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my howls are silentI, too, see the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness. We are decomposing too early, our souls dying before our bodies can catch up. We are silently ravenous, a quiet craze in our hearts, not quite the same as your generation, Ginsberg. We do not shriek "Holy! Holy! Holy!" as we burn. We drown soundlessly.
The overeducated, proud products of postmodernism dissolve in a lukewarm soup of ennui, bored balloons filled with hubris rather than helium. Fragile dolls with flaking bones and hair and skin like flowers wilting, weighed down by indomitable wills and insecurities... these plastic girls starve to death and diabetes in the car beside me, fantasizing about food in the passenger seat. Former nymphets gouge symbols into themselves, the bleeding crags physical outlets for the demonic depression, for the memories of beloved older brothers molesting them in the living room, while her mother sits at a hospital bedside beside a fading father.
I see the most remarkable minds crippl
your song reminds me of swimmingslipping into the cool cerulean blue
unwrapping myself in this u n d e r w a t e r world
until I am mentally naked
beneath the liquid ceiling
my mask m e l t s away
sugar and spices and everything niceness
and all my pretendings drift apart, dissolve
I swallow the sound, and it swallows me whole. The church bells are echoing in my head, their clangs in my heart, shaking me, reaching into my thoughts and rendering me speechless. Your Lolita, your Rosita, a Maria. I want to be all of them for you. The idea frightens me, and the cold fingers of fear clamp around the beating organ beneath my breasts and squeeze, and again all words leave me. Years of ingrained love of tradition and devotion to conservatism beat against my brow, and the threat of discovery and migraines plague my mind. Moths pester me, tickling the walls of my stomach; and coals burn slowly beneath, Hell's Gate, II, simmering. I apply my cherry chapstick with shaking hands, tossing furtive glances towards my family, paranoid that I'll be discovered fraternizing with another potential lover yet again.
And discovery, this time, would prove fatal, lethal, to my stuttering heart, that bird named Moses dying in its birdcage, my ribcage.
Dear , Dear $@&&$@,
I am disgusted by my longing for you. It revolts me, repulses me. My craving for someone to openly feel affection for me transforms me into a twisted, hideous beast; a manipulative, whiny bitch; and a petty, simpering airhead. I despise myself. I detest what I've mutated into, this sick creature. You could have loved me once, but these rusted knives of sentences, covered in my blood and vomit, have warned you away. Beware: Keep fleeing.
For I long to be your little snowflake girl, your petite American muse. I want to bask in your so-white smiles, bathe in your dark and wild eyes. I adore your funny Anwar nose and your Ralph Lauren cologne. I want to be present, cheering you on, when you graduate in fifty days. I want to be standing there when you celebrate your doctor-ship, when you're holding your med school diploma in a de
no, pleaseI think, despite all the objections against love that I so boastfully proclaim, what I crave most is for someone to steal away my gaze, hold me softly by the shoulders, silence me, and tell me quite seriously that they love me.
oceanThe Ocean's tides flow and ebb like the moon's,
Waxing and waning, never sleeping, no,
Thinking they can tame her, foolish buffoons,
Tried to control her, she dealt the death blow.
Drowning in her fury, unwise sailors,
Thought they could rule her, break her, chain her,
Murdered with a vengeance, curse'd horrors,
Their corpses lost, no killer much crueler.
Volatile, barbaric in nature,
Deceptively sweet, secretly sour,
Seemingly benign, not one may conquer,
Poise'd to pounce, waiting to devour.
Violent, unrestrained creature this,
None can resist her luring, deadly kiss.
ZL - truce[Alix, Aurelio] PAST, over 9000 years ago (bun you requested this i’m so not sorry)
“Hey,” Aurelio says softly as he sets a coffee down in front of Alix’s face and sits on the desk. “Thought you could use the pick-me-up.”
The other looks up from the appalling amount of paperwork he’s currently working (drowning) in. “Thank you,” Alix says simply and smiles at him. “It’s not as bad for today; only three o’clock and I’ve gotten through this much red tape. That’s something to be said, right?”
Aurelio nods-shrugs. “It’s still the same amount of paperwork, either way, and most of it would do better in a fire or a shredder. Or eaten. Like this.” He quickly tears out one of the coversheets and stuffs it into his mouth, chewing almost comically while he waits for his saliva to work. “Y’ see what I mean?” He evades all of Alix’s attempts to rescue the p
One of the words I’ve been keeping close to the inside of my forehead, almost between both eyes in fact, but like just above that between mark, so that when I blink I can feel the word there…is the word harmony.
It’s a word that I keep in my mind, in that spot aforementioned, not only for what harmony is all about and means and could mean and feels like and gives to me to keep in a spot that binds me to it, but for the fact that keeping one word in mind manages to make a supreme difference to how I think in everything I do and say.
