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Subjective ObjectiveRiding on the precipice of a collapsing wave-function. In between initial frames of reference, relative to the world at stand still. Becoming all possible states until no more are left to assume. Invincible, irreplicable, pushing off the earth as the earth pushes back. Neither either but both. Micro macro, negative positive, repel attract. Riding on the precipice of a collapsing wave-function.
My Trip To The GroundI've been pushed from behind,
I don't know by who.
When I look I hope to find,
It was me and not you.
Because when push turns to shove,
I'll shove harder than you do.
When you pull hatred out of love,
Not much else is true.
Why am I being pushed anyways?
As I got close,
You should have warned me to stay away.
Now I'm upset as I contest why I feel this way:
You were my savior just yesterday.
As I trip on my feet,
I don't know what to think.
Where's your helping hand?
In black sand I've begun to sink.
You have a mighty smile,
Will you be here for awhile?
Gotta say I think not,
You look like you're lost.
Here And NowHere And Now
Here we are, in the here and now,
nowhere else we'd rather be.
Of all of time and space,
this is when I want to be.
We fly, the universe and I,
together in this place.
We'll lose each other soon enough,
though we're in no grand haste.
Death is the final moment, the clarifying breath,
every moment is that moment, only death has yet to join us.
Breath in the air, death will soon be here,
and now is all we have, for all we really care.
The World Without WordsThere is a world in which no one can say but one word. Any word. Their word. After that, they die. There is no warfare, no poverty, no suffering. Men are unable to explain away the cruelty of their actions, and so man toils under the weight of his actions. No lies spread by way of eager lips.
In this world, there is a man and a woman sitting together in a bar, having a comfortable silence between them.
He leans against the bar, an eyebrow quirked at her. She inspects him with pursed lips, taking him in without interruption. He is a tall man and a big guy. His hair is thick and invasive, and dyed green. She takes more time than he'd like her to, and so he gives her a clown face. She's beautiful. She chortles at him, and he lets his chest down and breath out; she's beautiful and he made her laugh. A wonderful start by most of society.
She tosses her long, luxurious, lengthy hair back over her shoulder and adjusts herself to face him. He straightens up and brushes a hand through his hair,
Man in Space and Time"What if I did do those big and important things?"
I thought to myself aloud.
"What if I stop being afraid of living?"
I swore then I'd instigate change in the universe.
On a tiny blue rock in nothing, I could change the world.
But when I was done, everything was in flames.
I frowned and thought long and hard about it,
sighing as the flames took all breaths away.
"I destroyed everything. I wanted to do good, not bad.
I'm not a bad person."
I stopped being selfish. In that moment I gave up the chains of consciousness
and let go of morality, the world, myself.
"This is the Universe. Flames have eaten my blue rock,
and now they dance in a new world just for them."
The fires raged to life and breathed and were powerful,
and they changed things and sometimes what they changed was beautiful
and sometimes what things became was beautiful. Ash rose in the violent winds,
embers hugged the earth.
"I did it. I lived and did big and important things, and everything I thought was
bad or ugly
An Affair on MyselfWake up early morning, it's time to be on my feet.
No time to eat something, I've got a place to be.
The sun beats on my head, I'm burnt like the sand.
The past whirls in my mind, I can hardly stand.
Time like water flows on by, currents in the sun.
Frozen feelings begin to melt, oh look how they run.
I don't feel the light burn, the peeling of my skin.
I only feel that urge to stop the loneliness within.
I could just scream! Unleash what's inside of me.
That is I would do that, if I wasn't so empty.
I can just shout! Let my heart sing.
That is I would do this, if the words weren't so heavy.
Vapid vixens vex me, fleeting like the wind.
Their faces come and go, stop before they begin.
I like to loose myself, to the bottom of the drink.
I'll think of you fondly, 'til next we meet.
Tender loving is all I really wanted.
Hard to love anyone, by the past you're still haunted.
I don't really like you all, just strangers in a mask.
But a touch is a touch, and there's peace of mind at last.
The MawThe Maw
An endless river barren black with souls,
the living wailing as they wait for Hope.
In all their minds they hear the chewing,
the bones crunching and the blood spewing.
Filled with dread they flail about,
they don't want to die, when will Hope pull them out?
Oh what a sight to see the hopeless hell of humanity,
The moaning corpses shoveled into the Maw,
Freedom to live forbade by law,
The fear of timeless prison,
bodies mulched by society's jaw,
consumed by social religion.
The young, the pure, the innocent.
They're stricken dumb, blind, and tainted.
Their youth is eaten by spirits malevolent.
They become old men with the same cruel intent.
Struggling and failing to escape the Maw,
Before death all are beaten raw.
I watch friends and loved ones sigh and ache in line.
They stumble on, deaf to my pleas for salvation.
Like a haunting their lives are stuck on a miserable repeat.
They dress like government issue live stock,
branding themselves with different lies and false freedom,
A Practice in Freeflow.Set up: A man ought to have his own private room, i.e. a study. A place where can go to work and be left alone for however long he needs it. Even his loved ones are proscribed* from entry. But an artist seeks to express the life expressed within, and how can you refuse your lover from the one place you pay her highest tribute?
And so she enters...
