Frail basket of my heart is empty now.

#Poem #Poetry #Haiku #China
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Singing Seamstress Of Lenox Avenue
© Surazeus
2016 01 27

I work all day in the brick factory,
sewing fancy shirts with buttons and frills.
My back is aching and my fingers sore
as I lean over the sewing machine.

I work twelve hours for two dollars a day
to feed my mama who is sick in bed.
I peek at the cracked window smudged with dirt
and dream of dancing in a field of flowers.

When I leave work after the sun is gone
I go trudging down Lenox Avenue.
I hear hearts of the people beating wild
as they strut the streets on hot Harlem nights.

I stand by the door of the Cotton Club
and listen to the wail of the saxophone.
I sway my hips when Duke Ellington plays,
and sing along with Billie Holiday.

I feel my soul soaring high among clouds
when the angel in the light sings my sorrow.
I work all day in the brick factory,
but I want to sing at the Cotton Club.

I strut the streets on sizzling Harlem nights
and stand on the street under a bright light.
I sing the aching sorrows of my heart
and people toss gold pennies at my feet.

I lean over the cold sewing machine
and dream of standing on the gold-lit stage.
I want to sing the sorrows of my heart
and become that angel in the gold spotlight.

The green-eyed boss in a well-tailored suit
whacks my knuckles and shouts, get back to work.
Stop daydreaming, you stupid lazy girl,
we need five hundred shirts to fill the stores.

My brown eyes are blurred by tears of despair
that I am a seamstress stuck here in hell.
I spark a bolt of lightning in my heart
then walk away from the sewing machine.

I step outside the freezing factory
and blink in the sunlight I rarely see.
I walk Lenox Avenue terrified
like a flower blooming after winter snow.

I stand at the door of the Cotton Club
and stare at my face in the shining glass.
I am no angel with my dark brown face
but I can sing like an angel from the stars.

I push through light and stand on the dark stage
where an old wise man grins and plays piano.
I sing the sorrows of my aching heart
before a silent club of empty chairs.

Cars chug past slow on Lenox Avenue
in sunlight gleaming with careless disdain.
I was a seamstress but I quit my job
since I want to sing at the Cotton Club.

The blue-eyed boss in a well-tailored suit
gives me lipstick and a pretty red dress.
Come each night at six and sing for two hours,
and I will pay you ten dollars a day.

Wearing lipstick and a pretty red dress,
I stand stiff on stage of the Cotton Club.
I stare at people and they stare at me
waiting for me to sing and set them free.

My hands are sweating and my heart beats wild
and all my sorrows steal my voice away.
I search the darkness for the light of love
and sing the pain that sparks my heart alive.

Sweet music of the saxophone weaves wings
and I sing in the field where flowers bloom.
I sing about my mama sick in bed
and how my father worked till he dropped dead.

I open my eyes and look in their eyes
and see all the sorrows and joys we share.
No matter how much pain we have to bear
we are together on this spinning globe.

I glide on the melody of despair
till the joy of singing flushes my heart.
I fly on the melody of true love
that beams wide from the aching of my heart.

I finish my song at the Cotton Club
a lonely angel in the gold spotlight.
The people clap and cheer, and beam back love,
so I bow, flush with joy, and disappear.

I step outside the glowing Cotton Club
and strut the streets on sizzling Harlem nights.
I hear hearts of the people beating wild
as I sit in the park where stars shine bright.

I was a seamstress but I quit my job
and now I sing spells at the Cotton Club.
I swallow all your sorrows with my heart
and sing till joy makes our eyes glow with love.

#NightClubSinger #HarlemRenaissance #NoMoreSlaveMovies #TiredOfSlaveMovies #Blues #Jazz
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Surazeus Simon Seamount

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Dragon Brain Wine
2010 08 22

When light of midnight moon gleams
in mushroom ring by whispering streams
men go mad and star elves dance wild
therefore wise fools follow sweet fae child
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

I trudge dry dusty shore of river bed
crying out for rain under scorching sun
for river flows no more from melting snow
that fell cold and sweet on mountain vale
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Deep in thick dark forest of twisted oak
tangled with vines by black starless lake
I find cabin of weird witch Teasel Ninetails
who cackles while she tends pond of frogs
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