Harmony is something that is. Like if I don’t think about harmony, or am not aware of harmony, it still is. Harmony was, too. I mean harmony was always there in my life, and still is. Yet I never used to hold it in my mind, or even play with its meaning or value, in my mind. So it was like it wasn’t even there, I could say. But I don’t say that, cause it was, simply cause n
Eyes of Optimism The walls were dirty, the floor scattered with trash and broken toys. The sink was filled with dirty dishes and empty beer bottles were scattered throughout the rooms. There wasn't much good to say about it, and there was plenty of reasons not to want to move into a hovel that would look much like this one, only cleaner.
But all she saw were walls that would keep her safe, a place to sleep and feel at home, if only for a little while. She saw windows and light. She saw cabinets and a stove and a refridgerator. She saw herself entering these rooms and relaxing quietly, maybe by a small fire-place-like electric heater, with her cat. She could see her mixed matched furniture fitting in well in a place like this.
In her mind, she could hear Carrie Underwood singing "Temporary Home." She knew this wasn't the place she would, or even could, stay at for the rest of her life. She knew she'd end up moving, far away with any hope, and that she would leav
Even More Robot Angst [Preview Post]Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but of playing a poor hand well.
- Robert Louis Stevenson
Date: 6th January, 2014
Time: 5 AM
Location: Lucky 7 Casino
Sweet Mother of Venus, the things that went on in this robot’s head at times… possibly not even Tardis would understand him if she could only hear him right now.
Working hours were long gone, but the former ranger wouldn’t go home just now… maybe he’d even take a little trip to get a bit lubricated after this, but for now he just remained sitting at an empty table, the broom next to him indicating that he technically still had work to do, but just for this morning, XR had decided to take a prolonged break.
For a long while now, he’d done nothing but just to sit at this table and glance at a bunch of cards he’d laid out in front of him as though there was some kind of structure behind it and with th
Years~And as the Queen came riding up, a one eyed boy made his way over.
Y e a r s ~
And as the Queen came riding up, her humble servant bowed before her.
Babylonian Medley #3: Absolutely PositiveYou made the lentil soup yourself. No-one can make it the way that you do. A dash of this and that. Humble ingredients that are spun together to make a meal fit for a noble. At least, you think so. Many nobles have disagreed with you on the matter.
Perhaps that is why they needed to die.
It isn't that you killed them for lacking in good culinary taste or simply disagreeing with you. But they couldn't appreciate the simple things. They couldn't see the refinement of humility or the grandeur therein. This had many different consequences. One of them was that they were unable to appreciate the best things in life. Another was that you have been been killing them whenever you could get away with it.
That's life, isn't it? And it's also life that you won't be able to kill any more of them. And life that they'll die soon anyway.
It's done. Babylon the great has fallen. Your dreams of empire crushed to dust.
And here you are, all alone, eating lentil soup.
There are books all around you. Surr
Can you imagine living your entire life scared - constantly being frightened, without ever really knowing why? Should you try to be big and strong, plant deep roots and live like the spotted gum? Or, should you lay low, bend with the worst of the winds like grass?
Choose the gum, and there will be a cyclone. Choose grass, and there will be a fire.
Should you dig in and hide? Sooner or later, something bad will happen where you are. Maybe try to roam – steer clear of danger? Will that keep you safe, or just lead you into disaster quicker?
So, instead, you shove your head into the sand and hope for the best, knowing all the while, sooner or later, something terrible will bite you on the arse.
How can you tell if you can run faster than what’s coming, when you don’t know what it is that is coming?
But, of course you don’t know what I mean. You’ve never been curled up on th
idioms taken literally - ii. the pissimist Two thirsty men, Opt & Pess, stood before the soda drink machine.
Opt was pressing his cup against the lever of the Sierra Mist dispenser while Pess waited in line behind him. However, no soda seemed to be pouring out into Opt's cup.
"Aw. That's a'right, I'll jus' settle with some good ol' Coca Cola, then." He then pressed his cup against the Coca Cola dispenser, and Sierra Mist came pouring out.
Opt grinned. "Don't ya jus' love it when things work out?" he chirped to Pess as he held his cup there. He waited till it was half-full.
Pess grumbled. "I love it more when things're workin'," he retorted.
[Opt stepped aside, enjoying his drink, and Pess went up to the machine. He decided he was up for some Sierra Mist as well, though he wanted diet. He put up his cup against the lever of the Diet Sierra Mist dispenser and filled it till it was half-empty. "Can never trust machines...who runs this th
unanchorageWhen I write,
I slip into a damp nothingness, vaguely
and shuffling through a smoggy coma,
shedding the individuality
anchoring me to
It's an abandon of the consensual mind that
an escape in to the symmetrical mess of this planet.
I am not my own,
it is only here where I find
buried inbetween my lungs,
and my heart.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More