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a secret oath.a secret oath.
"madness need not be all breakdown; it may also be
break-through. it is potential liberation and renewal
as well as enslavement and existential death."
- r. d. laing
imagine your bone structure collapsing in on itself, birthday sticks in the mudpie of your flesh, and eyes like glass, blue as all the oceans and glinting as the light curves through them, odd little chips of endless third dimension. imagine as i do, these separate features animated. an awkward caricature of limbs at impossible bends and intersections, levitating in the space between worlds where your half-body splinters, the shards of your bones are swallowed by the earth and i wake to the familiar sense of a gaping, yawning loss.
sundays run fluidly into one another until suddenly each moment becomes a disjointed struggle between will and sympathy and some sort of hybrid, a collaboration in soulache of disappointment, anger and the guilt that drags itself after, a crawling heavy sense on th
caro levarecaro levare.
i think of you in carnivals, a tale of teenage existentialism in a
city by the sea. celestial star-empire stretched calm above gaudy
circus lights, wrong in their stillness, where you are at once a storm
and a silence. suspended in a ferris cart above its lawless city you
speak of fire, lionboy, of freedom, in your mind an oppressed radical
aching for a dream to come to pass. in secret, you were born to do
this, inspire and impact and fight your tiny wars with words. and even
the cosmos itself stops for you, we stare as one, in awe of the lionboy
shifting earth's momentum as her people sleep below, unseeing.
you beneath the sun, you are a caged hurricane of rage under
your skin, a thin façade of cool apathy. catatonic schizophrenic on
your back in the grass and you see something hazy that escapes
me in the depths of blue, but i see the gears of epiphany finally
churning for you and for the first time it strikes me that we pass
these messages in s
-: there is only so much others can do to help you. you know this. don't you? you know. and yet you do nothing. you change nothing. in the pit of your eternally whirring mind. all that ties me to you is guilt. i don't understand why you keep coming here, to us, to me.
+: the night children, my father.
-: i don't understand. you.
+: he who comes after, beelzebub, all things to all men. i cannot tell her i am her brother. she deserves to be happy.
-: you do not think she'll be happy to find her long lost sibling, whom she has been searching for her entire lifetime, whom she left behind the ice for? you don't think she will be happy?
+: i am black inside as coal. i have died and yet, i am not dead. how could she be happy to know her only living family member is a convicted felon, outcasted? i will care for her from a distance and she need never know. it's the way i want it. an act of love.
-: love, by its nature, desires a
in the mountains, i feel free.in the mountains, there i feel free.
Q: i think, if i do this, there will be nothing left of me.
X: it's the push and pull, your gears will grind and scratch together but everything equates in the end.
Q: it's not quite so easy, not as simple as you make it sound.
X: except it is. there is one key difference between you and i:
you wallow, sorrow spat you out.
i believe happiness, not achievement, is the measure of success.
Q: i am dead to me.
X: you know, that's not how the play begins.
Q: i think you think i have lost all sense of direction in my life, and so you drag me around all sorts of detours keeping your eyes peeled as potatoes for ways in which i can be used for your benefit.
and you think i am unaware.
that's not it. that's not it at all. i am not oblivious to you and your motives, i just stopped carrying myself long before we met.
i am not oblivious.
i am dead to me.
Q: there will always be questio
nemo sine vitio est.nemo sine vitio est.
and alaskan winters cloak themselves around
my bare and boney shoulders no matter
where my current location happens to be.
the skies are going black at just four thirty in the afternoon
and sometimes it can be another's past you cannot escape,
their curse may be yours just as your sorrow can be theirs.
he was a boy who found loneliness in all the corners of
town, crooked little side streets where suns of summer
could never quite penetrate the back walls and shadows
would stalk from end to end, he believed. cosmic shadows
that could be magick doctor know from some unexplored
foreign galaxy if only anyone would dare approach them.
secrets, from a life forgotten.