My darling fairy queen with golden hair
and eyes blue as a lake of white swans
was kidnapped and now my heart aches
and I hold out basket of cinnamon spice
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Teasel ancient witch with wrinkled skin
and three eyes roving every direction
wraps black tattered cloak of demon skin
and gives me list of ingredients to find
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Trudging swamps where banshees wail
I collect gobs of Dragon Brain Mushrooms
that shimmer with red and purple spirals
and throb with glitter of midnight moon
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Clawing up jagged granite cliff of despair,
I swipe Phoenix eggs with scarlet spots
that pulse with primeval light of stars
and golden eyes that watch me in dreams
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Sneaking in garden of rainbow serpent,
I pluck ripe apples from Tree of Life
and yank ginger roots from golden soil
and mint leaves from pond of singing frogs
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Clambering over vine-covered stone walls,
I snip roses from tangled bush of thorns
and find enchanting girl with gold hair
who caresses my cheek with soft hands
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Embracing my fairy queen to my heart,
I kiss her lips and taste her cherry soul
and gaze lost in sparkle of her blue eyes
so we glide boat over lake of dreams
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Followed by Rosamuntha rose princess,
I walk meadow of flowers on a mountain,
gathering petals of a thousand blooms,
and we laugh free as she tickles my ribs
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Climbing dead tree on high broken cliff,
I slip my arm past buzzing honey bees
and break seven combs dripping nectar
though tree leans creaking over deep vale
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Holding hands with sweet rose princess,
I return to cabin deep in mist gloom wood
and present wagon loaded with ingredients
and smoke weed as Teasel brews juice
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Ancient witch with three wild roving eyes
blue as mountain ice hands me green bottle
so I drink deep refreshing liquid of dreams
brewed from flames at heart of our world
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

My body transforms back through shapes
till I return to slender dragon of dream sea
so I crawl singing toward glittering sun eye
and swim in cool waves with bride of eggs
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

White dragon with soft lion fur feathers,
I crawl up from star sea to mountain peak
and sing mad wordless songs of desire
then fairy queen kisses me with her eyes
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Transforming forward ten million years,
I morph from dragon to elf to angel,
and stretch my arms on mountain peak
when fairy queen kisses my loving soul
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

I kiss sweet Rosamuntha in misty glade,
holding her close while our hearts beat fast,
and our souls merge in swirl of star eyes
spiraling upward in galaxies of loving wings
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

I scribble unreadable words of my dreams
on parchment of dragon skin thin as leaves
while Rosamuntha sits on my lap at dawn
and I float lost in sweet sparkle of her eyes
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

Awaken my heart and open wide my eyes
with visions of time when Earth unfolds
blossoming patterns of forms now reborn
so I remember dreams of every soul who lived
as I long for sweet Dragon Brain Wine.

#Fantasy #Goth #Magician #Witch #Quest #Dragon #Wine
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Chronicle Of Mankind
© Surazeus
2016 02 08

Where every poet walks the halls of dreams
through labyrinth of old forgotten myths,
I linger by my heart-incipient stream
and play sweet melodies on bird-bone flute
to make the skeletons of long-dead gods
dance again with human flesh as their masks
that whole incarnate spirits of lost souls
so all their energy of conscious will
now emanates from atoms of my brain,
and I relive entire lives of dead persons
who urge me forth from silent lonely home
to dance in rain and sing their aching hopes,
thus every poet wakes inside my eyes
who teach me to sing Chronicle of Mankind.

#Sonnet #Poet #Influence #Tradition #Chronicle
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The Woo Guy was the most famous person at the Super Bowl that no one ever saw. #SuperBowl #SuperBowl50 #WooGuy 
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Gleam Of Her Black Eyes
© Surazeus
2016 02 05

While walking in a bright glass-shining mall
in Atlanta on a warm winter afternoon,
I see a slender woman with black hair
that shimmers around her oval sun-gold face.

I pause at flash of memory that beams
from eight thousand years ago when we stood
holding hands on sun-baked coast of Shin Sea
and wept with heart-aching love that we should part.

She boarded ship and sailed on cobalt sea
toward rising sun that beamed light in my heart
while I walked back to follow setting sun
many lives from Sumer to Oregon.

So now I know she made it safe to China
where her wise children multiplied and thrived,
and mist of morning hope in distant hills
still sparkles in soft gleam of her black eyes.

I smile and nod my head as we pass by,
and she smiles sweet as Kwan Yin holding bloom
of Lotus blushing pink from morning dawn
that glitters on lost sea of memories.

Though all my brothers and sisters spread out
from lush Eden to populate wild lands,
we gather on huge Ziggurat of Ishtar
and sing Ode to Joy with eight billion voices.

#OneHumanTribe #GlobalFamily #OdeToJoy #UnitedNations
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After I have lived and savored this world
bury my body in a field of corn
so you eat popcorn me while watching movies.

#AfterLife #Haiku 
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The Bundy Bunch

Here's the story of a man named Bundy, 
who was trying to take over federal land. 
A bunch of cowboys, clutching hunting rifles, 
came out to give him aid. 