Her presence was first an annoyance. I'm not annoyed with her, per se, but with a foreign presence in my most private of areas. In this small room, cramped with books and papers and drawings and music, lay the spirit of I. The mind's soul, which doesn't seek to know all things, but to experience all things. It is my time and place alone from the human race.
Here she is. I'm not speaking to her. I'm pretending to be slightly agitated and highly invested by my work. In truth, I can't put any productive words down to text. I try to look at her when she doesn't see me. I like to see her. Not in quick glances; those are saddening. I like to take h
Young LoveI was so young
when I first heard
the beats of my heart
pulse lightly upon my ribcage
My toothpick bones,
to the powerful palpitations
And I was still young
when I heard again
the throbs of my heart
pound forcefully upon my ribcage
My metal bar bones,
to the butterfly-wing beats
So you better hurry, boy
as my ribs are becoming
thick as steel
and you’ll soon need a metal cutter
to reach my heart
(And I don’t want to become damaged in the process of being loved).
how to love a girl who can't love herself.get lost under the sun, then
fight the break of dawn.
i am nothing in the dark,
so show me
walk with me,
to the secret place
where i met you
(those turquoise city dreams)
when the sun goes down,
when the moon shines,
(girl of the ocean, let's go
somewhere only we know.)
please, i beg you.
winter me gently, because the earth laughs in flowers, and
red red roses, they're so beautifully
from the back of my throat, i promisethe world is made of talking trees and cloudy water,
and the way you look at me
i'm no artist but i think i've painted your voice at the base of my neck
it's not something you can come back from
and tomorrow won't be a victory any more than it will be a loss
they don't make maps for a place like thisI'm stuck somewhere
between great rollings hills
and a sweet-calm sea,
but the air doesn't smell
of salt or dandelions.
Only this heavy
cloying breeze that sticks
in my throat and fills
my lungs with the sharp tang
of musk and pine
reminds me that I'm
not far from home. And
in the distance there
is a rolling clamor;
a whistle crying long and low.
But there are no signs,
Though I've wandered days
through this strange
traipsing across smooth plains
and sharp plateaus, I've
never crossed the
same path twice...
One thought rings true in
this foreign land:
dear, don't be alarmed
I only lose my bearings so thoroughly,
only become so
What Shall He Be?Oh what shall he be - the one to steal my heart?
Many a man is there in this vast world,
But what sort should I desire?
My sisters have oft said to see him in my thoughts.
To know him there and appease my dreams.
I am slow to act, for what reality could compare to a woman's dream?
But, alas, I do believe
That even I find myself dreaming of him now and again.
And so you ask, what sort of man is he?
Well listen close, for here I shall tell of what sort he would be:
He should be tall and graceful, elegant and fair;
With sweet golden locks of his curly hair.
And have blue eyes that sparkle in the light
Of the sun, bright, as does his smile shine.
His tender words and gentle touch
Would so sooth my heart and troubled mind.
His strong arms would hold me fast in the darkest nights
And chase away my fears 'til dawn.
His sweet lips would kiss me tenderly, lovingly just so.
He would have a heart of pure gold, and be loyal and good.
And looking into his eyes, he would see my soul
And I, giving my
to hell with goodwill (que sera sera)his tale-weaving tongue
tastes of crisp linen
drenched in bergamot
locked in by lips
of brown sugar that bubble
a blueberry melody
on his siren songs
drunken on an unearthly state
i drown my earl grey eyes
refusing to abandon the atrocity
that is his bedspread
his vesuvius temper
keep me on the verge of tears
on the ledge of limitations
i know all too well
i can never repel his touch
his gaze glazes over my beehive body
and i break open
raw and wild
sucking on the saccharine serendipity
of seeing this scene
in some long lost dream
his lambent limbs
though scathingly swollen
spread far and wide
such is my
i am peeled
past my quivering
he polishes and pencils
past my profanities
his life oeuvre is
to have me obliterated
come what may
the desolation of this delusion
will one day leave me
to inferno with goodw
My memories of my dearest youYou chased me all the way through the harbour port and caught me by my auburn pigtails. You told me they burned like the sun kissing the horizon goodbye as we sat on the deck catching our breath. My eyes tracked down the silhouette of your chest where your sheer garment rippled to translucency. I liked how your spine slouched into comfort and how the your silhouette shone in ethereal hue. And when my chapped lips rubbed into yours, somehow it bloomed to our own perfect splatters of colours.
I hope you still remember how our fingers entwined beneath the old palm trees. How the wind caressed my hair and you ruffled it as we kissed.
And how our cackling laughter blended to perfect cacophony at the old porch swing. I'll always notice your smile that lights my world like the crescent moon shines the earth.
I still remember our playful memories when we mischiefs ran around the thrift shop and you provoked me with our silly pictures in silly clothes.
Or our charming memories where you promise
Mild MarksLips coated red like apple skins,
the curvature of my mouth now ready
to clasp the contours of your refined neck.
But I am not your vampire, dear.
I am not the cunning young woman
anxious to deepen the craters
of your sun-kissed shell.
No - I am far too mortal for that.
And you are far too mortal for me.
My only wish is to let you escape
through the subtle caress of my character:
holding you, receiving you
like dusk receiving the stars.
My carmine borders gently staining
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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