i forget sometimes that nobody is without fault, and this includes you
too. i guess i'm scared that you'll disappear if i don't make a conscious
effort to recall all the trivial and menial things about you.
so i compare you to australia the earth deity
or paris the city of love
or new y
father faust.father faust.
you are listening to the heartbeat of the child you left alone.
and you may not know it, may
find yourself in the car down some
deserted street at eleven pm
with speakers singing soft to you
but you are hearing my heart beating
from someplace in the north where
we do not speak and seldom love. and
you may refuse to speak of me or my
latest life, how far i could have come in
just three short months, but you think and
you hear and i beat along inside your chest
in the quiet car moments or right before
you fall asleep.
feel the cold up here in the nighttime.
i bear your name and maybe your eyes too,
your disease and your disillusionment but aside
from these we are poles apart, we are strangers
we are each a bundle of terrible mistakes and
misconceptions and fatal flaws and we fight
those few fleeting times we exchange more than
maybe three utterances between us.
night terror.night terror.
a crash course on human nature:
discontentment, lust, destruction.
we rinse and repeat.
i knew a soul like it was my own, once.
we were in perfect sync throughout our
years of discord. shells, we were, buried
in sands the colour of ash and we found
eachother through sheer coincidence.
one and the same, two rings of silver
worn over time until there was no shine
left within us. we would walk our paths
of dust for days
[never running. our lives were chasing
a short space behind, but we never ran]
until there was no grey dust left to walk
on. carried eachother when our feet bled
and lay down in the smashed glass shards
at the end of our almost-desolate journey.
i loved him, once.
more powerful and encompassing than any
love in all of history, but along the way his
jigsaw pieces got misplaced and he was
left with no eyes to see and no mouth to
speak. a portrait never to be regained.
a trained iris will see all,
just so long as you know what to look for.
you may see as
my sweet, my songless.my sweet, my songless. my caged bird.
phaedra has strayed from the path of good sense.
i know a place in which there are no questions
no tongues to speak, no eyes to explore
and in its dark centre there is a puzzle that will not be reassembled.
there is a spiderweb stretching from east to west in which i lie
and knowledge paralysed.
i am the ugly duckling of truth
(read as: i have trouble expressing myself
things i know but cannot prove,
an endless spray of saltwater against the gaping holes in my soulmeetsflesh.)
in order to get an image, you must know sympathy
another way of listening
on the sea, the sea.
in order to listen, we must learn patience.
oliver, the sun won't rise for another three hours or more and you
have me rapt until she wakes the treebranches and windowpanes.
do you have the time to teach me love?
i am not so well versed, but i've heard it means the following things:
staying cocooned in the bedsheets until noon has passed.
notes on the fridge door reminding me to use the opened milk.
letting me think you forgot my birthday,
and surprising me three days later with lindor chocolates
and a pack of morinaga sweets
and a night curled up on the couch with the foreign movies i love so much.
talking honestly about our histories.
forgiving my past mistakes.
worrying for me every single appointment with my therapist,
knowing that it wears me down talking about these things for hours on end
and running your fingers through my hair when i flop next to you with the weight of sorrow clutching around my shoulders.
admitting you've been wrong and trying your hardest to change your ways
and apologising from the ve
twenty-threescars are like tattoos
no matter how
they got there, you still
like the look of them.
Her name was HeroHer name was Hero,
such a high thing to live up to.
It promised great things for her,
but she was none.
well, none except one.
She was a small girl,
Who always bowed down to others,
was looked down upon by others,
spit upon by others until she was just another smudge in the greasy linoleum tile hallways of this prison.
Her name was Hero.
She was taught to embrace the cool pull of the rope,
the indifferent slice of the knife,
the vibrant red of the galls and cuts became the only color in her life.
She was grey.
And every day she looked into the great abyss of social media,
and she was popular.
