|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
have you ever been an addict. and im not talking
about the hey-i-like-to-do-this-alot type of addict.
im talking about the
type of addict. im an addict. ive never blown anyone
to get it. i dont think i would. but i havent been
given the opportunity to either. the reason i say 'i
dont think i would' is because i like to pretend that
i still have something thats mine. dignity, pride,
standards. but i know i would easily toss those away
just to get it. i know because i have. so all i
really have is it. for one hour. for two hours. for
fifteen minutes or however long it last. however long
i can afford it to last. ill be high for fifteen
minutes if thats all i can get.
im an addict. i dont get high just to get high. i
get high just to get my mind off getting high for a
few hours. after a fix im good for eight hours.
maybe. then the last of my previous highs memory
cells dry up and i want. need. how ca
She beat me to it,
then beat me with it.
A pair of heavenly bodies,
Fighting the gravity of our collective density.
Shooting starlets is this galaxy choked night sky.
We broke up in the atmosphere.
with an asteroid massage.
Trip the lights horrific.
No one told me it was B.Y.O.Brimstone.
Prince Charming plastic face,
Could never afford the palace.
She blinked my haleys commet,
Greyscale aurora borealis.
Cynical whore with her lasso umbilical chord.
She called it off with a tear filled molotov.
And its over.
And its over and over and over.
will i ever get over?
will i ever
The Perfect Word
The Perfect Word.
The perfect word. The next word. One that fits. One that fits as if it were willed to the page. Cemented. Impervious to eraser tips and backspace backspace backspace keystrokes. Does it exsist? It must. Where is it then? Wedged deep down between the couch cushions. The metaphorical couch cushions of course. No the metaphysical couch cushions. No. The perfect word. Something that rummages through the memory's attic stack of yellowed newspapers with out tearing a page. Mummery. Strumpet. Glim. No no and no. A sentence written is a sentenced flawed. To think we might have strung a string of perfect words is to think we can recite pi, backwards. But surely we can go one for ten, one for a hundred, one per page per chapter per novel. Per lifetime. If we comb over a thesaurus with a magnifying glass. Excuse me? If we comb over a thesaurus with a fine toothed comb. The perfect word. If we are trampled into a bloody fossil-to-be by a murderous heard
Binge and Purge
Gab el. Bachman. Deep. France. Bergman. Evans. Rise. Sage. Franz. Polanski. Cinematic. Bass. Black. Morgana. Wealth. Eve. Mibikids. Rife. Mornling. Cyrano. Deeper. Scribe. Hudson. Buksport. Ship. Mow. Berkshire. Fellini. Fincher. Astronomer. Riley. Chompsky. Court. Love. Route. Bloniasz. Jove. Distance. Fabric. Producto. Emby. Dean. Freed. Professor. Space. Apotheosis. List. Geodesica. Norcross. Ingersol. Chabert. Chaucer. Noon. Zero. Little. Words. Deepest. Self.
Its not as if Maya Angelou was strung up naked from a Mississippi delta born cotton tree. Well, actually it was. You see back when black buskins beat back the bramble of my god given right to speech impediment laden afterthouhts, I would stroll a slow mosey in a grove of old bo trees. Now my socks stretch only so far as my crinkled fingers can pull these chinese odes to western capitalism. Remember the rice patties, and the rice patty hats. "Men in black pajamas," he would say. And then proceed to crack-a-
Primordial Soup of the Day
"Primordial Soup of the Day"
Im chalant although inquiring mimes want to show
The life and times of Pontifaux.
I strike a balance,
Or was it balance on strike.
Seen enough mourning, just tell me what dawn's like.
Equal parts critic-idealist
Mimic and realist
Round off my age just to know what a wheel is.
The shyest of shysters
"Do you want your pie sliced sir?"
A guy but no geyser
The wry of the wiser
Shaped in dents, my sapience
And my Wisdom tooth,
I binge...and purge...
Binge and purge and binge and purge.
Cringe and merge the fringe and verge.
Atoms with Eve's drop, datum's deseased crop
Madam will you please stop...
Im half way through a palindrome
With half a talon shown
Gripping gripes of the most massive of talent tomes.
Got tickets in the brain's balcony
Through a small wicket in sane alchemy.
The lights dim
The night's whim
My first concertain.
As always...in all plays,
The beginning is curtains.
I love her
She are the most beautiful thing ive seen.
On clear winter nights I can see the moon's jealousy reflected in your eyes.
My celestial body,
The heavens have saved space for our love.
I can not live with out her love.
We must be together
I write my being in verse to the cadence of your heartbeat.
My mortal melody,
Come, let us dance along the sheet music with love letters upon our soles.
I am so happy.
She is my dream come true.
I love her more than anything.
You are the exclamation point to end my life sentence.
My sweet simile,
When the spring rains come, surely the Gods are whispering your name.
Thank you so much.
You are a great friend.
I will never forget this.
My panache shall not bear the soil of vanity.
I love through letters, the harmonious word is my kiss.
My heart at nose length
Is the only way to keep from seeing my reflection in her eyes.
Farewell my love.
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More