Here's the refuge for protected wildlife, 
where the Paiutes once lived ten thousand years. 
All nature lovers and bird watchers are free 
to enjoy this sacred land. 

Till the one day when the cowboys stole the refuge 
and occupied it on a greedy hunch, 
claiming that public land belongs to ranchers. 
That's the way they all became the Bundy Bunch. 

The Bundy Bunch, 
The Bundy Bunch, 
That's the way they became the Bundy Bunch.

#Bundy #Oregonstandoff #BundyMilitia #DomesticTerrorists #Malheur
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Cartographer, Poet, Geospatial Analyst, Cosmographer, and Phrontistes
  • Cartographer Poet
    Cartographer Poet, 1986 - present
Map of the places this user has livedMap of the places this user has livedMap of the places this user has lived
Columbus, Georgia
Portland, Oregon - Keene, Texas - Auburn, Washington - College Place, Washington - Pullman, Washington - Seattle, Washington - Jemez Springs, New Mexico - Boulder, Colorado - Miami Beach, Florida - Charleston, South Carolina - Kansas City, Missouri - San Diego, California - Lansing, Michigan - Jacksonville, North Carolina - Columbus, Georgia
Epic Poet and Cartographer
Angelus of Anglonesia. 

I am a cartographer, geospatial analyst, and terrain developer by day, and epic poet by night. 

I am writing an epic poem in blank verse titled Hermead about scientists and inventors of civilization. This bible for atheists and scientists is now 120,000 lines of blank verse covering the lives of 25 Greek philosophers.

Buy Hermead Epic of Philosophers

Hermead Vol 1 - 15,000 lines on Hermes, Prometheus, Kadmos, Asklepios, and Hesiodos

Hermead Vol 2 - 16,000 lines on Thales, Anaximandros, and Pythagoras

Hermead Vol 3 - 19,000 lines on Demokritos, Platon, and Aristoteles

You can read 5,000 lines, part of the invocation, several speeches, and the complete tale of Platon, free at

My legal name is Simon Seamount though I was born Albert Bruce Craig II. My mother's maiden name Seamount is from the Swedish name Sjoberg.

I use the name Surazeus as my pen name.

I have been writing narrative poems for 25 years and have recently organized them into books and ebooks.

eBooks for Kindle on Amazon.

I posted about 200 songs I wrote and composed at but do not expect anything more than amateur fun folk singing.

I was born in Oregon in the Year of the Beatles, grew up in Texas in the 1970s, went to high school and college in Takoma (Washington state) in the 1980s. I earned a Bachelor of Arts in Liberal Arts in 1988 at Washington State University. After living in Seattle for a few years, I hitchhiked around the country playing grunge folk in the 1990s.

I got a job as web designer at State of Michigan 1999-2004, then earned a Master of Science in Geographic Information Science 2005-8 at Michigan State University.

I have since lived in North Carolina and now in Georgia working as a cartographer. Where will I go next on the journey of life? My goal is to become a Professor of Literature at Harvard, which was founded by my ancestor, Thomas Dudley.

In SecondLife I am Surazeus Thor

I married an Indonesian Muslim woman from Java Island and we have two cute daughters I named for goddesses of wisdom -- Saraswati and Athena.

I am generally a Gnostic Humanist. I do not know if there is a God or not, but the gods of history were humans who had a large influence on their times. What is most important is that I know myself and understand my perceptions, and recreate them in verse.

I am descended 13 generations from the Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet. Her father, Thomas Dudley, signed the charter to found Harvard, and was descended from the Sutton-Dudley clan of Elizabethan England, who were descended from Joan of Acre, daughter of King Edward I and Eleanor of Castile.

My religion is Astarism. 

Astarism honors First Mother Astara Ishtar Athena.

Ishtar sent Abraham and Sarah west and they founded Assurism, Olympism, Apollonism, Zoroastrianism, Mithraism, Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Sufism, and all their branches and offshoots.

Ishtar sent Brahma and Saraswati east and they founded Hinduism, Vaishnism, Shaivism, Buddhism, Krishnaism, Sikhism, and all their branches and offshoots.

Astarism includes all those religions as one.

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Bragging rights
I am writing an epic about scientists now at 120,000 lines of blank verse, so it is the second longest epic in the world, so far.
Collections Surazeus is following
  • Washington State University
    BA in Liberal Arts - History and Literature, 1986 - 1988
  • Michigan State University
    MS in Geographic Information Science, 2005 - 2008
  • Auburn Adventist Academy
    1979 - 1983
Basic Information
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Pen Name: Surazeus Astarius Jesuvius Gothinus. Legal Wallet Name: Simon Seamount. Birth Name: Albert Bruce Craig II. SecondLife Name: Surazeus Thor
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