She couldn't escape her fate even when in the perpetual twilight of her neglected room
where grey walls met grey floors through a hidden door.
But she endured.
Her name was Hero,
and when she graduated from the class of "we made it" and "Embrace the hate",
Until one da
Skyline MuseSkyline Muse
vistas of sylvan charms
cross my vision as we drive through art,
a mural of green flags
across a watercolor(ed) canvas.
with her arm out the window
the wind holding her tresses
in a tempestuous tenure,
she looks back at me
and flashes her beaming smile
as we drive towards the peak
aiming to hit the highest mark.
the gravel road rolling under turning tires,
we move up and up,
the sun falling the higher we go.
we always envisioned arriving here at sundown
and it’s yawning now,
so it’s only a matter of time
before it must tuck itself in for the night.
so when we reach crown of the mountain
and park the hardtop near the edge of the crest.
jewel encrusted skies tease auburn blankets
as the stars are finally materializing incarnate,
it’s almost heavenly to see the body
merge from fervor markers to cool ink.
the draft was a signal of the art just beginning,
feet moving across clay as we dangle soles
over the edge of the earth as the day
puts on its hoodie
twenty-twoyou aren't supposed to bury your children.
but if you're the one that killed them,
i guess it doesn't matter
HappyWake up be positive
Going to have an amazing day
Watching my babies is going to be a joy
Even if I have to force myself I am going to be happy today
Not going to worry about anything but being with my little family
Contest - Create a World unseenI was filled with joy
That soon came to an end
When I saw your hand
Reaching for the doorknob
While I stared at the door
Waiting for you to burst in
About to destroy this place
of peace and serenity
I swallowed hard
One last time
The door swung open
Your eyes filled with
Ignorance and confusion
You looked at me
Being bare naked and
Your confusion made place
And before you could even
say a word-
I shut down the light,
left my thoughts
And turned to dark.
little thingsI don’t want to be the wind beneath your wings
or any other monumental things
I wish to be feathers
(a hand to hold,
a gaze to meet
a place at night
to dream in peace)
so you can still fly
Catch the WindOut in this world, you'll never reach the sky.
Perched up in a tree, no use of your wings.
Words will bounce and sounds will dim
"Why don't you do it? Just fly."
You'll say no
You'll say the view is much nicer up here.
Well that's it, isn't it?
It's just a view.
"Don't you want to perch on that sight?"
Fools stay still
Fools let the world stomp on those wings.
But you'll say you don't need them.
"Well what if you do soon?"
Over countless lectures
And endless wisdom
You'll stay in your tree.
And say it's better for you
Then it is for me.
Who can say when or if you'll branch away
Over the cliffs and through the plains.
But then you will.
For once, you'll see.
The only thing holding me back
Not everybody will ever get to fly.
But please, oh please try
Before you die.
The endAnd when the sacred temple is brought back to life
In this modern agonizing age,
And when the false king claims to own this life
To from us all be the sage,
And when he's sitting in the usurped throne
Thinking he's from the world this core,
Darkness shall arise upon us all
And may the stars from the sky fall.
Windsor BlueWindsor Blue
I am erasing you, and I am happy.
These roads could be consuming our souls and
would be none the wiser.
I slept on the hard shoulder, in the grass and you
drove ahead, flesh and bone and heart beating against ribs between lungs that work like paper swans
litter the tables and floors in a hotel 300 miles away
in the middle of a place where I've been left before.
There is no other set of co-ordinates on the face of this earth that looks exactly like this
exactly like you as you connect the cables and
let me sleep 'cause you know my energy levels are running low and it's
one hell of a drive, socks full of holes that you press to the pedal to
accelerate this heap of metal and plastic and tacky fabric pulling apart at the seams.
"I can't help you," consonants drifting in and out of the smoke from your mouth, "if you won't help yourself."
I am erasing you, and I am lost between here and Montauk and Idaho and home is calling,
or would be if I could catch it but
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More